#I CAN’T WAIT THIS LONG FOR THE NEXT CHAP

[bloodmale]

O6 : IDGAF WARRIOR ( word count : 681 )

You really, really despised studying. There was nothing enjoyable about it. But you couldn’t just ditch even if you wanted to. You’re pretty sure Yeong yi and Beomseok would skin you alive if you did. But god was the most boring thing ever.

At the start it was bearable, you’d ask questions about topics that confused you—whether it’d be math, science, or english—Sieun would explain them all. You had to give him credit, he was intelligent to say the least. But it was like studying with a robot. He never made jokes, never looked at you, never even gave you a smile. He had to hate you. Why else would he be so cold?

“How long has it been?” Your face was smushed against the table beneath you. Exhaustion practically embedded itself om your face. “An hour.” Sieun didn’t even spare you a glance, yet you still shot up at that response.

“It can’t be an hour?! I’ve been writing down formulas for decades!” You aggressively tapped against the notes displayed on the table. Sieun shot you a glare at your noise, his eyes practically yelling ‘shut up’. You looked back down in embarrassment, muttering a quick apology.

“Can we take a break, I really think my brain might crash from all the information I’ve taken in.” You expressed, hands moving to rub your forehead. “Seriously, I think I’m getting a headache.” You groaned, but it all fell on deaf ears—not a single reaction, not even a hum to prove he was listening. At this point you were debating whether he was an absolute bitch or not.

“Are you even listening?” You hated being ignored, especially when he was sitting right in front of you, and he could definitely hear you. You had assumed he was just quiet, more introverted that’s all, but it was getting annoying now.

“I thought you wanted tutoring lessons.” His tone was flat, barely held anything behind it—annoyance nor fatigue. “I do!” You interjected, though Sieun didn’t seemed convinced by the look on his face.

“Then finish getting through this chapter.” The way he said it—sharp and quick—you couldn’t argue. You thought you should be glad that someone was pushing you to actually succeed, but it irritated you instead. He didn’t have to be so rude about it, all humans deserve a break, and you were human after all!

Yet in the end you were stuck—reading whatever unit Sieun suggested you focus on and writing until you felt your hand cramp at just the thought of lifting a pen.

The sky was dim by the time you finished getting through mostly all of yours notes of the day. You never felt more exhausted than you did today. You swore steam was escaping from the top of your scalp.

Sieun seemed to still be focused on his assignment; an earpiece covering one ear with his body was hovering over his notebook like he was shielding it. How the hell was he not tired? You felt your head ache at the mere thought of reading more than five pages.

“Sieun,” you tapped a finger lighting on his notebook. “It’s getting late, I’m gonna leave okay?” You sat up without waiting for an answer. You were already tired beyond belief, and seeing Sieun work so diligently on his papers made it worse.

Sieun just looked up at you, his eyes stayed glued on your moving body—watching you pack away all your things. He didn’t wish you a farewell, he just watched as you left, and of course you noticed. Though from how distant he was it didn’t offend you anymore. You simply didn’t care; a goodbye from him was the last thing on your mind.

The only thing you could think of when you left was how strange he was. You didn’t know if he was being an asshole on purpose or if he was like that all the time. You had made a mental note to yell at Beomseok about this, because now you were more upset at the thought of studying with Sieun than studying in general.

masterlist prev chap next chap

notes , first written chapter kinda nervy… sorry if this lowkey sucks i made this with barely any sleep💔 spare me

TAGS : @randomheyl @ant-onie @screamertannie @jvhoonie @ceeisatlumon @ruruyinn @stxr-lilac @bblgeum @surfeitstar @xiaojunns @lunaryoongie @bblgeum @nubyeol @cielopain @runaaclou @kimchisouplegend @tojirin

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- kissing, fingering, masturbation, lots of jealousyy, they're idiots in love lol, teasing, TENSION, oral (f recieving) Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. Three parts- WC this Part- 7.6k

Songs for this - Birds of a Feather // Nonsense // Suffocate

Ty for all the love on part one!?!? I hope you all enjoy this part as well! We got one more after this <3 Comments and reblogs so appreciated always!

<<<Part One - Masterlist - Final Part>>>

Part Two

One month of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend.

“I’m nervous about this meeting, Satoru. Are you sure I’ll do alright?” You ask softly, as you both head to the elevator, a meeting that you know Satoru has been dreading himself, with the higher ups his dad usually deals with.

“You’ll do just fine, let me do the talking, you can just look all pretty.” He takes your hand as you all get into the elevator, squeezing it warmly, and you’re dying at how good that hand feels, and how good he feels, his strong arm brushing against you as you both watch the elevator doors shut.

“I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could never. You’ve been a perfect wife this month, I promise.” His sweet grin, just a little crooked melts you, as you exhale in relief. “I’m getting a lot done with this, I swear… I know you probably wanna get back to normal life.”

The hurt in his words immediately makes you pull back, and Satoru curses himself, taking your hand again, as you two ride up the floors, but you pull away, shaking your head. “Are you so eager for me to go?” Your voice is quiet, trying not to reveal what that makes you feel like fully.

“What!? No, not at all. I meant… if you wanted to.” Satoru’s heart breaks when he sees your dewy eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way, I meant it may not take a year, if you wanted to…”

“I’m glad it’s helping, really.” You give him a small little smile, and Satoru can barely concentrate on what he’s here for, when he wants to wrap you in his arms, to kiss you fully, not just pecks for appearances.

And god those kisses to prove you’re together make the lines blur, makes everything so confusing and jumbled for him. He’s having so much trouble remembering that it’s for show, when you all watch movies at night still, when you both have dinner together, when you’re washing dishes side by side. When you’re having coffee on his balcony in the morning.

The one thing that keeps it ‘fake’ is the separate rooms, but the amount of times Satoru has played with himself in the room next to yours has gotten insane, the number of showers he has to take so he hopes you won’t hear him. Lately, he’s backed off just a bit, for his own sanity, so it hurts less when this is over.

“Toru, wanna watch the show tonight?” You ask, wearing one of his big tee shirts, it swamps you completely, tempting him to no end, thinking of slipping it up just so…

Shit.

“Nah, sorry not tonight. I’ve got work to do.” He says, hating the little down turn of your lips.

“How late, I can wait!”

“Um… yeah I wouldn’t wait up.” You blink then, wondering have you gotten too comfortable with him? Have you been acting too much like a wife at home? You can’t help but enjoy him, enjoy your time together, are you overwhelming him with it all?

“Oh. Um, okay. Good night, then.” You smile sadly, aching to kiss him good night, knowing you shouldn’t want it, knowing you shouldn’t be desiring him right next to you, snuggling on that couch. God you’d love him in your bed even, holding you so close against him.

“Good night, sweets.” He murmurs, softly, not wanting you to think that you were the problem, no the problem is him.

He can’t stop picturing how every corner and nook in his huge home will be so very empty when you’re gone.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, not one thing, I swear you’re playing this perfectly. And I really appreciate you, yeah?” He says, but it’s not what you want to hear, because you’re not playing, not really, it’s just too fucking easy.

“Yeah, we got this.” You kiss his cheek softly, the friendly way you used to, as you all walk through the sliding doors where everyone is, all old men aside from a couple younger people scattered in seats in a row.

You tense, so he squeezes your hand, smiling at you, an upturn to pink lips as a room full of old money assesses you both, trying to reassure you. “Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, please have a seat.”

You nervously sit next to Satoru across from them now, your legs crossing as he casually leans back, one arm around the back of your seat, an ankle crossed over his knee, sunglasses right on his face. He’s so at ease, or so it seems, you are certainly learning more and more that Satoru tends to hide much of his anxiety with cracking jokes and sarcasm.

“Ah, the oldies, how goes it?”

“Ahem, oldies?” A blonde man raises a brow, and Satoru scoffs.

“You might as well be, Zenin. Old ass mentality.”

“Satoru, how is your father?” Asks an older man from another high company that works with the Gojos, Mr. Gakuganji.

“Ya really hoping he pulls through hmm? Even if so, he’s already appointed me, so don’t get too excited.” Satoru has an easy grin, fingertips brushing against your bare arm, leaning closer to you. “You’ve all met the wife?”

“Not all of us.” A pretty woman with long blue braids smiles at you. “Heard of her though, hello Mrs. Gojo. Mei Mei. Apparently so old.”

“Hello Mei Mei.” You greet with a small smile, looking at them all. “It’s going to be a pleasure to work with you all, I am sure.”

“Isn’t she just charming?” Mr. Naoya Zenin says, you feel Gojo’s fingers tighten in response.

“She is lovely.” Mei agrees, predatory smiles on both of their lips.

“Enough with the greetings, Gojo, you've made a lot of changes to this company in a quick manner.” Now Yaga, a tall imposing man that owns much of the shares of the company, speaks.

“Sure have, Yaga. Aw, mad you all got pay cuts? Poor things. Don’t worry, gave your extra to the employees.” Gojo says with a big white grin, earning the glares of everyone in the room.

“You’re not some Robin Hood.” An older man of the Kamo family says, raising a brow at Gojo, who chuckles.

“No, sure am not, I’m still rich and so are you all, just a little more evened out, wouldn’t you say, sweetheart?” He looks to you, tilting down his glasses, and you take a breath, putting a hand on his thigh, silently supporting him.

“Employees are going to work harder and stay longer with better pay and better conditions, and cutting just a bit off the top accomplishes that.” You say, voice strong and clear as a bell, making Satoru so proud he can’t stand it, smiling big at you as the room collectively grumbles.

“You’re not the only one with interest in this company. What does your father think of this?” One of the older men asks.

“It’s my company already, it’s about to be official soon. So don’t worry.” Satoru says with ease. “Also, my wife was talking.”

“Your wife is certainly… hmm, very pretty, but a commoner.” Naoya says, earning Gojo standing up, chair screeching back.

“The fuck you say!?”

“Satoru…” You lean forward, touching his arm, looking at his furious stance as the room shifts.

“How is she a commoner? You’d be lucky to lick the ground she fucking walks on ya know that?”

“She’s clearly not a commoner, but… she’s not “rich" is what he means. She has no concept of wealth.” Mei says, and Naoya stands now as well, glaring right over at Satoru.

 “She’s rich now, she’s my fucking wife.” The words feel so real from his infuriated voice that you can’t even separate it anymore, if this is some act you will just play right into it, even if it hurts. Him defending you is raw, you feel his fury next to him, trying to calm him and failing.

“It’s fine, baby.” You murmur, and hearing it, this little pet name from you? He immediately looks down, seeing your eyes wide with worry, he sighs now, sitting next to you, exhaling when you brush a hand up and down his back, then you look at the room. “I was not rich, no.”

“Your family was cut off for this sort of behavior. Is that what you want again, want for your children?” Mr. Gakuganji asks, a tired voice breaking through.

“I know better than anyone in this room what it’s like to live on a normal, even low income. Would you not welcome the insight, or are you so above caring about the people who line your pockets?” You demand softly, raising a brow, Satoru watches now as you proceed to wreck them.

He watches you debate them, raising each of them this point and that, and watches them all falter under a pretty little thing like you, usually soft spoken and sweet, but you have no problem decimating a room of them like it’s nothing. You smile so pretty at them all, bat your lashes and they land argument after argument, bouncing off what Gojo says.

Gojo is chuckling after about twenty minutes, as they seem to really think he couldn’t fuck them all if he felt like it. “What you’re forgetting, is I’m the highest up there is here.”

“Your father-”

“My father trusts me to take over. Plain and simple, are there going to be any problems? Millions not enough for you all, need golden toilets for your asses?” You barely hold in the snort of laughter, eyes bright as you watch him continue to disgruntle the room, until they finally let up.

Naoya walks up to you, eyeing you up and down as Satoru is talking to Yaga, who seems to be one of the more laid back of them all, his hands in his pockets, light brown eyes lit up. You tense at his gaze, feeling it like a slimy, disgusting touch, making you almost sick. You’re trembling as his eyes dissect you.

“Conveniently, he gets a bride the moment everyone pushes him.” He says with a nasty smirk, brushing a tendril of your hair back. “Don’t buy it.”

“Well, we’ve been in love forever, I assure you.” You say quietly, he hums to himself, when Mei walks over, and damn this woman just saunters, truly, hands on her curved hips.

“It’s so odd indeed, out of a list of so many eligible ladies. Was it true love, I wonder?” She taps her chin curiously, Satoru sees you then, coming by your side immediately, and arm around your waist.

Is he being a protective best friend or…

More.

Is this all just for show, as he pulls you to his side so possessively, making your pulse race, your body reacting as you look up at his face, and he’s scowling at the both of them. “Everything alright, sweets?”

“Yes, they were wishing us the best, weren’t you both?” You say, earning Naoya’s glare and Mei’s smirk.

“Indeed we were, we’ll see you at the auction I imagine?” Mei says, eyeing Satoru now.

“We’ll be there, of course. But for now, hmm…” He tilts your chin up, kissing you in a room full of people who want to hurt him, and hurt you, a protectiveness he’s always had for you becoming so intense it’s hard for him to function, he’d literally take down anyone and everyone that would dare say one thing to you even.

Your lips are sweet, so sweet, as you lean up and kiss him, wrapping an arm around his waist, and that same electricity sparks, even with all their seedy eyes on the two of you. He pulls back, looking at your lips, as you look into his eyes, already dilated and dark, when he clears his throat, smirking up at the shocked gazes.

“Are we all done here?” He asks, and then proceeds to take you out of that room, you finally catch a breath in the elevator, and Satoru grins at you, cupping your face with his big hands, bending down.

“Holy shit.” You murmur, earning his chuckle.

“You were amazing! How dumb am I telling you - look pretty and let me talk- shit I think it was the opposite?”

“No way…”

“Yes way. That was sexy.” He hums, you’re both giggling a bit, but you’re close, too close, and his thumb is brushing your lower lip, sending desire straight through to your tummy.

“I thought you were mad at me.” You whisper then, earning his smile turning down at the corners, his eyes a little distant and hazy.

“I could never be.”

The elevator doors open, the two of you walk out of the sliding glass doors of the enormous building, and you are trying not to touch the lips he just had, trying not to think of just how good they felt. The driver pulls up and you get into the car, Satoru slides in next to you, far too close, you inhale his cologne, you still taste him on your lips, like torture.

“I’m not mad at you.” He says again, you blink a bit, taking a breath, before looking up at him as the car drives onto the highway, gently moving underneath you both.

“You turned down movies for days. You won’t eat dinner with me. I get you’re busy, I really do, but I enjoy it, spending time. I’m… lonely without you? I know that sounds so silly, I’m sorry. Shit.” You cover your face, hating the pathetic words spilling from your lips. “You’re probably sick of all this time, even as a best friend.”

That’s not it.

God that’s not it.

It’s just when he’s next to you all he can think of is fucking you, or making you cum all over his mouth, his fingers. He can’t stand how good you smell, how good you feel, he melts over your pretty smiles and giggles, he can’t stand how deeply he is starting to feel. The three times you all have kissed for publicity it took everything in him not to drag you home.

How does he just shut it off, the ability to kiss you when he wants? And now you’re lonely, you’re hurting, not even able to look at him when he gently pulls down your hands by your wrists. “Look at me.” He murmurs softly.

You do then, and he sees it, tears swimming. “Sorry I’m too emotional.” You whisper then, embarrassed.

“No, I’m being an ass.”

You let out a little laugh. “No, Satoru just distant, and I didn’t know if I fucked something up, the day in your office?”

“No, no. Please, I swear it’s not that… I’ve been in my head.” He mutters, unable to express it truly.

“I get it, you have a lot going on. I want to be here for you.”

“You are.” He’s brushing your hair back softly, leaning down, resting his head against yours, it’s too intimate then, the words on the tip of your tongue, that you feel more than you should, but you try to swallow them. “You’re amazing, you made them all look so stupid.”

“No…”

“Yes. You surprised me, I never have seen you like that.”

“Sexy, you said hmm.” You tease, but he’s serious then, as your breaths mingle, and he’s leaning even closer, wreaking havoc on your every sense.

“God yes, you’re sexy like that.”

“Satoru… it’s too much.” You whisper, as his hand rests on your thigh, and he feels it, how hot you are, earning his eyes shutting, trying to not let it affect him and failing. “I haven’t… I’m really…”

“Been a while, sweetheart?”

“Oh fuck you.” You don’t move his hand when he slips it up higher, in fact your thighs spread just a bit, his little moan making more wetness start to drool from your aching pussy.

“I take up all your time, you can’t date, why not let me take care of you?” He acts as if he can handle anyone ever touching you, the thought alone makes him feral, want to fucking claim you as his own, to devour you senseless. He tries to be teasing, casual, watching your breath catch, your pupils dilate.

“Wh-what!?” Your lips part, and his desperate blue gaze is so intense it’s hard to look at.

“Let me make you cum, sweetheart, hmm? It’s the least I can do, I’m taking up all of you, I am sure it’s been a bit.” You gulp nervously. “You’re not a…”

“No, no, not a virgin Toru, just I didn’t like it.” You admit softly.

“At all?” He whispers, frowning just a bit, before he feels your inner thigh with his thumb, finding you hot and sticky, making you gasp. “Who sucked that bad?”

“You don’t know him. But I didn’t like getting…”

“Fingered?”

“That, not at all, um the times it happened were uncomfortable. So don’t try, it won't work.” Satoru laughs then softly, shaking his head.

“I’ve never had that problem. And I would never hurt you.” His words are serious then, you gulp nervously.

“I know you wouldn’t. But it’s intimate, and it’s not for show.” Your hand clutches his blazer now, thick material in your palm when he finally touches you over your panties, making you cry out at the contact, his cock throbs in response.

“Let me just take care of you, make you feel s’good, hmm? Don’t think too much about it, just feel.” He presses kisses down the side of your neck, your free hand wraps the back of his neck, brushing over his undercut, the soft hair under your fingers like silk, when he presses his fingers over your clothed clit. “You like that, pretty?”

“Y-yes.” You manage, his lips kiss and then suck at the base of your throat, when his finger slips under your panties, finding you bare, soaked, your cry is louder, when he finds your engorged little clit, feels you slippery against his long fingers.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He huffs, free hand slipping up the side of your breast while he rolls his finger in little circles, and your hips jerk, your head falling back. “She’s begging f’me to put one in.”

“You c-can try, but- ah!” Satoru sinks a long finger in you, pressing up, and you’re blinded when he finds your spot so effortlessly, leaning back to look down at your face, as it scrunches up in pleasure. “Ngh!”

“There it is, some loser couldn’t find it hmm? I’ve got you, don’t worry.” He’s pressing up again and again, the spongy spot in your gummy walls, gripping him so fucking tight. You hear it, the lewd sound of your squishing cunt, your eyes rolling back in your skull as he works you. “Let go, trust me.”

“It’s too much I… T-Toru…” You whisper his name, while moaning, your mouth open in this perfect O, it makes him leak precum, sticking to his boxers as your thighs spread for him, as you trust him, your eyes lidded. “More.”

“More?” He repeats, speechless for a moment as you’re leaning forward, your lips just a breath away.

“Please, it’s s’good Toru.” Your little plea destroys the last fighting brain cell he has, he’s slipping one more in you, making you pulse around the thick invasion, curling them up and sinking them inside you, to the knuckle, while you moan against his lips. “F-fuck… oh my god what…”

“That’s it, fuckin’ feel her, grippin’ me.” He’s fucking his fingers into you, wishing they were his cock, and you’re soaking his hand, your cunt drooling when he shoves them in deep, thumb pression on your clit, making you shatter. “There you go, sweetheart, that’s it, s’pretty like this.”

You’re cumming all over your best friend/fake husband’s talented fingers, nearly crying at how good the release feels, pulsing all around him, hands clinging to his jacket, hopelessly wrinkling the material, all while he watches you. Your mind goes blank, pleasure is the only thing you can focus on, as he eases his strokes, and you both are panting in the quiet car.

Satoru eases his fingers out, putting them to his lips and sucking now, moaning when he tastes you, and your mouth drops in shock. “T-Toru…”

“Fuck.” He’s kissing you then, your slick all over his lips as he presses your back against the seat, and your thighs shake, sensitive from cumming so hard, you can barely focus on anything but your throbbing pussy.

“Please.” You whisper again, as he yanks his cock out, right in the back of the car, and you reach down, stroking it, his eyes shut as he whimpers, Satoru Gojo whimpers, over you touching his pretty pink tip, swirling that precum.

“Wanna taste you first.” He huffs, kissing down your throat when the car comes to a halt, yanking at your dress, pressing hungry kisses on your breasts.

“What are we… Toru what’re we d-doing, fuck!” You’re whining out when he’s biting at your nipple over your bra, your hands yank on his hair, hips arching, feeling his length on your inner thigh.

“M’gonna-”

“Mr. Gojo, we’re here.” His driver infuriates him now, Satoru leans up, breaths heavy as he’s leaned over you, looking at your already fucked out eyes.

“We almost… we… y-you…” You are stuttering, suddenly so nervous, so overwhelmed. “Is this just you helping me out? Is it-”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Ijichi, I’ll fucking kill you.” He mutters angrily, quieting his driver quickly, as he adjusts himself and then you, and you’re sitting up, blushing as he fixes your panties, fingers covered still in your slick. He sucks them again further making your tummy flutter, tighten, your heart pounding out of your chest. “God you taste yummy, the fuck, how does someone taste this good.”

“You tasted me? Twice!?” He smirks now, easing you to sit, tilting up your chin now.

“Not fully.”

“Fully!? Is this what friends do?”

“Well I sure don’t want you doing this with anyone else.” He glares now, jaw locking, making you gasp.

“What now?”

“No one else can do that to you.” His lips gently kiss yours, you taste yourself on them again, but you shove at him now, glaring.

“What do you even mean, no one else? You think you have some freakish claim on me now?”

“I know you came so hard you soaked my fucking backseats, hmm?” He whispers, you roll your eyes now, eagerly getting out of the car.

“You’re insane, Satoru.”

“You clearly like it.” You scoff, body shaking, legs literally wobbly, you try to ignore them as you stride up to the front of Satoru’s fancy doors, and walk in quickly, as he follows you with long strides, calling your name.

“That was fingering as a friend!?”

“No… it was…” He wants to say it then, you’re literally his fucking wife, even if it’s pretend, he can’t think of anything he wants more than you, to be inside you.

“Almost fucked me as a friend? Satoru, I can't do that.”

“I know, I didn’t… I just…” You’re turning away, if you look into those blue eyes too long you won’t be able to breathe, to exist, every inch of your body dying for more. “You loved it.”

You scowl as he smirks. “You’re a conceited little shit, just like when we met! Swear to god.”

“You’re still shaking.” He says, eyes raking over you, you gasp.

“You know what? Fuck you.”

“If you want to, say the word.” He murmurs, leaning against your doorway, and you roll your eyes.

“No way, I’m going to bed early. Good night.” You shut the door right in his face, sliding down it, head in your hands.

What the heck even was that.

Five weeks of being ‘fake married’ to your best friend, Satoru Gojo

Satoru and you were barely talking this entire week, you’re so furious with his cocky, conceited attitude, and the fact that he’s entirely right. Nothing felt that good, no one felt like just his fingers had, how he found you, how he looked at you. Now for the past week every night you’ve done the one thing you said you wouldn’t do.

Touch yourself to the memory.

You’re rolling your fingers on your clit, whining his name in a breathy whisper the morning of the charity auction, covering your mouth with your free hand as you realize that you’ve done it, that you’ve said his name, all while cumming all over your little fingers, which don’t even come close to his, lengthy and thick, the rough pads of his thumbs.

And you could fuck him, you know you could, but you also know what it will mean, there is no friends after that, kissing alone has made things impossible for you both. And Satoru is doing the most amazing things, you’re so proud of him already, and don’t ever want to lose him. But now he’s in your head, making you absolutely insane with want, with need, with desire.

Now you can’t even think of him without picturing his cheeks hollowing as he sucked your wetness off, picturing his head between your thighs, things you shouldn’t, and it’s like he knows. He smirks at you just so, lazy lidded eyes draping down your frame every morning, every night, making sure to constantly have a hand on you in public.

He was making you lose it, and he knew it.

Your stupid little fingers can’t do shit, in fact they frustrate you more, but it’d be a cold day in hell before you ask him for any help. In fact you realize the game he plays when he walks around in his boxers, when he does push ups in the middle of the living room with one arm, like he’s showing off, smirking when he catches you watching him, in your moments of weakness.

It would be so easy to fall into his bed, but to think of ruining your friendship terrified you, to think of the feelings you know would be unleashed like some fucking flood gate was too much. You never have been able to be casual, you’re not even interested in someone without feelings, and you’re slowly realizing that those feelings when you were younger never went away.

They’re just more intense now, living with him, with this unspoken tension in the air, every breath you take you can practically taste him, every time you watch his fingers slipping around the rim of his cup you remember them in you. As you see the clear bulge in his boxers you remember touching him, remember wanting to taste that precum on his tip.

The worst part is he looks so knowingly at you, so sure you’d probably beg for him, you’re sure many, many women do. But despite knowing Satoru to be a bit of a ladies man, you’ve not seen a single one here since you’ve lived here, not seen him go on a single date. You’re not sure if you could handle it, despite acting so very nonchalant about it.

But you have no claim over him, this was just convenience, every bit of the arrangement. Your new car, no more debt, helping Satoru do what he needed to, you all are a perfect team even with the added tension of your pussy constantly throbbing around said best friend. Surely it wasn’t worth ruining, complicating, just to feel that pleasure he brings.

As you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup, you nervously step out of the room, into Gojo’s spacious foyer, where he’s turned around, a dark blue suit adorning his body like a glove. He hears your heels click on the marble floor below and turns, his lips parting as he studies you.

The red dress hugs every line and curve of your pretty body, the bold shade making your skin pop so pretty, it looks so smooth he aches to caress you, every bit of you. You are biting your lower lip nervously, looking up at him from across the room as you stand there, looking so beautiful his pulse races.

This week has been torture for Satoru, he wants to tell you then, that he feels so much more than he even knows how to convey, that it wasn’t just ‘getting a friend off’ it was such a joke, he can’t even understand how you believe that. He can’t get the sweetness of your pussy off his goddamn mind, he’d do just about anything to taste it again.

He’s even eyed your panties in the hamper. He's so pathetic and desperate for you, but he’s tried to keep some semblance of composure, to act unbothered, so scared to ruin your relationship. He knows how much you sacrificed just coming here, sure he’s helping you, but you uprooted everything, you acted perfect at every function, you stood up for him at every meeting.

You are the perfect wife.

Pretend wife.

Pretend, pretend, pretend.

He keeps repeating it like a mantra in his head, brushing off the moment in the back of the car as maybe you just needed to cum, maybe it was just that for you, but something about how your eyes met his, has him desperately pumping his cock, hearing your soft whimpers at night. He knows you’re touching yourself, he wishes he could see it, watch it, take over.

Instead he’s stuck endlessly jerking it to his best friend/fake wife, ignoring any girl that even texts him because they just aren’t you. They could care less he’s ‘married’ everyone just wants a piece of him, everyone but you. You just are there for him, with him, by his side, you’d have done this for nothing in return. You’re becoming everything to him so fast it’s terrifying.

The magnification of feelings he’s had for you over so many years is overwhelming, being near you, smelling your sweet scent, hearing you hum as you cook with your earbuds in, your nervous habits. How you twirl your hair, how you tilt your head, how you tremble just a bit when he holds you for the cameras, how you sigh sweetly as he kisses you for show.

You can’t fake that, he knows you’re affected too.

But he doesn’t know if it’s what he feels for you.

He’s stammering like a teenager at prom, but prom pales in comparison to seeing you now, how the diamonds glitter off your neck and delicate wrists, how he can picture fucking you with just that on. Your cheeks are decorated with that pretty color as you handle his wordless scrutiny, teeth releasing your lip when he comes closer, he brushes a thumb across the indentations left.

You gasp, eyes shooting up to his, as the electric current of his touch rocks through you. “You always bite it, stop. Gonna hurt it.” He says, voice husky, eyes hungry as he looms over you in the quiet, elegant room.

“Do I always?” You whisper, and he nods, brushing his thumb over it again, as if to soothe it.

“Mmhmm, gonna cut up such pretty lips.” His voice drops another octave as one of your hand grips his wrist, and you ache for him to kiss you, to press you against one of these cream colored walls and pound into you.

Stop that!?

You clear your throat, taking a breath and then plastering on a little smile. “You look handsome tonight, blue is your color.”

“Red is yours, clearly.” He brushes a bit of hair back off your bare shoulders, two fingers gently running down the strap, watching the network of goosebumps spread, your heart is racing at the contact. Your urge to yank him by his skinny black tie and slam his lips to yours tempts you to no end.

“Thank you for this dress, and the jewelry. Stop getting me more.” Your little glare just makes him grin.

“At the auction you can get whatever you want, so you know.”

“No way, it’ll all be overpriced.”

“It’s charity, baby. Hmm, should we practice kissing more?” He asks, and you smack his hand away, glaring as he chuckles.

“We’ve had lots of practice, let’s go.”

You all are arm in arm as the cameras flash so brightly later that night when you both step out of the car, so much so they hurt your head, but you hold onto Gojo’s arm, as he guides you through, grinning and answering every question effortlessly. “Why the shades at night, Mr. Gojo?”

“Your bright ass cameras hurt my pretty baby blues.” He teases with a pout, earning the laughter there.

“And what’s this talk of major changes in the Gojo corporation?” Another reporter asks, Satoru chuckles then.

“Ah, well these old geezers needed some revamping is all. Right, pookie?” He asks you, and you smile up at him, then at the cameras.

“Satoru knows what’s best for the company and his employees, his changes are going to only make everyone more profitable.” Satoru watches you answer their questions left and right, enamored more and more by you.

“Are you trying for a baby, Mrs. Gojo?” Someone asks then, and you heat up at the question, at the image that flashes in your head.

Gojo breeding you.

So vivid you feel like you’re there, him murmuring a ‘let me fill you, sweetheart, have you so full of my babies’ and pumping over you. You almost faint it’s so real, and you have no clue what has come over you. You don’t think like that!? You’ve never done shit like that… you…

“We’re enjoying each other a lot right now, but it’ll happen I’m sure, when we’re ready. We’re a little consumed with each other.” Satoru answers now, breaking through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you look up at him, lips parted, as he completely saves you, you’ve frozen on the spot. “Right sweetheart?”

“Right.” You clear your throat, shaking your head then. “We are very much in love, and enjoying our alone time, but we’d both love a baby.” You say, and you hate how real it is.

He hates how he can picture you now, full mating press, as he fucks one load of cum into your pussy, and then another, watching it all pool out. Fuck he’d watch your tummy get so full of him. The thoughts of getting you pregnant make him feral then, he can hardly stand there as he just stares at you, and you at him.

You don’t get your best friend/fake wife pregnant.

Do you?

The auction continues, fancy and expensive items for filthy rich people, Gojo detests it more than even you do, though you’d never know with how he plays the room. You see Mei and Naoya again, laughing about something in this creepy way that makes you shiver. When Gojo is mingling while you're having a seat, you see a pretty brunette girl talking to him closely.

Why does it make you feel so sick to see him, you don’t know. You’ve watched him date, and he’s watched you, but something about living with him, about this enormous glinting rock on your finger really messes with you. His grin glinting under glittering chandeliers of this enormous auction room, another woman coming up, surely he runs in their circles.

You try not to focus on that, it’s not as if you have given Gojo a hint that you want more, and do you? Do you want to cross that line? If something doesn’t work, it’s not a fight between friends, it’s the end of everything, and isn’t having Gojo with you somewhat better than not at all?

“You look like you hate this, huh doll?” You hear then, looking up to see a dark haired man, grinning down at you, he’s handsome in a rugged way, not pretty like Satoru, but something appealing. A scar on his lip as he chuckles, gesturing around you both. “Bunch of rich assholes, huh?”

“Shh!” You giggle though, looking around, nodding.

“Knew it.”

“So what’re you doing here?” You ask quietly, he grimaces, running a hand through inky locks.

“Got a fuckin job to do, what about you?” You gesture to Satoru then, who’s glaring right at you both.

“I’m married to Gojo.”

“Ah shit, I’m too late.” You blush a bit at the attention, Satoru has a girl who’s far too close, whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder, making you sick.

“Hmm.” Is all you manage, looking back up at the man. “What is your name?”

“Toji Zenin. Yeah, I know, the name… but fuck them.”

“You are different.” You murmur softly, tilting your head to the side, he brushes his fingers then across your thigh subtly, your jaw clenches a bit.

“If I was with you I sure wouldn’t be over there with snobby bitches.” He says, and you don’t like it then, the jealousy in your heart as Gojo walks up suddenly, clearing his throat.

“Zenin.” He mutters, and he grins up at Gojo.

“Talking to your wife, Gojo, keeping her company y’know? Shouldn’t leave such a pretty thing so lonely.”

“You’re. In. My. Seat.” Satoru mutters, teeth clenched together, and Toji laughs with ease, taking your hand, planting a kiss on the back of it with a wink.

“See ya around, doll.” He says, patting Gojo on the shoulder, and Satoru wants to rip his fucking arm off then, as he glares down at you, sitting in the seat, but you cross your arms, looking away.

“Did he touch you?” He demands quietly, you frown then.

“He was nice, I mean he-”

“Nice!? Looked like he wanted to eat you.”

“What do you care, looks like they were all over you. Oh look, they miss you, go say hi.” You say, as three girls giggle and point over at Satoru, his blue eyes narrow, leaning over you then, cupping your face with his hand.

“Think I wanted to be bombarded by flirty ass drunk women?”

“I don’t know!”

“Do you care if I do?”

“No! What do you care about me then?” You demand, whispering amongst the loud crowd of auctioneers, as they start lining pieces up for sale.

“Because he… you…” Satoru trails off, mouth opening and closing. “You are my wife right now, you know.”

“Fake wife.” You correct, seeing a vein throb in his temple.

“It doesn’t matter, how does it look when-”

“That’s what you care about, appearances? Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your precious appearance any.” You whisper, as the crowd settles, and a brilliant sapphire necklace is now on display.

“You act like you don’t care at all, I saw you.”

“So what!?”

“So why don’t you just tell me how -”

“Ten thousand, do I hear…”

“Shh.” You scowl at him, as he scowls back at you. “Maybe you should go sit with your girlfriends.”

He laughs softly, without humor. “You’re jealous.”

“Nope, you’ve always been that way. What’s surprising is not having seen a girl at the house.”

“You think I want-”

“Twenty Thousand, going once, going…”

“Want someone more your speed? Sure, I know this is just convenience, I'm not stupid.” You say, he scowls even deeper, his hand suddenly on your thigh in the darkened room, making your heart pound as it squeezes bruisingly.

“I’ll not have anyone touch you.” His words make no sense, they don’t even compute in your brain then.

“What do you care, hmm? If I did. If I was discrete. Remember?” You ask, bitingly and full of shit, and you watch the hurt in his eyes, hating yourself for a moment before his eyes turn insane, dilating until they’re almost black.

“You wanna fuck him, huh?” He demands, you scoff, shaking your head.

“You’re stupid, Satoru.”

“Me stupid!?”

“If you think that I want anyone but…” You pause then, gulping as people are starting to look, hearing your hushed arguments then, and you stand angrily, stomping off until you hit the bathroom, splashing water on your neck, trying to pull yourself together.

You almost said it.

You’ll never want anyone but Satoru, your best friend, and you never have, fuck you probably never will, and it’s terrifying you. When the door shuts and he’s there, chest heaving, you turn away, tears pricking your eyes. “Just go away, fuck it’s the ladies room.”

“You’re mad at me for talking to women at an event?”

“You’re mad at me for talking to someone at an event?”

Yes, fuck yes he’s furious that man got near you.

That maybe you’d want someone else, more than him.

He steps closer, hands on your shoulders now. ““You gonna be mad when I fuck someone in my room, huh?”

You freeze, turning and glaring up at him then. “I hear you jerk off every night, so what’s the difference?”

Satoru looms even closer, you feel his breath hit your lips, making your tummy clench at the thoughts of him. “And I hear you moan as you play with your little clit, ya frustrated your tiny fingers don’t hit?”

“Oh fuck you!” You turn now, shoving at him, chest heaving, but he pulls you to him, pressing you against the bathroom counter, glittering and ridiculously opulent, hands shaking when they’re on your waist.

“You should just ask for help, sounds like you can’t cum.” Satoru whispers, earning a smack on the face that makes him smirk.

“Maybe you should ask me, how many times do you need to jerk off a night, huh Toru?” Satoru’s laughing then, insanity, his cheek decorated with red from your little hand print.

“At least I make myself cum.”

“Fuck you, I’m over this. I’ll take the opposite side of the house, won’t have to hear your moans.”

“Good, won’t hear your pathetic whimpers.”

“Good!”

“Good!” You both stand there, him bent over, barring you with his arms. “Admit it, you’re jealous.”

“Nope, just annoyed with you. Over you, Mr. never has on a fucking shirt!”

“Good, I’m done, Miss walks around in slutty panties!”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, until he’s slamming his lips on yours, and then you’re lifted like you’re nothing, when his tongue slips in your mouth, and you’re clinging to him eagerly, as he sits you on the sink, hungrily shoving up your red dress. “You’re gonna rip it, shit!”

“I’ll buy you twenty more, just shut up.” You go to retort when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, and you’re crying out right in a bathroom, knowing anyone could walk in, only serving to make your cunt dripping wet, when he finds it he moans, pulling back and staring at you. “Why are you so beautiful?”

You can’t speak then, you’re lost in him, in his blue eyes and his pink lips, in his big hands all over you, his whispering words crushing any resolve you try to have. You lose all reason then, as your head falls back as he kisses up your throat, and you’re gushing down his fingers, remembering their shape and feel as they tease your entrance.

“Please, Satoru…”

“Why are you so sweet now, huh? Where’s your attitude?” He murmurs, but you’re arching up, whining as he stares at you so hungry. “Should fuck that attitude out of you.”

“Please…” You whisper again, when Satoru bends down, his head between your thighs, and stares right at your glittering pussy.

“Oh my god, she’s s’fuckin pretty…” He murmurs then, licking a stripe up your slit that has you crying out into your hand, thighs shaking as he groans at finally being able to taste you. “S’yummy mmm…”

“Toru…what’re you-ah!” You’re covering your mouth again as he laps at your cunt, his nose bumping your sensitive clit, and you’re dripping down his face, hand finding purchase in his silken white hair, gripping it.

“Gonna lick this attitude out of you.” He whispers, as your sweet nectar pours down his mouth, his hands spreading your plump lips, fucking you with his tongue then, your head smacks the wall, nearly sobbing it feels so good. “No one’s licked it, have they, baby?” You shake your head. “Good, s’all mine, huh?”

“All… y-you… Toru what are- mnh!” He’s yanking you to him by your hips, devouring you now, unlike anything you’ve ever felt, having you close so fast it’s embarrassing, tongue dancing and delving between your folds, drinking you up loud and wanton in this bathroom.

“F-fuck….” He’s achingly hard now, cock throbbing, tip of his tongue circling your little clit as he spreads you wide, looking at your perfect pretty pussy.

“You’re just… looking at it…” You manage to whisper, and he’s chuckling now, leaning over you, sinking two fingers inside, making your eyes roll back, so sensitive you’re about to cum right then and there. “Imagining it dripping out cum, sweetheart, that’s all.”

Your brain short circuits. “With cum!?”

“Mmm.” He’s not using words anymore, not when he’s picking you up, planting your heeled feet back on the bathroom floor, turning you to face the mirror. He’s lifting that dress up higher and bending down, pressing against you, finally he’s lost it, so drunk off your pussy, he can’t take it anymore.

“Satoru, you’re insane, what are you…”His cock springs out, heavy and aching with need, as he bends you over, one hand on his cock, the other, wrapping your pretty little throat, as your eyes catch his in the mirror, glassy and dilated.

“Next time he or anyone talks to you, it’ll be with my cum dripping out of your pretty little pussy.”

Final Part

Taglist: @plaggi @baepsays @victoria1676 @flwerie @luringfantasy @moncher-ire @allonyyourmom @kindablackenedsuperhero @evelynxxo @jkslaugh97 @sugurusfavemonkey @ninikrumbs @s4ikooo1 @bunheadusa @twinkling-moonlillie @chameleonsoul111 @nina-from-317 @naammiii @whippedbyikemen @alygator77 @uarmyhopeworldwide @1satoruu @theclassbookworm @jud3thedude @isleqt @mcromer2999-blog @silvarys @orikixx @jiejies-corner-store @assbutt-inlove-with-koreans @lordbugs @ari-sa @blue-musingss @minaa-06 @uhnosav @cvixmei @seeiin @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @gojosukuna2268 @4acoffee @whoreapika @arabellasolstice

Rest in the reblog <3

[yinemw]

𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫

context: doing your bf Katsuki’s eyeliner (gender neutral reader)

warnings: none

character: Katsuki Bakugou from MHA

m.list

“Can I help you?” You ask, standing in front of the mirror, watching the blonde from the reflection. His arms crossed over his chest, as usual, and a frown visible between his brows.

“Your eyes look nice” he compliments, something that had gotten more and more common the longer you had gone out with him. Usually they were followed by an insult right after, but not this time.

“Want me to do yours too?” You wave the eyeliner in your hand, hoping your excitement could rub off on him as well and he wouldn’t just roll his eyes and leave. “I’ve done it on others before so if you’re worried I’ll mess up, don’t be”

“Oh yeah?” He quirks up an eyebrow, taking the liner from your fingers and opening the cap to inspect it closer. Going as far as smelling it. “Who’s eyeliner have you done before?”

“Oh you know” you take a step closer, hands behind your back and innocently looking up at him. “Just Momo, Mina, Tsuyu” you pause, trying to hide your smirk. “Izuku and Denki”

“Hah?” His eyes grow wider, fingers grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him to his bed. Swearing and mumbling under his breath of how you should have done it on him first if you wanted to experiment, not two losers like them. Mentioning Izuku worked like a charm every, single, time.

Giggling, you sit down on his lap, feeling the muscles in his thighs flex a little under your weight. You brush some of his soft hairs away from his forehead and use a hair clip to keep them in place. His back was comfortably resting against the headboard, letting you do whatever you wanted to him. He loved moments like this, just the two of you enjoying each others company and not having to do anything special. He could lower his guard and relax for once. Your touch always seemed to calm him down as well, so having you secured in his arms only made his heart flutter more.

“Do you wanna try anything special?” Your voice brought him back to reality, blinking a few times to register what you had just asked him.

“Do whatever you want”

Humming to yourself, you tell him to close his eyes. But before you started your work, you took a couple of seconds just to admire his face. His soft cheeks you always loved to poke whenever his mouth was stuffed with food after a long day of hero work, his slightly chapped lips that always pressed against your forehead before drifting off to sleep, the tip of his nose that was always the victim to your quick kisses he said he hates (obviously a lie).

“You gonna do something or what?!” He blurted out, tired of the waiting. Squeezing your thigh to try and get your attention.

“So impatient” you mumble, placing one hand on his jaw to keep him in place as the other started to work on his left eye. Doing gentle strokes on his eyelid and under his eyes with the tip of the pencil. “Stop moving your eye”

“You’re the one touching it! I can’t do anything about it!” He immediately hissed back, eyebrows furrowed and only making the muscles in his face move more and almost mess up the liner.

You move your hand from his jaw over to his mouth, “just, shhh, I need to concentrate”

Easier said then done, because the next few minutes Katsuki made it impossible. Biting and licking your palm, squeezing your thighs out of the blue that made you jump, saying stupid things like ‘I’m going to sneeze’. He of course thought it was hilarious, didn’t need to see your face to know you had a frown he always found adorable.

“I’m hungry—”

“Kats!” You yell for the tenth time, letting out an annoyed sigh as the eyeliner was put on the bedside table. “I’m done, though it’s definitely some of my worst work” you say as Katsuki opens his eyes again, taking out his phone and using the camera as a mirror.

“Not half bad, but why’s one eye smeared?”

You don’t even say anything, just staring at him with a deadpan expression. Arms folded over your chest as your right eye twitches.

“Quit starin’ at me like that! You’re the one who poked my eyes—”

“Kacchan! Oh, Y/n you’re here too” Izuku opens the door to the dorm room, catching both of you off guard.

“Deku what did I tell you about not knocking?!” One second you’re on Katsuki’s lap, the next you’re thrown on the bed as the mentioned man stands up and walks angrily over to Izuku.

“I’m sorry, I- Kacchan, are you wearing eyeliner?” The green haired boys eyes widen, looking over Katsuki’s shoulder at you “Y/n I’ve always wanted to try some makeup to see if it would suit me, could you do my eyeliner too?” Izuku asks innocently, not realizing why all chaos broke lose after his request.

“You little minx! You told me you had done his eyeliner!” All of Katsuki’s attention was now focused on you, turning on his heel and taking slow steps to the bed. “Now I have this stupid shit all over my eyes for no reason! Get back here! Running is useless!”

You were already out of the room, running past Izuku as fast as you could. Katsuki’s shouting and your giggles filling the UA dorms.

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 9

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.3k

warning: language

heyheyheyyyyy here's chap 9 !!! once again its not edited so there may be some errors so pls dismiss them 😭 but other than that i hope u guys enjoy this chapter !🫶🏽 ty for being patient and lmk what u think !!

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azzi stepped into her dorm room, the quiet click of the door behind her grounding her again. She slipped off her shoes, set her bag down, and pulled out her phone.

Azzi: hey i made it back :)

It only took a few seconds before the reply lit up her screen.

Paige: good good

Paige: whens our next session ? 👀

Azzi smiled, thumbs tapping without much thought.

Azzi: 3 pm at the library good for u?

Paige: yep perfect

Paige: cant wait. goodnight az 💗

Azzi’s cheeks warmed.

Azzi: goodnight p 💗

She set her phone down, heart still doing little backflips, and reached into the front pocket of her bag. Her fingers closed around the 2 polaroids.

1 of Paige, mid-game and the other of them cheesing together.

Azzi crossed the room to the combo board that hung above her desk. Without thinking, she grabbed 2 push pins and pinned the polaroids neatly on the cork side of the board, side by side.

She stood there fora moment, arms loosely crossed over her chest, eyes fixed on the photos. A gentle warmth spread through her.

Her lips curved into a small, hopeful smile as she whispered softly, almost breathless,

“Please let this be real…”

—--------------------------------------

It was now just after 8 am when Paige stepped in through the side door of the facility, jacket half-zipped, airpods in, and hair slightly frizzed from rushing across campus. She was early, but only by a few minutes. Not that it mattered.

Before she could take 2 full steps toward her locker, KK and Ice appeared out of nowhere, cutting her off like they had been waiting for this moment all morning.

“Long night, Bueckers ?” Ice asked, grinning way too wide.

Paige groaned, tugging an airpod out. “You two are relentless.”

KK bumped her shoulder. “Cmon. We gave you gold last night. Eye contact. Laugh at her jokes. Casual touch. Compliments. Look at her lips. The basics. Don’t leave us hanging. Did you use any of them ?”

Paige side-eyed them, but her expression gave her away before she even opened her mouth.

“…all of them,” she mumbled.

Ice nearly choked. “All ?”

KK grabbed her arm like they’d won a bet. “You did every single one ? P you can’t just run the full playbook and not give us a highlight reel.”

Paige leaned against the locker wall, dropping her bag with a soft thud. “It was jus easy with her. I didn’t have to think about it too much. It was fun.”

That earned a knowing look from both of them.

Ice tilted her head. “So howd it go ?”

Paige hesitated. A little smile crept in. “Good. Real good.”

KK raised both brows. “What typa good we talking ?”

“The ‘I kinda didn’t want her to leave’ good.”

They stared at her, mouths opening a little, but before either could tease her again, Caroline and Aubrey walked in, water bottles in hand, catching the end of the convo.

“Did we just hear that right ?” Caroline asked, walking up and grinning. “Paige didn’t want her to leave ? ‘Her’ as in the one and only Azzi Fudd ?”

Paige groaned, dragging the hood of her jacket over her face for a second. “Why does everyone have such good timing ?”

Aubrey grinned. “Because watching you spiral is my favourite form of entertainment.”

Caroline leaned against the locker next to hers, raising an eyebrow. “So what did happen ?”

“Nothing dramatic,” Paige said, lowering her voice a bit. “We just studied. Talked. Hung out. That’s it.”

“But you liked it,” Aubrey pointed out.

Paige nodded slowly. “Yea. I like how she is with me. She doesn’t treat me like I’m the Paige Bueckers—some big deal or whatever. With her, I just feel like… me. And I don’t think I realized how rare that was until last night.”

That quieted the group for a beat.

Caroline smiled, soft and knowing. “That’s kinda sweet, not gonna lie.”

KK nudged her. “Told you she was gone.”

Aubrey nodded. “It’s been obvious for a min.”

Paige just shook her head with a small, helpless laugh.

Caroline reached into her bag, pulling out a few loose pages. “Well, I’m dropping these notes off to Azzi after practice. She let me borrow them. You want me to say anything for ya?”

Paige flushed a little. “Nono, it’s fine. I’ll see her later anyway.”

KK perked up. “Wait—when’s your next session?”

“Today,” Paige said, checking her phone. “around 3.”

Ice clapped once. “She’s not wasting time.”

Paige couldn’t stop smiling. The teasing didn’t bother her today. Not when it all felt kind of good. Kind of easy. Kind of like something real was starting.

She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and grabbed her shoes from the bottom of her bag, already counting down the hours until she’d see Azzi again.

—--------------------------------------

Practice had ended. The gym was half-empty now, just a few balls bouncing and sneakers squeaking as some of the girls wrapped up their drills or lingered in conversations. Paige had already slipped out with Ice and KK to head to their dorm.

Meanwhile, Caroline spped walked across campus, cutting through the wind until she reached Azzi’s dorm. Her bag thudded lightly against her back as she climbed the stairs, then knocked once on Azzi’s door before nudging it open.

Azzi looked up from her desk, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway to her elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear. Her head tilted in surprise. “Oh hey. Didn’t expect you.”

Caroline girnned, holding up a few papers. “Returning what’s rightfully yours. Thanks for the notes. I owe you one.”

Azzi stood and took them, giving a warm smile. “No worries Carol.”

Caroline’s eyes wandered for a second as she walked in a little further and then landed on the polaroids pinned neatly on Azzi’s board. She blinked, stepping closer. “Woahhhh wait. Hold up…”

Azzi followed her gaze. “What ?”

Caroline leaned in, pointing. “Are these from last night ?”

Azzi’s ears immediately flushed pink. “Oh yea. We kinda messed around with my camera for a bit.”

Caroline turned, brows raised like she was seeing a plot twist in real time. “Paige didn’t say anything about polaroids at practice today !”

Azzi furrowed her brow. “Huh ? What do you mean ?”

“We were talking about last night. She got all flustered.” Caroline said, laughing. “It was actually kinda adorable.”

Azzi bit her lip to hide a smile. “She was ?”

“Yep.” Caroline pointed back at the photos. “I mean—look at tehse. You guys lowkey look like a couple.”

Azzi laughed softly under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “Funny. That’s… actually what she said.”

Caroline froze. “Shut up. For real ?”

Azzi nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yea. We were looking at one of them, and she kinda said it without thinking. I think she was surprised I didn’t freak out.”

Caroline sat herself on the edge of Azzi’s bed, pulling her legs up. “Ok, and how did you feel about it ?”

Azzi hesitated. Her eyes dropped to the desk, then back to the photos. “Honestly ? I liked it. Last night was… different. But in a really good way. I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that with someone. Not this soon. Not with her.”

Caroline’s expression softened. “You like her, right ?”

Azzi’s voice dropped. “Yea. I really do. I just didn’t plan for any of this. But she’s just… Paige. And when it’s just the two of us, she’s so real. Funny. Thoughtful. She doesn’t hide anything from me.”

“You don’t need to plan this kind of stuff,” Caroline said gently. “You’re already doing it. And for what it’s worth ? Paige likes you. A lot.”

Azzi’s brows lifted, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “She said that?”

“Not in so many words,” Caroline grinned. “But trust me. She was practically glowing this morning. She talked about how easy it felt. That you made her feel like herself. That’s big for Paige.”

Azzi exhaled, heart tightening in that warm, nervous way. “I don’t even know what to do next.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Caroline said simply. “Just keep being you. Let it happen naturally. You guys already have something good. When the time’s right, it’ll grow into whatever it’s meant to be.”

Azzi nodded, quietly taking that in. Her eyes flicked again to the polaroids.

She smiled, almost shyly. “Yea. Ok.”

And for the first time in a long time, that thought didn’t scare her either.

—--------------------------------------

Caroline had left a while ago.

Azzi hadn’t moved much since. She just sat quietly on the edge of her bed, her eyes drifting every so often to the board and those polaroids. The room felt still, like it was holding space for something she wasn’t ready to name out loud yet.

She replayed Caroline’s words in her head again and again.

She likes you. A lot.

Just keep being you.

Let it happen naturally.

Azzi’s lips curved into a soft smile as she pulled her knees in and rested her chin on them. When her phone buzzed, she glanced at the screen and the name that appeared made something in her chest ease, like a little calm she hadn’t known she’d needed.

Paige: heyyyy az

Paige: im bored asf

Azzi bit back a grin and shifted, stretching out her legs before replying.

Azzi: hi bored asf

Azzi: im azzi

Paige: bro 😑

Paige: dont start

Paige: that was the worst dad joke ive ever walked into

Azzi: u literally walked into it

Azzi: i js opened the door

Paige: nah u held the door open nd smiled like a menace😔

Azzi chuckled softly, typing slower this time.

Azzi: maybe i js like seeing you flustered 🙃

There was a pause. She stared at her phone, suddenly second-guessing. Then:

Paige: …ok wait

Paige: that was lwk flirty 

Paige: r u flirting w me right now ??😏

Azzi: i mean

Azzi: if i was, would u flirt back ?

Another pause. Then:

Paige: hmmmmmm depends

Paige: how good are u at it ???

Azzi: guess u will have to find out ;)

Azzi stared at the screen, heart racing. She hadn’t even meant to say that—it just came out. But she didn’t want to take it back either. Paige’s response came a moment later.

Paige: damn ok smooth az 😮‍💨

Paige: i see u

Paige: ngl that kinda caught me off guard BAHSHHASHAHSHA

Paige: but like in a good way obv

Azzi smiled, nervous but warm. She adjusted her hoodie sleeves and sat up straighter.

Azzi: soooooooo

Azzi: i was actually gonna ask

Azzi: would u be cool if we did our session at my dorm instead of the library tdy ?

Paige: yea fs

Paige: honestly the library lighting gives me a headache

Azzi: same

Azzi: also if u r not doing anything right now u could come early

Azzi: we dont have to study right away… js hang out for a bit ?

Paige: wait fr ?

Azzi: yea

Azzi: unless u r busy being bored somewhere else

Paige: im at kk and ice’s dorm and they deadass just fell asleep mid movie

Paige: ive been laying here staring at the ceiling like a dumbass waiting for someone to save me

Azzi: welp ure in luck

Azzi: im starting to get impatient 🙄

Paige: omw now

Paige: dont do anything interesting without me

Azzi: got it

Azzi: saving all the excitement for the person arriving in aprox 10 mins

Paige: u better not be too boring by then

Paige: im sacrificing a potential prime nap time here

Azzi: no pressure or anything

Paige: ok maybe a lil pressure

Paige: but dw u will survive

Azzi covered her face with one hand, trying not to bounce her legs like a kid. She failed.

Azzi: im leaving mu door unlocked so hurry up

Azzi: or i will have to start entertaining myself again

Paige: okok 

Paige: see u soon 

—--------------------------------------

There was a soft knock, followed by the familiar creak of the door easing open.

Azzi looked up just in time to see Paige poke her head in, hair slightly tousled, jacket hanging halfway off one shoulder, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Permission to enter this fine establishment ?”

Azzi raised a brow, deadpan. “You’re already inside.”

Paige stepped all the way in, letting the door close behind her. “Just trying to be polite, sheesh.”

Azzi smiled, standing up from the bed. “Well, now that you’re here…”

Before Paige could respond, she caught a glimpse of the board in front of Azzi’s desk and her feet paused mid-step.

The polaroids from last night.

Azzi hadn’t scattered them randomly. They were pinned with care, just above where her textbooks sat.

Paige’s lips tugged into a smile. She looked down, cheeks warming. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

Azzi had already crossed to her mini freezer, pulled something out, and tossed it lightly in Paige’s direction. “Catch.”

Paige fumbled, nearly dropping it. When she looked down at what she was holding, her eyes lit up.

“Bro, is this—” she gasped, clutching the bag like it was a rare artifact. “You got tru fru again ?”

Azzi grinned. “I had a feeling you’d need a bribe.”

“I’d die for you,” Paige said. She immediately launched herself into a dramatic hug, arms tight around Azzi. “Like actually. You don’t understand. This saved my whole day.”

Azzi stumbled slightly, laughing as she hugged her back and tried not to get crushed. “It’s literally just frozen fruit. Relax.”

“No,” Paige said firmly, still swaying them side to side. “It’s love. It’s loyalty. It’s treasure.”

Azzi snorted. “You are so dramatic.”

“Correct,” Paige said, totally unashamed, letting go of Azzi before flopping onto the edge of her bed like she owned it. She popped a piece of tru fru in her mouth and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna chill here ? We could start the ‘session’ anytime,” she added with air quotes and a mischievous grin.

Azzi rolled her eyes and gave her a light slap on the arm, laughing. “Keep it classy, Paige.”

Paige just smirked. “Never been classy a day in my life.”

She leaned back, completely at home, and Azzi sat down beside her, their shoulders brushing. After a beat, Paige casually draped an arm around Azzi’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Azzi blinked, surprised for half a second then quietly leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder.

The moment settled between them, soft and unspoken. Paige tilted her head slightly, letting her cheek rest on top of Azzi’s head. Azzi pulled out her phone and opened tiktok without a word, scrolling slowly.

They stayed like that, tucked into each other with Paige putting pieces of tru fru in her mouth, Azzi pretending not to notice when she laughed too loud at dumv videos. Neither of them said anything about how fast their hearts were racing because they didn’t need to.

Azzi kept scrolling until she stopped on a video that made her laugh under her breath. “Ok, wait. This one’s perfect.”

Paige peeked at the screen, still munching on tru fru. “What is it ?”

“It’s this pronunciation challenge filter thingy,” Azzi said, tilting the phone toward her. On-screen, a couple was taking turns trying to pronounce words, failing miserably. “I wanna see you do it.”

Paige squinted. “You just wanna laugh at me aye”

“Yes,” Azzi said shamelessly. “absolutely.”

Paige rolled her eyes but grinned. “Fine. If I perish, scatter the flashcards around me like rose petals.”

Azzi leaned the phone back toward her and hit record.

anthropomorphism

Paige blinked. “Anthra—anthro—morphi—shit—”

Azzi was already giggling.

“Anthro…pomoroph…ism. Ism ? Fuck. Anthro-pomo-riff—this is not a word.”

Azzi wheezed. “That’s not even close.”

“Ok, your turn nerd. Let’s see it.”

Azzi smirked and cleared her throat. “Anthropomorphism.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. “Bruh, ok first of all, what the actual hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Azzi said through a smug smile. “I study, remember?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You’re too annoying to be smart. That should be illegal.”

Azzi just laughed as the next word appeared.

otorhinolaryngologist

Paige squinted. “What the actual fuck ? Otto-rhino—larry—goat ?”

Azzi completely lost it, falling sideways into Paige’s chest with laughter. “Larry goat ?!”

“Tell me that’s not what it says !” Paige protested. “Otto-rhino-lary-go—NOPE. Nope. I’m out. This is fake.”

Azzi pulled herself upright, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Otorhinolaryngologist,” she said effortlessly.

“I hate you,” Paige muttered, taking another tru fru like she deserved it.

Azzi rested her head back on Paige’s shoulder, still chuckling. “You’re trying your best.”

“My best peaked in high school,” Paige said solemnly. “Now I survive on muscle memory and personality alone.”

synecdoche

Paige read it aloud. “Sin-uh…sid-nuh…sick-nuh…nah. No.”

Azzi started shaking from laughing so hard.

“Cyn-eh…dookie ?” Paige tried.

Azzi doubled over. “I’m never recovering from that. Cyn-e-dookie ?!”

Paige groaned. “Ok, what the hell is that word even for ? Who says that ?”

Azzi leaned heavier against her, calming down enough to say, “It’s pronounced synecdoche.”

“Bruh, that’s not how it’s spelled.”

“English is chaos,” Azzi laughed as the next word popped up from behind.

floccinaucinihilipilification

Paige stared at the screen. “You’re fucking with me.”

Azzi burst out laughing before Paige even tried.

“Flock-sin-nock-silly-nilly…fuckification,” Paige said, dead serious.

Azzi let out a laugh. “That was so wrong.”

Paige collapsed back onto the bed. “You know what, I’m done. I quit life.”

Azzi wiped her eyes. “You sounded like you were casting a spell.”

“I was,” Paige said. “Trying to summon dignity. It didn’t work.”

They were still tucked into each other, laughter slowly giving way to grins and lingering looks. Azzi was glowing, cheeks pink from laughing, eyes bright. Paige watched her quietly for a second, then leaned her cheek more firmly against the top of Azzi’s head.

“I can’t pronounce a single word on earth,” she murmured. “But at least I make you laugh.”

Azzi smiled without looking up. “Yea. That’s my favorite part.”

—--------------------------------------

Their laughter eventually faded into soft giggles and breathless sighs, the kind that left their cheeks aching in the best way. 

There was a moment where they didn’t speak. Just shared air and that subtle electricity that always seemed to crackle in the quiet between them. Paige shifted onto her side with a sigh, cheek resting against the soft blanket. Her fingers brushed Azzi’s knee without really thinking.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

Azzi glanced down, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yea ?”

“You ever think about… like, what kind of person you’d actually want to end up with ?” Paige asked, voice casual in that forced kind of way.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “Hmmmmm” She stretched out her legs and shifted slightly, pressing the side of her phone to turn off. “Yea. Sometimes.”

Her eyes flicked up to Azzi’s. “What kind of person is that ?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She looked thoughtful, lips pursed slightly, gaze drifting up toward the ceiling.

“I guess…” She drew in a soft breath. “Someone who’s honest. Not just, like, truth-telling honest. But the kind of honest where they know who they are. Or at least want to. Someone who’s real, even when it’s messy.”

Paige was quiet, eyes soft as she watched her.

Azzi smiled faintly, a little embarrassed. “I don’t really care if they’re loud or quiet or funny or shy. Just… someone who shows up. Who stays even when things aren’t perfect.”

“That’s pre rare,” Paige said, her voice quieter now.

“Yea,” Azzi agreed. “But I think that’s kind of the point.”

Paige shifted again, carefully until her head was resting on Azzi’s thigh. She didn’t say anything about it, and Azzi didn’t either. She just adjusted a little, curling her fingers absently into Paige’s hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What about you ?” Azzi asked eventually, her voice low, almost hesitant. “What kind of person do you look for ?”

Paige closed her eyes for a beat, not because she was tired but because the question felt heavier when it came from Azzi.

“I used to think I had a type,” she said. “Like… people who were cool, confident, maybe a little bold. People who didn’t hesitate.”

Azzi hummed, fingers threading gently through blonde strands.

“But now I think I just want someone who makes me feel safe. Like I can be the loudest version of myself or the quietest, and they’d still get me. Someone I can be stupid around without feeling stupid. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m always supposed to be this… thing.”

Azzi’s hand slowed for a second, but she didn’t stop.

Paige gave a small shrug against her leg. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Azzi said softly. “A lot.”

There was another pause.

Paige’s voice turned playful again, trying to lighten the mood. “Ok, well. What are your red flags ? Gimme the deets.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “Alright. Ummmmmm… people who lie just to avoid hard stuff. Or people who pretend to care but actually just want something from you. That thing where someone’s really charming but mean to strangers? That’s a no.”

Azzi glanced down at her. “What about you ?”

“People who want me for what I do, not who I am,” Paige said immediately. “Or people who make me feel like I have to tone it down just to be liked. Like I have to shrink.”

Azzi nodded, her touch soft. “Yea.”

“And people who act like love means ownership,” Paige said after a moment, her voice quieter. “Like you stop being your own person just because someone’s with you. I can’t stand that.”

Azzi’s fingers slowed again, brushing more gently through Paige’s hair. “Yea… like love should never make you feel caged.”

Paige gave a small nod, eyes still on the ceiling. “Exactly. I wanna feel chosen. Not claimed.”

Azzi was quiet for a beat, her fingertips still moving, a little more careful now. “Chosen,” she echoed softly. “That’s a good word for it.”

Another beat passed. Paige let out a long sigh, sinking a little deeper into the softness beneath her. “Ok, green flags. Go.”

Azzi smiled. “Patience. I think that’s underrated. People who actually listen. People who aren’t trying to win the conversation, just be in it. You ?”

Paige smiled to herself, eyes still closed. “People who laugh with you, not at you.”

Azzi hummed in agreement. “People who make you feel lighter just by being there.”

Paige reached up to nudge Azzi’s wrist gently with her fingers. “You’re good at this.”

Azzi smiled down at her. “So are you.”

A comfortable silence followed, stretching long and unbothered.

After a while, Azzi asked quietly, “You ever… fall for someone you never thought you would ?”

Paige’s heart skipped. She opened her eyes slowly, gaze fixed on the far wall.

“Like… someone who wasn’t on the radar at all,” Azzi added, playing it off like a passing curiosity. “But they just… I guess sneak in.”

Paige swallowed.

“Yea,” she said, voice steady even if the rest of her wasn’t. “Yea, I think that happens more than people admit.”

Azzi nodded, not saying anything else. Her fingers traced through Paige’s hair, gentle and rhythmic, like she was soothing herself just as much as she was Paige.

Eventually, the quiet settled into something warm, and Paige gave a small, reluctant sigh.

“We should probably start the sesh,” she mumbled, though she made no move to get up.

Azzi chuckled. “Yea… probably.”

Another beat passed before Paige finally sat up, slow and a little stiff from lying there so long. She rubbed at her eyes, then glanced over at Azzi with a crooked smile.

“Ok. Desk time. Let’s go.”

Azzi stretched her arms overhead, then slid off the bed, already heading toward her desk. 

Paige grabbed her notebook and laptop from her bag and followed, dragging her chair over so it was close beside Azzi’s. They both settled in, side by side, shoulders almost brushing.

They opened their laptops, flipped through notes, and began to work—quiet, focused, and still somehow wrapped up in the feeling of before.

—--------------------------------------

Hours later, the glow of Azzi’s desk lamp cast shadows across their notes, now messy with scribbles and highlighter smudges. 

Azzi leaned back in her chair, stretching until her spine cracked with a satisfying pop. “Alright, that’s probably enough brainwork for the day,” she said, closing her laptop with a soft thud. “You’ve officially survived another session.”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall dramatically onto her notebook. “Barely. I deserve a trophy or something.”

Azzi laughed, nudging Paige’s arm. “Hey… you hungry ?”

Paige blinked up at her. “Starving.”

Azzi stood and padded over to her phone. “Wanna stay for dinner? I was just gonna order pizza and, like… hot chips or something.”

Paige sat up straighter, grinning. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

Azzi opened the food app, but before she could tap anything, Paige slid over and gently nudged her arm. “Wait—my treat. You’ve been tutoring me for hours.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Paige—”

“Nope,” Paige said firmly, already pulling out her phone. “Let me do it.”

Azzi gave her a soft look, then relented with a quiet smile. “Alright. If you insist.”

“Already done,” Paige said, grinning as she hit the order button on her phone as she wandered toward the kitchen counter, still smiling to herself. She heard Azzi step in beside her, casually pulling open a cabinet.

“So,” Azzi said, with a mischievous look in her eye, “wanna bake cookies while we wait ?”

Paige’s head snapped toward her. “Seriously ?”

Azzi grinned. “Seriously. I’ve got chocolate chips and everything.”

Paige clapped once. “God, yes. This is like, elite night-in behaviour.”

What followed was pure, unfiltered chaos.

Flour dusted the counter and somehow Paige’s shirt, chocolate chips ended up in their mouths more than the bowl, and they kept bumping into each other in the cramped kitchen. Paige tried to crack an egg one-handed and got the shell everywhere. Azzi nearly dropped the hand mixer. They dissolved into laughter more than once, leaning into each other like it was second nature.

At one point, Azzi ducked back into her room and returned holding her polaroid camera. She set it on the counter beside the mixing bowl. “In case you wanna capture the mess,” she said with a shrug, a little smile curling at her lips. “Go for it.”

Paige didn’t need more encouragement.

She started snapping shots—Azzi mid-sentence with flour on her cheek, another one of her reaching for a spoon with a concentrated frown. Azzi retaliated by taking one of Paige making a face while licking batter off her finger.

“Hold still,” Azzi said through a laugh, snapping a shot of Paige trying to balance a chocolate chip on her nose.

They posed and giggled and got nothing done efficiently, but it was perfect.

Eventually, the tray of cookie dough went into the oven. Azzi set a timer and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Right then, the door buzzed.

They set up plates and pulled open the greasy box, grabbing slices and munching between easy conversation and checking on the cookies every few minutes. 

Once the timer went off, they ran to the oven.

Azzi carefully pulled out the tray, a wave of warm, sugary smell filling the kitchen.

Paige raised Azzi's camera. “Don’t move.”

Azzi looked up, surprised, just as Paige snapped a photo—Azzi smiling softly, tray in her hands, dimples deep and eyes glowing in the oven light.

“I’m keeping this one,” Paige said, holding up the developing photo with a grin.

Azzi blushed instantly, eyes flicking away. “You’re such a sap.”

“And yet,” Paige said, “you love it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly and handed off the tray. “Alright, my turn. Get over there.”

Paige posed the same way, holding the warm tray, hair slightly messy, her smile big.

Azzi took the photo and looked at it as it developed. “I’m keeping this one.”

Paige tilted her head. “Yea ?”

Azzi smiled, just a little. “Yea.”

They stood there for a second, quiet and warm in the soft light.

Then Azzi held up the camera again. “Okok. One together.”

Paige’s face lit up. She grabbed 2 cookies from the tray and popped 1 halfway into her mouth. Before Azzi could react, Paige leaned in and held the other cookie up to Azzi’s mouth like she was feeding her.

Azzi blinked, surprised, then grinned and took a bite as she pressed the button.

Click.

The flash went off, catching both of them laughing closely with the cookies in their mouth.

They looked at each other after, still smiling.

—--------------------------------------

The hours slipped by unnoticed.

Now the sky outside was dark. Inside, the kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft clink of plates being set aside and the occasional crunch of a chip being stolen from the half-empty box between them.

Azzi and Paige had migrated to the couch—Azzi first, flopping sideways with a sigh, and Paige soon after, carrying the wire rack of cookies like treasure and dropping beside her.

The pizza box sat open on the table, 2 untouched slices left, the rest devoured. The cookies were cooling now, golden and cracked just right on top, their smell still warm in the air. The camera sat beside them, a handful of photos scattered like little frozen memories. Paige glanced at them occasionally, unable to stop smiling.

Azzi’s feet were tucked under her, a throw blanket crumpled around her hips. Paige had taken one of the couch cushions hostage, hugging it to her chest, shoulder nearly brushing Azzi’s. The soft lamplight behind them painted everything gold and slow and safe.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Just sat there, full and relaxed, letting the quiet settle around them like a shared breath.

Then Azzi broke it, her voice soft. “This was fun.”

Paige looked over. “Yea. Like… surprisingly fun. You know, for a tutoring session turned flour explosion.”

Azzi smiled to herself, staring at the wire rack. “I don’t usually do stuff like this with people.”

That made Paige pause. “Like baking ?”

“Like… all of it,” Azzi said, a little quieter. “Letting someone in. Being goofy. Relaxing. I don’t know. I just… don’t usually feel like I can.”

Paige let her head fall back against the couch. “Yea. I get that.”

She didn’t elaborate right away. She didn’t need to. Azzi turned slightly toward her, knees drawing up a little.

“I guess,” Paige continued, after a second, “people always expect me to be a certain way. Like I’m supposed to always have it together. Be chill. Be… unbothered, or whatever. Even when I’m completely the opposite.” She huffed a breath. “It’s exhausting.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I know what that’s like. Except for me, it’s not about being chill. It’s more like… people see me as the ‘smart girl’ or whatever. The student-tutor. The reliable one. Always thinking. Always calm. And I am, most of the time. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get overwhelmed. Or lonely.”

That word—lonely—hung in the air between them.

Paige blinked at it, quiet.

“…Me too,” she admitted.

Azzi didn’t look surprised. Just sad in a quiet, understanding way. She shifted, angling her body more toward Paige, their knees almost touching now.

“I think that’s why I like being around you,” Azzi said after a moment. “It doesn’t feel like I have to be anything. I can just… exist.”

Paige turned her head, eyes meeting hers. “Yea,” she said, voice soft. “Same. With you, I don’t feel like I have to perform. Or make everything a joke. You make me feel—” She cut off, pressing her lips together, trying to get the next part right. “You make me feel like I’m enough. Even when I’m kind of a mess.”

Azzi’s face softened, her expression unreadable for a second. “You are enough, Paige.”

The words landed somewhere deep.

Paige exhaled slowly. Her hand, resting on the couch cushion between them, was close to Azzi’s. Their pinkies were a breath apart. Paige glanced down.

And then, without really thinking she let her pinky shift.

It brushed against Azzi’s. Barely.

Azzi stilled.

Neither of them moved. Just that single point of contact, impossibly light. Almost shy.

Then Paige curled her pinky around Azzi’s. Gently. A hook. A question.

Azzi didn’t pull away.

Instead, she let her pinky curl back, a subtle mirror. A yes.

They didn’t look at each other right away. It was like they both knew if they did, something might tip over. Something that neither of them was ready to name.

Instead, Paige stared at their hands. Their pinkies, linked like a secret.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I think you might be my favorite person.”

Azzi looked at her then. Not with surprise. With something warmer. Deeper. A soft exhale. “You’re mine too,” she said, no hesitation.

And that was it.

Just quiet.

Paige let out a quiet breath, her gaze still lingering on their linked pinkies before she shifted it to Azzi’s face. “You know, I really like the way you explain things. Like… with the basketball terms. It makes all the… complicated stuff feel way less scary.”

Azzi’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I figured if I couldn’t make it fun, you’d never survive.”

Paige laughed softly, eyes bright. “No, seriously. You break it down like it’s a game plan—step by step, play by play. Makes it easier for me to follow.”

“That’s the whole point,” Azzi said, her voice warm and steady.

Paige glanced at the clock on the wall and blinked. “Wow. It’s late. I should probably head out in, like, ten mins.” She sat up a little straighter but didn’t pull away; their pinkies were still hooked, small but significant.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to the clock, then back to Paige with a soft, knowing look. “Ten minutes, huh ?”

“Yea,” Paige said with a small smile. “Just enough time to get comfortable before I go.”

Without breaking eye contact, Paige let her hand slide slowly from the couch cushion up to Azzi’s back, fingers brushing lightly beneath the blanket. Azzi’s breath caught softly, and she shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Paige’s waist.

The linked pinkies parted as Paige’s hand traced gentle circles on Azzi’s back. Their bodies pressed closer together, and Paige leaned her cheek against Azzi’s temple, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric.

Azzi’s ears picked up the quickening rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat, thumping steadily against her side.

A small smile played on Azzi’s lips, quiet and unspoken.

Paige felt the subtle curve of Azzi’s smile against her and it made her chest tighten.

Her mind flickered with hesitation, the voice of reason pushing to pull away. But instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, then tilted her head just slightly and pressed a lingering, tender kiss to Azzi’s temple.

Azzi didn’t say anything but just held her a little tighter.

And Paige could feel the soft warmth of her smile, a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the night.

—--------------------------------------

The ten minutes passed too quickly.

Paige didn’t move at first. She stayed curled into Azzi’s side, fingers still tracing gentle paths beneath the blanket. But the clock ticked forward and eventually she sighed, a low, reluctant sound that stirred the silence.

“I should go,” she murmued, though her body made no effort to follow through.

Azzi gave the smallest nod, her arm still looped around Paige’s waist, thumb brushing there absentmindedly. “Yea,” she said quietly. “Ok.”

They both moved slowly, like the moment might disappear if they rushed it. Paige sat up first, her body reluctant to leave the warmth they’d built. Azzi followed, blanket sliding down her lap. Paige reached over the table and picked up 2 polaroids she’d taken earlier—1 of Azzi holding the tray of cookies and another of flour streaked across Azzi's cheek.

Paige stared at them for a beat, her lips twitching into a quiet smile. 

Azzi leaned in to glance at them, her shoulder brushing Paige’s. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look perfect,” Paige said before she could stop herself, then added quickly, “In, like… a photogenic kind of way.”

Azzi’s smile turned shy but pleased, and she ducked her head a little.

They walked to the door together, neither speaking. The hallway light was dimmer, the air cooler, but neither of them noticed much. At the door, Paige turned to face Azzi again, her bag slung over her shoulder, the polaroids tucked safely inside.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said. “I know it was supposed to be mainly tutoring, but… it turned into something better.”

Azzi didn’t respond with words. She just stepped in and wrapped her arms around Paige, slow and certain.

Paige inhaled softly at the contact, then melted into it, arms slipping around Azzi’s waist. 1 hand settled flat on her back, the other rising instinctively to curl around her side. Azzi’s face tucked into the crook of Paige’s neck, and they stood there like that, holding each other, the hug stretching long and full of things neither of them quite knew how to say.

Paige’s fingers brushed gently along Azzi’s spine, slow and reverent. Her cheek pressed against Azzi’s hair. Azzi’s hands found the back of Paige’s neck, fingertips warm and grounding.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Paige dipped her head and kissed Azzi’s temple again.

No hesitation this time. Just a soft, lingering press of lips to skin—familiar now, like a promise.

Azzi’s hands tightened slightly in response, her breath catching just enough to be felt, not heard.

When they finally pulled back, it was slow. Careful. Like neither of them really wanted to.

“Goodnight Az” Paige said, a little breathless, eyes lingering on Azzi’s.

“Goodnight P” Azzi replied, her voice just as quiet.

They were both blushing—neither bothering to hide it. Just standing there, in the soft hush of the hallway, hearts full, cheeks warm, something new and real unfolding between them.

Paige gave one last small smile as she walked out into the hallway.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Stoner!Choso x reader

Cw: smut

My stoner Choso is a loser and I love him like this 🤧

“You look stressed,” Choso says, looking at you as he leaned against his car. “It was a stressful day,” you retorted, leaning against his car right next to him. He gives you a small smile as he takes a hit from the blunt between his fingers. 

You and Choso were friends. Really close friends. That was it. Both of you too scared to even say anything for the sake of your friendship. You were okay with this, he liked hanging out with you and so did you. But sometimes you catch yourself thinking, what would it be like to be more.  To be his. Would your relationship really change? You both already acted so much like a couple. 

The blunt comes slowly down from his lips, he looks over to you and smirks. You knew what he was about to do. “NO” you say suddenly, as he comes closer to blow the smoke in your face. “Ew, Cho. You know I hate that shit,” you remark as you try to waft the smoke out of your face. “I know,” he replies with a deep chuckle with no amount of remorse. “Want a hit?” he quickly asks, holding up the blunt. You think for a good few seconds but, obviously too long for how impatient Choso is because he’s already holding the blunt to your mouth already. “Go,” he encourages you as you begin inhaling. “Woah, woah slow down,” he smirks, removing the blunt from your lips. He watches you attentively as you exhale, studying your face as you glare at him. “I don’t like that,” you say with a small cough. 

He gives you a shit-eating grin before he takes another hit. “Wanna hear music then? Might help you relax,” he looks over to you once again exhaling the smoke. “I guess,” you say as you watch him walk over to the driver's side to turn on the car. He shifts through songs until he finds one he's sure you'd both like. “This good?” he asks as he hops out of the car. As you nod he sticks his hand out to you. “What?” you laugh. “Dance with me,” he requests. You can’t help but think how cute he looks, like a puppy with those big brown eyes begging you. “You’re high,” you scoff, giving him a smile. “No…” he grins again, taking your hands and pulling you closer into him.

You dance together, both of you high out of your minds with clumsy steps. Stepping on his feet more than you’d liked to admit, but you still notice the way he looks at you. His eyes half closed, slightly red, gazing intently at you. Lips slightly chapped and parted, his hair down, head slightly tilted as you feel him leaning in closer and closer into you. Your heart beats faster as you become more conscious of his hands. Wrapped tightly around your waist, almost as if he is afraid you’ll run away from him. 

And before you know it, you're making out with him against his car. Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers threading through his soft brown strands, while his hands gently trace any exposed skin he can find as his other hand holds your thigh up, pulling you closer to him. Kisses growing hotter and more needy, he can’t help but slowly grind into you. Desperate for some type of friction against his hard-on and you gladly meet his sudden movements. Bodies pressed together as they move in a rhythmic motion, unable to stop the urge to get closer to each other. Choso leaves your lips with a small tug. “More… more please,” he buries his head in the crook of your neck. 

Placing small kisses on your neck, you can’t help but give into him. Especially once you’re in his car, windows all fogged up, and his fingers deep inside you. “So pretty f’me” he coos as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. “Does.. does it feel good?” he hesitantly asks. “Yes, yes, so good cho.” As you make his confidence spike with your praise, he turns you over so you're now face to face sitting on him. “Please, can you please ride me?” he begs you, flashing you once again those big brown eyes. And who are you to deny this pretty boy… 

“Fu- fuck… baby,” Choso whines, trying to buck his hips up into you. “Wait, be patient cho,” you line up his cock to your entrance and slowly move down onto him. “So pretty,” Choso gawks at you as his hands come up to your tits. A string of curses escape your mouth as you finally take him all. His hands wrap around you to keep you in place as your back arches. “Can I move inside you now?” he asks, confusion spreading across your face. “I’m supposed to move…” you question. His hands quickly grip at the flesh on your hips. 

“Can’t” thrust “Wait” thrust. 

Choso loses control and continues to thrust into you roughly. Moving his hands to your ass, he lifts you up and down on his cock. Your tits bouncing in his face with every hard thrust. Without a second thought, he leans forward and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. Tongue skillfully swirling around it as he sucks it, still pumping into you relentlessly. He's left you speechless, all you could do was moan at the way he was using you. One of his hands from your ass comes up.

Smack

His hand comes down hard on your ass. He does it a few more times, each slapping leaving a slight red mark on your hot flesh. Still pounding you merciless, he attaches his lips to you once again. “M’so close… so close” he mumbles through the kiss. “Can I cum please?” he groans as you feel his cock twitch inside you. “Fuck, you’re getting so tight,” he whines and you could almost swear you see tears if it wasn’t so damn dark. You finally give him a nod as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. A chant of thank you’s fly out his mouth.

“Thank you.. thank.. you,” he whimpers as he fills you up. His warm cum mixing with your wetness, attempting to drip down your thighs. Both of you panting heavily as he pulls out. Choso’s chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. “Can.. can i taste you?”

Your jaw drops slightly as his sudden request. “You want to eat me out? After how hard you just fucked me?” you ask as you take notice of his little grin. 

Somehow he managed to lay you down… as comfortably as he could and went to town. Burying his face between your legs. His tongue flick up and down, tasting you. Lapping up both your arousal and his own cum. “So.. greedy cho,” you tease him, watching how pussy drunk he’s  getting. “I love.. love.. love so much,” he hums into your cunt, sending vibrations through it. 

“You talking to my pussy or me?” you laugh softly and you tangle your fingers through his hair. “Both..” he mumbles, refusing at all to come up for air. He continues to fuck you with his tongue. Eating you out as if you were his last meal. He notices as you arch your back, quickly picking up the pace because he knew you were so close. “Cum on my face.. please,” he groans. And you do just that. You cream all over his pretty face. “You taste so good,” he whispers, feeling his hot breath on your pussy. He looks down at his work, admiring how fucked out you look. He helps you sit back up, being as gentle as he could be. “Look, we made my windows all foggy,” he smiles as his finger comes up to draw a heart. “You’re so dumb,” you giggle. 

[nereidprinc3ss]

mojave ghost

in which spencer reid spends the night with fem!reader—a total stranger—because she just feels so familiar. based on the song "my life in art" by Mojave 3.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: based on a song about a stripper who runs away from her abusive boyfriend. tws for mentions of physical abuse. r has bruises from pole dancing. a little ooc bc Spencer hooks up with someone he just met but that's the point and if u know him like I do u know its not completely impossible. mentions of typical cm violence/murder. one brief mention of spencer's addiction. spencer's childhood trauma and abandonment. it's kind of just a heavy one, lmk if i'm missing anything a/n: I doooo suggest you listen to the song first just to feel the vibe of the piece and also how it is literally about Spencer Reid. and also bc its gorjus. anyways its been a while and this is not my most standard content but pls lmk what u think and if u liked it <3

He shouldn’t have done it. 

But when he saw you, sitting in a metal folding chair next to some peeling veneered-desk, his breath caught. Something primal deep in his stomach tugged the way it does when he finds little external fragments of himself, calling out to him—usually nonhuman objects. He’s seen himself in books, still warm from the hands that held them but ultimately forgotten on a bench or in the airport, needles in alleys or in between tiles on his bathroom counter, in shards of glass, in a hundred open wounds and dead animals, abstractly gutted on the side of the street. 

When he does see himself in a person, it’s in alarming glimpses. The man in the sleeping bag on the corner who talks to people that aren’t there. The lost child crying on the subway platform, rooted to the spot and still gripping the straps of their little backpack with responsible fists. It’s never anything he wants to know about himself, but this identification, this taxonomy and recognition of sameness—it’s so strong it stops him in his tracks, every time. He never really relates to the people he’s supposed to. Not Hotch. Not Gideon. Not even Maeve, in the way he’d so naively hoped for. Three people, all incredibly intelligent, at times standoffish. Used to being on the outside. All still possessing things and redemptive qualities he doesn’t. And what Spencer has secretly believed about himself for what has recently become a very long time, is that he is defined by his lack. The shape of him is made of negative space. He feels like whatever is in your lungs when you’ve pushed all the air out. 

And then, you. 

Physically, you look nothing alike. And he stops and lurches and does a double take like he’s seen his doppelgänger or been startled by his own reflection in a passing window anyway. Maybe it’s the way you hold yourself—hunched, foot tapping, head hung but still scanning the room, ever vigilant as you pick at your nails. You want to be small. You want to fold in yourself so many times you become a black hole. Spencer knows this. 

Something calls out from deep inside him, from all around him, that is not quite in his voice, but feels like grasping and reaching. 

I know you, I know you. 

He doesn’t catch himself in time before he’s walking toward you like he’s been waiting for you. 

Of course your head snaps up at the same time as he stops, and your eyes are shiny but not teary—frozen over with a layer of thick, dark ice like you’d carried the cold inside with you. You look caught. He searches for some sort of recognition in your eyes, anything to betray the fact that you have met before, because he never forgets a face but he knows what familiarity feels like and he can’t remember meeting you. 

His throat forms around something but the wrong word comes out. Halting, like he’s trying to lasso it and pull it back in. 

“Hi.” 

You pull your scarf down—a deep Roman purple—to reveal a pretty mouth, lips chapped by the unforgiving freeze outside. 

“Hello,” you say, politely, considering his probably strange behavior. He gives you a proprietary scan. Utility coat over a thick grey sweater. Jeans, cuffed at the bottom but still nearly too long, probably belted, although he can’t tell from the posture and the sweater. Brown boots. Your bag is a frayed tapestry of neutrals and patches. Fingerless knit gloves. You’ve given yourself false density, let the clothes swallow you up. Shapeless. Nearly faceless, magnet eyes framed between the scarf and the hat. But you’ve got a name. Everyone has a name. There’s yet to be anything humanity has discovered and not bothered to name. 

He forgets to ask. You clear your throat. 

“Um, I spoke to someone on the phone—Aaron, I think? We’re supposed to talk.”

Spencer tries to pick his jaw up off the floor. 

“Yeah, um, I can—I’ll… go get him.”

He turns away and breathes for the first time since he saw you, but he feels you behind him. He’s aware of exactly where you are in relation to the back of his head, he can feel you, like a hot spot, all the way to Hotch’s door. He lets himself in, slipping between as small a gap as he can manage and shutting the door gently behind him. Hotch looks up, not noticeably displeased at having been interrupted in his endless paperwork. 

What Spencer learns from his boss is this: you live in DC. You heard about a murder in Kansas—a girl, her hair still a fine, pale cornsilk. Barely not a child. You heard the details, and you called the cops, because you swear to god you know who did it, and they told you there was nothing they could do and gave you the number of someone who might be able to help, and so you followed a bureaucratic trail of phone numbers designed to discourage until you got to the BAU. Hotch says he’s going to interview you, but it’s probably nothing. 

“Actually, I’d like to do it if that’s okay.”

Hotch frowns deeper than usual.

“Why?”

Spencer swallows. Hesitates. 

“I finished my incident report early.”

Though he clearly has his reservations about Spencer’s sudden interest, Hotch is knee-deep in paperwork. So that’s how Spencer ends up in the round table room with you. 

You look too young, too raw to have been married, but you’re rubbing at your ring finger with the adjacent thumb like something is bothering you there. An absence that has become a presence. Negative space. You see things that aren’t there. Spencer knows that, too. Maybe you’re the kind of person who could look at him and see something.

That is his most intimate fantasy. He imagines it with you and feels the same kind of illicit shame and bloodied, starving hunger other people feel when they imagine sex or drugs or ravaging power; the way anyone imagines anything they want and can’t have.  

But he can’t put that kind of pressure on you. He can’t hold expectations like that. You’re a stranger. 

“Do you always do that?”

He points to your fiddling and gets that sour feeling in his throat he always does when he says something and wishes he hadn’t said it. That probably doesn’t show on his face. Most things don’t show on his face. Or maybe they do and nobody has bothered to tell him. 

You flex your pretty hand and then make a fist like you’ve been burned, probably to stop the compulsion. When you give a self-deprecating laugh, Spencer feels incredibly guilty for having pointed it out. But he doesn’t know how to talk to you. And at the same time, he almost expects it’ll be like talking to himself. Only nobody will give him odd looks. 

“Uh… old habit. I used to spin my wedding ring around when I was nervous.”

Used to. You’re especially too young to have been divorced. 

“You’re nervous?”

Your eyes flash as you look up to him. With what, he doesn’t know. Lightning, maybe. Electrical impulses that are a little less well insulated in you than in everyone else. 

But maybe he’s projecting. 

“Yeah. I feel crazy. But I was with a guy for a while who—and he was from Kansas—who would always, like, talk about… about hurting people. And I thought it was a joke at first, but… he laughed, at other people’s pain. He liked to hurt people. And animals. His dad had a farm, so I thought it was maybe he was just cavalier about life and death, but it was more than that. And he lived… he lived in that town. Where that girl died. He probably knew her. I… I probably knew her.”

Spencer’s heart sinks and he clears his throat like the force could bring it back up the right level again. 

You’re not his soulmate. You’re just paranoid. Looking for answers and resolution, like everybody else. 

The piece of himself he saw in you was just free radical damage. Instability. 

“Did he ever kill anyone before?”

“Wh—not that I know of. But I don’t really think he would’ve told me.”

But you would’ve known. You’re here because you’re lost. 

“Did he ever seriously injure anyone?”

You swallow and sit up a little straighter. Heat lightning in your eyes, again. It makes him feel something. He sits up too, despite your indignance, because it’s entrancing. 

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“He… he…” you melt as quickly as you inflated and go back to spinning a ring that’s not there. It’s like watching technicolor go to black and white. “He’d beat people up. He cut them with broken beer bottles and… yeah. A lot of other shit. He was just… he was crazy. He wasn’t… okay.”

The way your gaze flickers back and forth like you’re reading pages of a book or perhaps in REM as you recount in vague detail what your ex had done clues Spencer into the fact that you’re extremely traumatized. The way you make sure to emphasize that your clearly abusive ex wasn’t okay clues him into the fact that you care too much. That you’re too quick to excuse people’s bad behavior, or dismiss it, because you know how it feels to be dismissed entirely and you don’t want to make anyone else feel the way you’ve felt. 

Or maybe he’s still projecting. Maybe he’s idealized you in these few short minutes since you met and he’s too far gone. Maybe he should’ve let Hotch do this interview after all. In fact, he absolutely should’ve. 

But the worst thing by far he did was ask to walk you to your car after all was said and done. 

The interview went on for over two hours, and he’d learned things about you he suspects you’ve never told anyone before, and thus has learned about himself, and the building is mostly empty when you finally leave. The work day is over. So he selfishly asks you to wait while he gathers his things—buttons his coat, wraps his scarf, packs his bag—and then he soaks in the silence on the elevator because it’s that terrible, beautiful space between where you first cross the line and when you do something unforgivable. Asking to walk you to your car was crossing the line. 

Sleeping with you was unforgivable. 

And he didn’t care. Maybe he knew he was going to do this from the moment he saw you. Spencer never does this. The knowing that it was going to happen is quite a distinct flavor of intuitive knowledge and it was always on the back of his tongue. 

You’re silver and purple, a streak, a blur, you move too fast to keep up with and even when you’re perfectly still the atoms around you scramble like they’re jonesing. You inspire movement. You are movement. But he gets to see you slow, and despite having known you only a few hours, he knows this is nothing short of a natural phenomenon. A once in a lifetime sort of shooting star. That’s where the silver comes in. 

The purple, though—it’s in strange places. Around your upper arm. Between your thighs. On your knees and shins and hips. The first time he noticed it he couldn’t ignore it, but he couldn’t very well ask what’s hurting you while he was touching you in a way that was decidedly not painful, if he wanted to keep it that way. And he did. He wanted to keep you looking at him through half-lidded eyes like he was something to see. 

Still, he can’t notice it and then fuck you without saying something—or maybe he could, and you desperately want him to and you ask for it and maybe most people would, but he won’t—so he brings it up. 

“I lead a very active life,” is your whispered excuse, shaped by a smile that is something like mischievous. And then you’re kissing his flushed neck and making your descent and so he can’t ask very many questions. 

It’s only in the precarious after that he can fit his questions in, which is dumb and he knows that, because you’re a dizzying contradiction of cagey and flighty and really the slightest thing will send you running. It’s funny how he knows that after a few hours and sex. Sex can tell you so much about a person. Spencer has compiled all the data from his experiences and decided sex is radically more effective a profiling tool than interview. 

You’re on his pillow, lying on your stomach, and his hand is in your hair. Falling in love is quite a distinctive taste as well. Or at least, the recognition that if you spend enough time around a person you will, beyond a shadow of a doubt, fall in love with them. It is almost the same thing. It aches because it’s there and the proper thing to do is pretend it’s not. 

And his hand is in your hair. And your eyes are closed, and you look like you might fall asleep, and he should be beyond grateful for all of these things. He is. 

But that pesky desire to ameliorate, to improve and make better, and fix and heal, is too strong. Probably it’s the only way he thinks anyone will love him, is if he makes himself useful. That’s no revelation to him. The thought is not shocking whatsoever. It’s just true. 

So he asks again. You blink your eyes a quarter of the way open. 

“Hazard of the job.”

“What job?”

You make a noncommittal noise of reluctance—a discontented puppy’s whine, half-asleep. 

“I’m a circus freak.”

He laughs and remembers to keep scratching your scalp. The way you smile, eyes closed, is infectious. 

“Yeah? What’s your act?”

“Guess,” you challenge through the remnants of a smile, oozing satisfaction and glowing like a star. 

When he pauses to regard you, to seriously consider, studying the curve of your cheek and the color of your lips, you open your eyes again. 

“Tightrope walker,” he finally says, earnestly, so soft it could tear down the middle like gauze. 

Your answer is a smile into the dark. “How’d you know?”

The corner of his mouth vies higher. 

“I sensed a kindred spirit.”

Silence floods the room again, slowly, thickly, like molasses. It’s pleasant. You’re still here, in his bed, and he’s still measuring time with the pendulum of his hand in your hair. 

“What do you really do?” 

He expects you to be asleep. 

“Dancer.” Your lips hardly move as you say it, inflectionless, immediate. If his hand falters, it’s only momentarily. That explains the bruising, and so is a relief, as far as he’s concerned. But perhaps his silence is misconstrued. “Do you want me to go?”

It certainly doesn’t seem like you want to go. Your eyes aren’t even open. 

He keeps his voice low and gentle like maybe you really are asleep. 

“Why would I want you to go?”

“Don’t… do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you’re not judging me.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m from Vegas. Your job is not a novelty to me.”

This time when your eyes slide open, there is a new, curious light behind them. 

“Really?”

He nods, distracted by a freckle just beneath your eye. 

“When I was ten I ran into my bus driver wearing two quarters as a shirt. And we weren’t even on the strip. We were in a Texas Roadhouse parking lot.”

You snort with laughter and it’s melodic, like twinkling crystals, like running water. Even as you hide your face behind your hand, he’s transfixed. God, he’s never cared about being funny before. Now he wants to make you laugh over and over again. He wants to keep you softer than you’ve ever been. The laughter fades slowly and he grieves it—but your hand sliding away from your face like the sun coming up from behind a mountain eases the ache. 

You reach out as if in a trance and run your thumb gently beneath his eye. He holds his breath as you make contact, butterfly light. Nobody has ever touched him like this before. 

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmur. A thoughtless observation. A truth cast to the breeze. Knuckles carefully follow the dip of his cheekbone—a cartographer, learning her way by touch. Marking her territory. He’d let you do it. His eye stings, ready to spring forth a river just so you can have the pleasure of discovering it. “Breathe,” you laugh, softly, and he does. 

“Sorry.”

You don’t say a thing. You let your fingers trace borders into his skin and follow them with soft eyes and he wonders what he’s ever done to deserve this kind of magic. He wonders if he’ll ever feel as good as he does right now, when it’s all over. Nobody has ever paid this much attention to him—but you’re intent, focused, like he’s art. 

“Tell me about Vegas.”

It takes him a moment to reply. 

“Hm?”

He feels bewitched. Warm. Foggy. A thumb brushes over his lips, but it’s only a pass, thank god, because he can hardly stand how you’re touching him already, at the high point of his cheek, beneath his brow. Finally getting enough sometimes feels awfully close to too much. He’s already almost cried once. 

“I wanna hear about Vegas. I’ve always wanted to go. Is it hot?”

Spencer will say whatever you want him to say, but he has to focus a little—like he’s speaking through honey. 

“In the summer, during the day. In the winter at night it drops to below freezing.”

“Desert-y,” you hum.

“Very.”

“Tell me more.”

There’s a rousing hunger in your voice and it reminds Spencer to want you again. He finds your waist and tugs you closer. Who is he with you?

Is he better? 

“There are 175 casinos in the city, but only thirty on the strip. There are 15,000 miles of neon tubing on the strip alone. It’s the brightest place on earth. You can see it from space.”

“Not that.”

Petulant. He loves it. 

His lips find the softness of your shoulder. “Then what?”

The only clue that you can feel what he’s doing to you is the twitch of your fingers on his cheek. 

“Tell me something… tell me exactly how it feels to stand in the middle of the desert. With nobody else around. Tell me things and details I couldn’t know about unless I’ve been there.”

At the junction of your neck, he pauses. This beautiful girl, and her beautiful brain—you are so disarming. So perfect. 

You shiver into him as his fingers brush up the back of your neck, gently pushing away hair so he can learn you everywhere. So he can remember your landscape, just like he’s doing as he closes his eyes and falls into memory. 

A gas station, off the side of the road—seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Desert all around. His dad’s ’79 Ford Fiesta—the one he didn’t take with him when he left. The driver’s door is open. Spencer’s dad has been inside for minutes. Spencer is watching from the middle of the road, because he looked out from the backseat of the Fiesta, and saw that dark, unassuming spot, and thought—how would it feel to be the darkness? What would I see if I were nothing at all?

When he gets there, and he stands on the sun bleached pavement, veined with spiderwebs of tar, and he sees this all from a distance—he realizes he feels exactly the same as he always does. So he pivots his head to the left. The road goes on until it disappears into the smudgy horizon. To the right, it does the same. The earth swells, far away, so many miles, so coal black, so impossible. Hardly even real. But there is something out there, he thinks. There is something, even if nobody else has ever been there, and I want to stand in the middle of it and I will learn how it feels to be nothing. I will not observe—I will become apart of the landscape, with the Joshua trees that have been there for a thousand years, and the rocks that haven’t moved in millennia. 

So he begins to walk. 

The rocks crunch under his feet, and that is the only noise. 

He walks for minutes. He walks until he knows the gas station will be small. He walks until he can feel the emptiness on the back of his neck, until it feels like an embrace. 

“It’s silent,” he hears himself say to you, in some other universe, decades in the future. “At night, it’s completely silent. You can hear yourself breathe. If you throw a pebble ten feet away, you’ll hear it hit the ground.”

Little Spencer takes a deep breath of inky air. 

“It smells like… geosmin.”

“What?”

Perfect. Your voice is perfect. 

“Dirt. But it’s not the same as dirt anywhere else. It’s… drier, like it’s smelled the same way for a really long time.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn. He’s doing a terrible job explaining.

But he feels your breath on his cheek—eager. Your hand at his shoulder as you lean closer, enraptured. Reverent, almost. 

“What else?”

What else?

Dry brush snags on the hem of the corduroys his mother had picked out for him. They’re a little too short. She’s going to try to take him shopping again tomorrow. It’ll work this time—they’ll get to the store. Mom’s just been having some trouble leaving the house lately. 

Rustling leaves skim the tips of his fingers as he reaches out for them, and keeps walking. When was the last time someone touched that shrub?

“There’s vegetation. Creosote, mostly, if you’re in the scrubland. Larrea tridentada. It’s dry—kind of twiggy, with green leaves and yellow flowers in the spring. The smell is bad, like asphalt, but you only notice if you get close.”

He hears his dad calling his name. It fades in and out. 

It’s dizzying, hearing his father’s voice. His father saying his name. 

It’s been a long time. 

“It’s so flat that things don’t echo. But because of the extreme variations in temperature the air pressure sometimes forces the sound waves to the ground and makes it impossible for them to propagate. They’re called the Santa Ana winds. Someone could be standing right next to you and if the wind blows at just the right angle, you won’t be able to hear them. But when it’s still, sound carries far.”

His father is angry. Or is he worried? 

Spencer can make out his dad, pacing frantically back and forth across the gas station pad, white button-up a glowing beacon even from this far away beneath the lone yellow street light. He looks so small. So very far away. Ant-like. 

Santa Ana comes slow—warmer than the night air around him, to ruffle his hair and rustle the dry leaves and blow soft clouds of fragrant sienna dirt around at his knees. It blows through him. For a moment, it wakes the desert up. 

Then it’s passed. It moves further down the desert and leaves Spencer behind. Things settle into silence again. He’s alone again. 

Spencer’s stomach flips as he realizes his father can’t see him this far away, this deep into the dark nothing. 

As he finally feels the enormity of the distance on all sides. 

Suddenly the void behind him is massive. Suddenly it is everything, and it is sucking him deeper. Nobody can see him. He could just disappear into 25,000 square miles of desert. He’s already, what—a thousand feet gone? More? The weight of all the infinite space behind him presses, and he thought it’d feel interesting but it feels like dying and there has never been so much regret or dread curdling in his stomach before. His face crumples, eyes stinging in the dry air, and he takes one step forward, and then another, and then he runs like he’s running for his life. But he doesn’t feel chased—no, that’s the worst part. He is running from an infinite, vacuous, nothing. Dad! He screams, but even this young he knows how sound waves work in the desert and he can tell his dad can’t hear him and he’s running and screaming until his lungs burn, and the scrub lashes at his ankles, and it has been the same for a thousand years and it will stay the same for a thousand more with or without him. Dad, I’m right here! He sobs, the words ripping up his throat with desperation as they go. 

Finally, finally, he’s heard, and he’s close enough to see his dad seeing him, he stops pacing and stares dumbfounded at the little boy appearing from the desert, sneakers slapping cracked asphalt. He gets closer and closer until he can see the lines on his father’s face and the color of his eyes and he sobs as he crashes into him. His dad’s hands are vice-tight around his arms, as Spencer cries and can’t breathe and thrashes like a fish out of water. 

What? Is all his father can manage, tight and baffled and afraid and the first word of a question he doesn’t even know how to ask. He says it again and again, like a skipping record; what—what? What?

On the drive home, Spencer sits in the backseat, a bottle of Bug Juice in his lap. His ankles sting, whipped and bloodied and punished for wearing too-short pants. 

The silence is cloistering and at the same time, completely par for the course. He does not expect his father to speak to him, but he sort of thinks maybe another father would. 

Outside, the black spine of distant mountains rolls on forever and stays impossibly far away. He peers out into the nothing, past what the moonlight can illuminate—and now, he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows how it feels. Imagines another little boy made of shadows, as far away from the road as he’d been, and feels sick from all that fruit juice. He won’t ask his dad to pull over—all he wants is to get rid of that feeling on the back of his neck, like he’s dissolving into space. Like he’s the only thing for miles and miles. 

But the problem is—the feeling doesn’t go away. 

Not in the driveway. Not in the bath. Not in bed, later that night. 

Spencer did a bad thing and he wishes he could go back to normal. He wishes he didn’t get that desert feeling when he was surrounded by other people. But it comes back, again and again. At school. When he tentatively asks for new pants and his mom throws a vase at the wall and then sobs on the floor for forty minutes. When a few weeks later, his dad leaves, and doesn’t take the Ford with him—so it sits under the carport, greets him on his way to school every morning, and over the course of years the windshield turns opaque with dust. 

He hasn’t stopped feeling that way since. 

“You okay?”

A long, soft breath draws him back into his body. Into his bed. 

Not creosote. Not geosmin. Not the Santa Ana winds, coming from the deepest parts of the desert and carrying their desolation to him. Shampoo. Warmth. A girl who smells sort of like him, now—a girl whose perfume is all over his neck and chest and pillow. 

You’re there. You, a stranger. You, a girl he’s going to fall in love with. You—the only person he ever brought into the desert with him. The only person who ever brought him back. 

Point Nemo is not in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Asphodel is not in the underworld. It’s a little less than half a mile out across from an old gas station on the I-15 in the middle of the Mojave desert. 

Spencer nods because he can’t bring himself to speak just yet. 

You smile and take the time to find his hand in the dark. 

“Felt like I was out there with you. Thanks.”

And he squeezes your hand—because for the first time, it feels like someone is going to come looking for him. 

lyrics from my life in art <3

[luvergirl-535]

something like love

part - 8

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.0k

c/w - angst, language

a/n - i am so sorry for the wait you guys, but i’m so happy to finally be putting this chap out!! i hope yall enjoy 😈

When Paige wakes up before the sun rises, she knows something is wrong.

Ever since she was a little girl, Paige has been a sleeper. While the other kids were fighting off naps, she was begging for them. While the other kids began bothering their parents during the early hours of the morning, she would be konked out until noon if her dad let her.

And then she met Azzi. Became her friend. Had their first sleepover.

And ever since that morning so long ago, when Azzi had shyly jostled her awake so they could get breakfast, Paige will not wake up early unless it’s Azzi doing the waking.

But this morning, it’s silent—eerily so. The AC is humming and there’s traffic noises from outside, but something’s missing. In Paige’s half-sleep state, it takes her a moment to realize what exactly it is: the absence of Azzi bustling around, getting ready for the day, calling room service to ask about breakfast options.

Paige cracks her eyes open, to find they feel dry. Shit, did she sleep with her contacts in?

No—she didn’t. She took them out as soon as they got back last night.

As soon as they got back. Tipsy and flirty. Paige, still too aware of the feelings brewing uncomfortably in her belly, asking if they should drink some more, just the two of them. Azzi, reaching into her pocket with a sly smile and pulling out a joint. Paige, thinking she looked so fucking beautiful, moonlit and blowing out smoke from between her lips. Azzi, confessing things, Paige, asking for more. Azzi, shy and giggly—

Paige, giving in to her urges. Letting the marijuana in her system cloud any rational thought she could have. Pressing their lips together and going lower, lower, down between Azzi’s thighs, watching in awe or wonder or reverence as she bared herself completely. Like she trusted Paige. Like Paige deserved it.

Carefully, almost as if afraid, Paige glances around the dark room. She’s on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Senses suddenly overflowing with something acutely familiar, Paige can picture the girl on the bed next to her, almost knows exactly how she’s laying without even seeing her yet.

Deep breath. Don’t get sick, Paige. Be normal.

Roll over. Onto her back, at first, to stare at the ceiling, and then, finally, onto her side.

And there she is. Lying on her back, the sheets bundled around her waist, one arm over her face while the other spreads out to Paige’s side of the bed—Azzi is breathtaking like this.

Breathtaking, and beautiful, and vulnerable. Oh-so vulnerable, while Paige lays beside her, fully clothed. No part of her bare, because she was unwilling to show herself to Azzi last night. She wonders why, now. She doesn’t really have to.

Cautiously, Paige reaches a hand out, brushing a strand of hair from Azzi’s face almost instinctively. Azzi doesn’t stir, and it emboldens her to move her hand lower, fingers tracing delicately over her jawline, down the line of her neck, to her collarbones. It’s only when Azzi does stir that Paige pulls away, reluctantly, because she’s not sure if she’ll get to see Azzi again like this.

And it’s that thought—the thought of Azzi waking up, naked beside a clothed Paige, angry and hurt—that scares her out of bed, ambling quietly over to her suitcase and throwing on a pair of running clothes. She glances furtively at Azzi while she gets dressed, but not once does she wake up, and Paige doesn’t know whether it’s relief or bitter disappointment she feels when she leaves the room without having words with the younger girl.

Paige comes to a stop outside the hotel, Google mapping a running route, and while she’s at it her fingers move of their own accord, navigating to her messages and then to Azzi’s contact. But as she stares at the screen, she can’t find anything to say. Seeing that their last text thread was from last night, she scrolls up to read it:

azziiii where’d u go

u been in the bathroom too long

shoulda let me come w you

for real we’re abt to play a drinking game come back

i’ve been gone for like five minutes paige

the line to the bathroom was long

u guys in the living room??

yeah

bro it was definitely longer than 5 mins

not letting u out of my sight again fr 🙄

ok drama queen

just missed me that much huh?

yeah and what

missed my girl

ok p chill

i’m omw

hell yeah we’re up

The conversation ends there, and Paige distinctly remembers it, how Azzi had left to use the restroom and Paige had sat there, talking to old friends and boring strangers, not even pretending to laugh at their jokes while she waited anxiously for Azzi to come back. And how when she did, she took a mental snapshot of Azzi’s smile when they saw each other, her dimples lighting up the entire room.

The memory, unlike all the alcohol-hazy ones from last night, is vivid. Too much so. Paige shakes out her limbs, stuffs her airpods in her ears and her phone in her pocket, and runs.

She hates running. With her heart and soul, she hates it. If ever she needs to take her mind off of bad things, she goes for a run, because almost nothing could be worse than the feeling of her feet hitting pavement, her chest hurting, her side seizing.

Today, it doesn’t work. Even with music pounding through her earbuds, memories come back to her in crushing tidal waves: Azzi sat on her lap on the couch, Paige’s hands on her ass, Azzi’s lips on her neck. The two of them pressed close together when they migrated to the kitchen, Paige wrapped around her from behind, listening to Azzi talk to a few other students. She remembers how at one point some guy had approached them while they were snuggled up on the couch and asked Azzi for her snap; remembers how she’d practically snarled at the guy telling him to go the fuck away, Azzi teasing her about it afterwards and asking, What if I had been interested? but there was a satisfied smile on her face when Paige only pulled her in closer, as if she’d known exactly the reaction she’d elicit.

She remembers the way they’d held hands in the Uber, and all the way up to their hotel room.

And maybe it was inevitable, their only option, really, to end up the way they did—Azzi spread out naked on a hotel bed and Paige situated between her legs, licking her clean after she came.

Paige doesn’t know why she asked for a second time. Even in her slightly cross-faded, pussy drunk haze, Paige recognized that it might be because this is the only chance she’d get. Because fucking your best friend once is a simple mistake, something the two of them can laugh about later, even. Fucking your best friend twice is a slippery slope.

Azzi had given her another one, even though she was surely overstimulated and tired. Paige never wanted to stop tasting her, but once they were done, Azzi whimpering above her, she got this strange feeling—a need for affection, maybe even comfort? Like she not only wanted sex and fun but also some emotions attached to it, too.

Paige shakes her head, tries to survey her surroundings, tries to enjoy the view of mothers walking their babies, friends going to early trips at the mall, people commuting to work. But with each pound of her feet, something new hits her and it feels like getting smacked in the face.

As Paige crawled back up to Azzi, as they whispered sleepily to each other, Paige didn’t acknowledge the heat between her own legs, didn’t think about how the fact that she wanted affection from a hookup is somehow a larger revelation to her than the fact that she and Azzi just fucked, and she of course didn’t allow it when Azzi offered to return the favor.

She could never ask that of her. So she lulled her asleep instead, holding onto her like she’s afraid she’d disappear—and maybe she was. She wouldn’t have blamed her.

The truth is, Paige thinks that this was a long time coming. Maybe she knew it when they were fourteen and fifteen and slept on each other on the flight home from USA basketball, after a few weeks of knowing each other. Maybe she knew when Azzi’s family invited her to the state fair for the first time and Paige won Azzi a prize before they held hands on the Ferris Wheel. Maybe she knew when she spent the entire summer at Azzi’s house, and they spent nights tracing shapes and hidden letters into each other’s skin, trying and failing to guess what the other was saying. Once, Azzi had written something longer than usual, and when Paige had been unable to guess, she’d begged for Azzi to tell her what she’d said. But Azzi had stubbornly shook her head, told her that was against the rules.

When it came Paige’s turn, she lifted Azzi’s shirt and traced three words into the skin of Azzi’s back. Azzi had always been good at this game, and so there was a long pause afterward, and Paige thought maybe something real was about to happen, but then Azzi had simply rolled over and said, “No idea.”

Paige didn’t believe her then. Doesn’t believe it even now.

If she’s being honest with herself (and she’s never been very good at that) things between them have always been electric, charged by small moments between them, things that always went unacknowledged because both of them were too scared to bring this sacred little thing they had out into the open.

Paige stops to catch her breath, a little lightheaded, clutching her sides in pain. Running has nothing to do with the ache that’s overtaken her or the way she’s finding it hard to breathe.

The sun is up now, and she walks off the sidewalk into the little park she’s stopped at, heading over to a large oak tree in the middle which will hopefully provide some solace from the morning heat. She wipes at her brow, and the shade helps, but her palms are sweaty, back of her neck still hot, and it might be from the memories of last night, the taste she swears is still lingering on her tongue.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes and she knows it’s Azzi before she even checks. She’s always been good at that—sensing when it’s her best friend on the other end of the line. It’s a blessing and today it’s a curse, because she’s nowhere near ready to face the hurricane of emotions wreaking havoc on her mind. She takes a few deep breaths after the phone buzzes, putting it off, afraid of what she will find: an angry message, how dare you; a heartbroken one, why’d you do this to me; the truth, you’re a bad friend, maybe even a bad person.

With one last steadying breath and trembling fingers, she pulls up the message, only to find four words, so non-threatening they’re almost vulnerable: Hey, where’d you go?

She should be relieved, but her heart sort of sinks a little more at that. She deserves the anger, doesn’t she? The heartbreak, the truth?

Leaning against the tree, letting the rough bark bite into her skin, Paige checks the time and types out a reply. Went for a run, I’ll head back now

But she won’t head back now. She needs some more time. So, she deletes the message and tries again. Just went out, want me to grab u some breakfast??

The answer will be no; Azzi is picky about her breakfast, will only eat a certain few foods and never store bought.

So, sighing, Paige sends a simple: Went for a run. Be back by eleven. And before Azzi can reply, she turns her phone on silent, shoves it into her pocket.

She wonders what Azzi is feeling now. If its anything similar to Paige’s train of thought, or more likely, worse: that maybe this was all a mistake, that they can’t continue to be friends like this, that last night was real and that’s really fucking scary.

If Azzi just woke, she’ll be needing more time to think things over. So, jogging back over to the sidewalk, Paige starts running again, further away from the hotel. Further away from Azzi.

—————————————

When Paige steps into their hotel room, her shoulders are tensed, breath held as she waits for confrontation. But with a quick glance around the room, she realizes she can put this off a little longer—the bathroom door is closed, running water coming from inside. She sighs, shoulders relaxing, and closes the door as quietly as she can.

But it must not be quiet enough. Because a moment later, the faucet turns off, and then there’s a set of slow footsteps approaching the door. Paige tenses all over again, watching in what probably looks like terror when the bathroom door opens and there’s Azzi, in a hoodie and sweatpants, braids tied back, eyes and nose a devastating shade of red.

“Hey,” Paige starts, a softly as her strained voice will allow, but to her surprise, Azzi gives a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says simply, sniffling, looking Paige up and down. “Get in the shower. We check out soon.”

“I…I know,” Paige stammers, caught off guard by the way Azzi looks both heartbroken and angry. But, of course, she shouldn’t be. Not after what she did to her last night. Taking a tentative step forward, Paige tries to meet Azzi’s eyes. “Az, listen. I’m sorry about—“

“Stop,” Azzi hisses, stepping out of the bathroom, closer to Paige. “I don’t want to hear it. Not—not fucking now.”

Paige opens her mouth, but Azzi holds her hand up, swollen eyes flashing. “Get ready. We’ll leave once you’re done.”

Everything good and stupid in Paige tells her to fall to her knees, beg for forgiveness, take whatever anger Azzi has to give about last night. And maybe, a few years ago, she would’ve. But she’s never seen Azzi like this, and that alone raises enough alarm bells in her head to do exactly what she tells her to do, hanging her head as she sidesteps her into the bathroom, turning the shower on to cold to try and ease the burning behind her eyes, in her throat.

Leaning against the shower wall, Paige rubs a hand over her face, and wishes she were anybody else.

————————————

It’s one hour into the drive home that Azzi speaks to her—really speaks to her—for the first time all day. And when she does, it’s so unexpected that Paige flinches hard enough to jerk the car aside.

“Let’s go to the park, first. So we can talk.”

Once Paige has righted the car, she risks a glance over at Azzi to try to get an idea of what’s going through her head, but her face is turned away, gazing out the window.

Turning back to the road, Paige doesn’t respond. She just drives.

It’s a hot day but once they pull into the park an hour later, the basketball court is empty, and she’s barely stopped the car before Azzi’s getting out. She goes to the backseat and grabs one of the balls Paige keeps there.

“Az,” Paige says, unbuckling.

Azzi looks at her and slams the door shut. Paige watches her walk away through the window before getting out and following her.

It’s clear at this point that talking won’t get Paige anywhere, which is okay and also not: she’s bad with heartfelt stuff, anything too touchy-feely—it makes her uncomfortable; but talking is also what she does best. She’s never been one to stand in awkward silence or take it when she’s told to shut up, because she always has something to say and it’s why Azzi often affectionately refers to her as ‘my yapper’.

There’s nothing affectionate in the way Azzi looks at her now, nothing soft in those doe eyes, nothing sweet in the dimples borne of a scowl. Paige doesn’t know what to do with this version of Azzi.

After a moment, Azzi starts dribbling the ball, and the mere sound is enough to get Paige kneeling a little bit, body reacting before her mind can, ready for a game. But Azzi doesn’t pass to her. “You wanna play?” she asks tentatively.

Azzi stares at her for a moment, then slowly shakes her head. She drops the ball and it rolls a few feet away from them. “No. Not really.”

Paige nods. Shoves her hands in her pockets, then takes them out.

It’s a torturously long stretch of silence before Azzi says, “What are we doing, Paige?”

Paige looks at her best friend, but she finds she can’t really look her in the eye, and she hates that, so she looks at the asphalt underneath her instead.

“And don’t say we’re pretending,” Azzi continues when Paige opens her mouth to say just that, “because last night—that wasn’t pretend.”

The odd thing is her tone lilts up a little at the end, as if she’s asking a question rather than making a statement. But maybe that’s not odd because Paige wonders, too.

Trying to recall everything she thought about during the long ride here, Paige glances up, takes a small step towards Azzi. “I’m sorry.” She tries to sound both casual and heartfelt, but instead it comes out all raspy and choked, and she cannot cry right now. “For this whole trip, this whole thing—I shouldn’t have asked you to do this for me.”

Azzi inhales like she’s going to interrupt. Now, it’s Paige’s turn to stop her. “Just, let me, okay?”

Azzi’s brows are furrowed, but she nods.

Almost immediately, Paige regrets saying anything. It’s now, with Azzi staring at her expectantly, that she realizes she has nothing to say. She has been thinking about it nonstop, all day, and still she doesn’t understand everything going through her mind—the guilt, the fear, the feelings.

She decides it’s safest to start with the guilt. “I need to say I’m sorry. About last night…” she fumbles, tries her hardest to right herself, “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this for me. Shoulda treated you better, instead of taking out my shit with my mom on you. And I shouldn’t have let things get so…real.”

Azzi doesn’t react much. Her stance doesn’t change, expression doesn’t really waver. Eventually she steps forward, so they’re an arms-length away from each other. “Paige,” she says.

Paige shuffles from one foot to the other. “Yeah?”

“You’re sorry,” she reiterates, and Paige nods, a little confused. Fuck, she’s really never been good with words. “You’re sorry for—last night?”

Something inside her wants to correct Azzi, tell her if she could go back and do last night over, she wouldn’t change it, and she doesn’t think she’s ever had to act when it comes to loving her best friend. But she doesn’t say that, instead opting for something less weighted, more trivial—“And for asking you to pretend to love me.”

Azzi’s stare is flat for another second before her eyes widen, and she turns around, pushing her hands into to her hair and shaking her head. And Paige can’t see her but it almost sounds like she’s…laughing?

“Azzi,” Paige mutters.

Azzi turns on her, then, and there is a smile on her face but it’s bitter, nothing humorous in it. “I can’t believe you.”

It’s Paige’s turn to stare. “What?”

“Paige,” Azzi says slowly. Then again, “Paige. You left me this morning. You fucked me last night and then you left me to wake up alone and you couldn’t even look me in the eye all day and now, what? Now you’re fucking—“ two steps forward, and then she’s jabbing an accusatory finger into Paige’s chest, “apologizing about last night? About everything? Like it was all a mistake?”

Paige can’t help but take a step back, heart racing. “I don’t…I mean, exactly. We’re all weird now—honestly we have been since the first week we started pretending—and I don’t want us to be like that. I hate this, Az. I just wanna be normal again.”

Azzi takes a step toward her. “Have we ever been normal?”

That gives Paige pause. Hands, legs, intertwined; fingers creeping under shirts while they lay together at night; stealing glances when they think the other isn’t looking. All things Paige never let herself think about too hard, because it made her nervous, jumpy. And now, after so many years of buildup has finally come crashing down on both of them, they have no choice but to talk about it.

She has nothing to say.

When she’s met with silence, Azzi scoffs. “Even now, you’re too fucking stubborn to admit it.”

“What?” Paige nearly whispers. “I’m not being stubborn,” and she’s really not, “I just—things were good, between us. You’re my best friend and I’m trying to apologize for—for the way I’ve been acting, for being distant and…and rude, and for being a shitty friend and complicating things and—“

“I don’t care!” Azzi screeches, and it startles Paige into silence. “God, Paige, you are so fucking stupid sometimes. Did you ever stop to think about why I dropped everything and came to Montana for you? Why I let you kiss me and look at me and fucking go down on me last night?”

Paige opens her mouth, closes it, and something curls in her tummy, this coiling in her gut warning her of how dangerously close they’re getting to everything she wants to leave unsaid. “I don’t—“

“Of course not,” Azzi scoffs, and Paige hates the anger in her tone. “I should’ve known. Because you’re only ever thinking about yourself. Making sure everything you do aligns with your little moral compass to make you feel good about yourself—well, guess what, Paige? You did fuck up this time.”

Paige steps forward, trying to wrap her mind around anything else other than the way Azzi’s looking at her like she hates her. “I know, I know,” she says, pleading.

Azzi stands her ground when she says, “You left this morning.”

Paige nods, understanding now. “I know.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed—time to think.”

“And, until just now, you didn’t realize that might make me upset? Waking up alone after last night?”

Paige watches her, and seeing the way her eyes get shiny makes her own throat constrict. “I guess, no, but I—things were going to be awkward, and I felt bad, and I was scared.” She finally admits it, the fear, and it doesn’t do much to loosen the knot in her throat. “I thought it was a—a mistake.”

“Well I didn’t think last night was a mistake, Paige,” Azzi says lowly.

And it’s then—just then, seeing the way the tears threaten to fall but don’t, trapped behind the words she wants to say but can’t—that realization dawns on Paige. And it’s enough to make her chest constrict because, no, it can’t be true.

Still, like watching a car crash, Paige can’t bring herself to stop looking. “Why?” she whispers, already knowing the answer.

When Azzi looks up at her with a quivering bottom lip and nothing left in her eyes but heartbreak, it’s all the confirmation she needs.

Paige stumbles back, and Azzi lifts an arm like she’s going to reach out, but drops it helplessly as the first tear tracks down her face. “I thought—maybe, you knew. I thought you knew and you were acting the way you have been because—“ she hiccups like a little kid, and it breaks Paige’s heart, “because you were staring to feel the same. I thought, last night, there was something real. Did you not feel it, Paige?” she doesn’t give her time to answer before she’s continuing. “And now I’m wearing these clothes in this weather because I couldn’t stand to look at the marks you left on me and you’re standing here telling me you’re sorry for wanting to fuck me, and God, Paige—I’ve loved you since I was fourteen. I loved you since I was fourteen and I should’ve fucking known you’d end up doing this to me.”

“Azzi,” Paige chokes out, the knot unraveling and giving way to free-falling tears.

“Paige,” Azzi replies, and there’s desperation in her tone like she wants to reach out, but instead she wipes furiously at her face before crossing her arms, effectively creating a barrier between them. “I need to know.”

Watching tears stream down Azzi’s cheeks, it’s all Paige wants to do to comfort her, to wipe them away. But her own vision is blurring and Azzi has this look in her eyes—like she hates her, like she loves her and she hates herself for it.

“Know what?” she whispers, the sun beating down on the back of her neck in a way that makes her nauseous.

“If you—“ Azzi’s bottom lip quivers, “if you feel it, too. If you love me, too.”

When Paige blinks the moisture from her eyes, there’s a moment of darkness and behind it she sees every moment, every fucking moment where they toed an invisible line, only to never speak of it again, to act as if nothing happened.

She opens her eyes, and realizes maybe they’ve spent their whole lives pretending, and only really stopped when they were just supposed to start.

There have always been feelings. Always an intensity when it came to Azzi, evident in the way Paige would get jealous of any of her other friends, the blowout fights they’d have over small things, because they couldn’t talk about the big things.

Paige has always wanted Azzi as something more. But—love.

Love is so complicated and scary and Paige doesn’t think she’d even be that good at it, anyway. And what if they did this—addressed the feelings between them and dated, for real? Azzi would be perfect, like she always is. Kind and gentle and soft, and Paige can only exhale at the thought of having her best friend that way.

But she inhales deeply, and imagines how she would is. She’s stubborn, hard-headed. Bad with words, bad with apologies.

“Azzi,” Paige says for the nth time, the only word she knows anymore, so she says it like a prayer. “We did one thing last night and I couldn’t even do that right. I couldn’t do any of this right, this entire trip. You don’t—you don’t want me. Trust me. You don’t.”

“You don’t know what I want!” Azzi cries, uncrossing her arms to push again at Paige’s chest. “You’re not perfect, Paige, and I am really fucking mad at you,” she bites, “but you have no idea how much I want you.”

“And you have no idea how much that scares me,” Paige replies, eyes downcast, a few tears dripping onto her sneakers. “I’m good at being your friend, Az. Let me be your friend.”

Azzi lets out a sob at that. “Paige, please, I know—you have to feel something, you don’t act the way you do and not feel anything, I—“

“I’m not saying I don’t feel it,” Paige admits shallowly. “It’s just like I said. I’m scared.”

For the next few moments, there’s silence, and in it Paige hears the birds singing, the distant voices of kids laughing at the playground. But then there’s a sniffle, a scuffle of shoes, and she dares to look up only to find Azzi facing away from her.

“Okay,” Azzi says, voice cracking heartbreakingly. “That’s it, I guess.”

Paige clutches at her belly. “What do you mean?”

“After everything that’s happened,” Azzi whimpers, “you think we can just go back to normal?”

It’s stupid, but that’s what Paige was hoping for. But she knows neither of them can forget this, leave it behind. And she doesn’t know if Azzi can forgive her, either.

She wouldn’t blame her if she never did. Even though the notion kills her.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say, but it’s weak, broken, and Azzi just shakes her head, not bothering to look back as she heads slowly to the car.

“I’m tired, Paige,” she says. “Just take us home.”

————————————

When Paige walks through the front door, the house feels empty—her parents are gone again for work—but when she walks into the kitchen she finds Lauren on a barstool, eating cereal and watching TikTok. Paige tries to slip past her but Lauren perks up, spinning around and grinning when she spots Paige. “You’re back!”

“Yup,” Paige says, trying for a smile.

Lauren hops off the barstool and as she walks up to her, she gets this weird look on her face, like she’s studying her—but then she’s hugging her and Paige breathes a sigh of relief. “You guys have fun?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where’s Azzi?”

“She’s, uh…out in the car.”

Lauren pulls away to scrunch her nose. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Paige says evasively, unraveling herself from her little sister’s arms. “Listen, I gotta headache, I’ma be up in my room. But lemme know if you need anything.”

Paige makes her way to the staircase, and Lauren follows after, the way little sisters do. She hears the footsteps padding behind her and remembers when she was a teenager, and Lauren was just a toddler, and their mom would always joke that Paige had a little shadow because Lauren would follow her everywhere.

Back then, it was annoying—and it is now too—but it’s also comforting, endearing.

Still, Paige gets midway up the stairs before turning around to face her sister. “I wanna be alone, Laur.”

Lauren frowns up at her. “Why?”

Paige picks at her thumbnail. “Don’t you wanna be alone sometimes?”

“I guess.”

“Well, this is like that. Just need some time.”

She takes a couple more stairs, but Lauren is still following behind her, and she turns around again. “Dude.”

“I wanna hang out with you!”

“I’m sorry,” Paige says, and she really is, guilty about the disappointment etched on Lauren’s face. “I promise we’ll hang later, okay?”

“Like later today?”

“I dunno, Laur.” The thought of doing anything but moping with her own thoughts sounds exhausting, and it’s evident in her exasperated tone. “I’m tired, we had a big night.”

“Really?” Lauren’s face morphs into a teasing smile. “Doing what?”

Paige fumbles, covers it by reaching to play with the cross at her neck. “Don’t, Lauren.”

“I’m sure you spent allll night kissing your girlfriend, didn’t you?”

Paige takes a breath so deep it’s nearly a gasp, for air, maybe, and she spins on her heel, taking the last steps two at a time. “I’m going to my room now,” she says, eternally grateful that Lauren doesn’t follow her this time. As a last thought, she calls over her shoulder, “And don’t bother Azzi, either.”

Once she’s in her room, she heaves against the closed door, looks around. They’ve been here eight days now, and it doesn’t seem like long but they’ve already left their imprint on this room: their scents mingling into the sheets, bed unmade, toiletries scattered in the bathroom.

In her back pocket, her phone buzzes. For a wild moment she thinks it’s Azzi, calling to ask if she wants anything from the coffee shop or to lay out their plan for the day, but she remembers quickly enough that Azzi has no reason to be calling her. With trembling fingers, she pulls the phone out, and is relieved to see it’s Drew on the other end.

“Hey,” she says when she picks up, plopping down onto the bed as casually as possible.

“Guess what,” is what Drew starts out with, and Paige smiles tenderly as she watches her brother give her an expectant look.

“Aw, I missed you, too,” Paige says, and when Drew’s expression turns to a scowl she laughs. “Okay, what?”

“You’re ’posed to guess.”

Paige sighs; she hates this game. “Fine. Um, Dad got us a puppy?”

“No.” Drew frowns. “I wish.”

“Lame. You’re coming to see me?”

This makes Drew frown even harder. “No, but I wish that too.”

“We’re going to Disneyland?”

“Aw, I wanna go to Disneyland!” Drew is downright pouting now. “Your guesses suck.”

“You didn’t gimme any context!”

“The heck is context?” Drew looks at her as if she’s the dumb one, but before she can retaliate he says, “Fine, I’ll just tell you. Dad said when you get back he’s gonna get us those shoes we wanted.”

“Shit, really?” Paige should be reluctant to match with her eight-year-old brother, but in her opinion he’s way cooler than most eight-year-olds. And also, those shoes are pretty dope. “Sweet. I thought he wasn’t gonna cave.”

“Yeah, I gave him my cute eyes.”

“Thought he said you were too old to be cute.”

“He was lying, I guess.”

Drew widens his eyes and pouts, the look Paige taught him when he was a toddler because if she was too old to mooch her way into things, her baby brother would have to do her dirty work. And it looks different now, without the chubby cheeks and missing teeth, but it’s still just as adorable as it was then. “You’re a real one, Drewski.”

“Mm-hmm.” They settle into momentary silence, Drew’s eyes wandering from the phone to something ahead of him—Paige thinks maybe his TV—and his gaze stays faraway when he mumbles, “I miss you, Paigey.”

Staring at her little brother over the phone—the little brother who’s her best friend, who has never been complicated or scary, who is taller every time she comes home from college—Paige’s throat constricts again, a constant ache beginning to form there from how tightly knotted it’s been all day. “I miss you, too. But I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Still another week.”

“Less than that.”

“Feels like forever.”

“I know,” Paige sighs, suddenly grateful that her too-old-for-emotions little brother is avoiding eye contact, because she can see her own nose and eyes growing red over the screen. “We got the whole summer together, though. By the end of it you’ll be sick of me.”

Drew shakes his head firmly. “No I won’t.”

Again, Paige sighs, trying her hardest to exhale all the feelings creeping up on her. “Me neither.”

“I wish I could come to college with you.”

Paige gives an exaggerated groan at that, causing Drew to look back at her. “No you don’t, I promise. It’s boring.”

“You go to parties every weekend!”

Paige looks at him in surprise. “Who told you that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Was it Ice?”

“KK, actually.”

“Yeah, well, KK’s a dirty liar. I’m way too studious for parties or any of that.”

“KK also said you kiss a lot of girls.”

At this, Paige gasps, downright scandalized. “I do not!”

“Well, she said that you used to, before you dated Azzi.”

Her very name is enough to yank Paige out of this bubble Drew pulled her into, and it’s like getting out of a warm bed on a cold morning. “I guess so.”

“Where is Azzi, anyway? I wanna see her.”

“Uh,” Paige hesitates—she hates lying to her brother, because they may be over a decade apart but they are each other’s confidantes—but she can’t just go telling the truth. Not now, and certainly not to a third-grader. “She’s out right now.”

“Out where?”

“The…gym.”

“But you always go to the gym together.”

“Well, I didn’t feel like going.”

“Why not?”

“Drew,” Paige says, a little too firmly, immediately guilty at the confused look in his eyes, “listen,” she says more softly, “I’m sure you can talk to her later, okay? Just not right now.”

Paige expects more complaints, but what comes instead is a bout of silence and then, “Are you okay, Paigey?”

Drew leans closer to the screen to get a better look at her, and instinctively, Paige pulls the phone away from her face. “Yeah, I’m all good. Why?”

“You just seem a little sad.”

Sad generously understates Paige’s state of mind. But, at the same time, he’s right on the nose, reading her incredibly.

“Promise,” she lies. “I’m good.”

By the time they end the call, Drew still seems suspicious.

————————————

When, ten minutes later, Azzi still hasn’t come inside, Paige peeks out her bedroom window. The car is still in the driveway, and the sun is glaring unhelpfully on the front window but Paige can just make out Azzi’s form in the passenger seat. She can’t tell what she’s doing—she’d assumed she’d be calling her mom, because she knows Azzi and when she’s hurt she calls her mom.

Paige has never made Azzi call her mom before. She is officially the very person she’s always hated: somebody who could hurt her best friend, so heartless and cruel she could make the unshakeable Azzi Fudd cry.

She hates herself for it.

Hates herself enough, in fact, that she almost wants to go out there. To apologize a million times over—something she’ll end up doing anyway—and to comfort her and to let her break that last barrier away, the barrier that kept her from saying yes in the park, the root of all her fears and inhibitions. To ask Azzi to give her a chance and to be brave enough to take it. To risk everything they’ve so carefully built over the years for something that could be even better.

But then, Azzi glances up. Paige ducks away from the window, wincing at the sound of the car door slamming.

The front door follows soon thereafter, and Paige presses her ear to the bedroom door, trying to make out Azzi and Lauren’s conversation downstairs. She can’t hear them, though—she can only hear enough to know that Lauren is doing most of the talking. And she doesn’t have nearly long enough to prepare when Azzi’s familiar footsteps ascend the stairs, coming closer to her with each rapid thump of her heart.

Paige barely has the common sense to back away from the door just before she comes in. And then, it opens, and they’re standing face-to-face, Azzi’s eyes red-rimmed and stone-cold as they avoid Paige’s.

“Hey,” Paige says hesitantly.

When Azzi doesn’t answer, Paige steps out of the way, wondering if maybe Azzi wants to come in, but she stays put. Her gaze goes over Paige’s shoulder, to the bed. She looks exhausted.

“You tryna sleep?” Paige asks. Azzi only shrugs, making a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.

“Aight, I’ll…leave, then.”

Still, Azzi doesn’t move from the doorway. Finally, her eyes find Paige’s, and she holds them there when she says, “I think…I think I’m done, Paige.”

She’d implied it, earlier—That’s it, then—but hearing her say it out loud like this is a whole other thing, and it makes Paige want to double over. It’s instinctive, the way she reaches out to beg Azzi to stay, to let her amend for her wrongdoings and make everything right again, but Azzi flinches back and her arm falls limply to her side. “Okay,” Paige says, helpless. “I was looking at flights, earlier—I could get you one for tonight, or tomorrow morning, I know you prefer morning flights. But if you want good seats you might have to wait a couple days, but I could maybe call the airline and see what I can do? Just, whatever you want.”

Azzi winces, shaking her head slowly. “No, I meant—I’ll stay, for the trip. So your parents don’t get suspicious.”

“You don’t—“

“But after that,” Azzi interjects, “I think I have to be done. With you.”

Paige doesn’t react much, not outwardly—she takes a small step that’s more of a stumble back, and her eyes widen—but on the inside it feels as if she’s being ripped in two. “Azzi.”

“Don’t,” Azzi murmurs. She kicks at the floor. “I—we—need this. If we ever want a chance at being us again, we need space, okay? We need time.”

Paige stammers, so many words lunging up her throat but stopping behind her lips, creating a torrent so strong she can only make a weak, helpless sound. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“I don’t blame you,” Azzi mutters, looking up at her as she takes a small, tentative step forward. “You can’t help how you feel.”

Paige wants to scream at her, to say I feel it, too, to take her by the shoulders and hold her close and whisper, I love you, too—but she can’t.

So instead she says, “I wasn’t—I meant—I’m sorry. For leaving you this morning, for acting distant a couple days ago—for sending so many mixed signals, for being rude to you at the lake and for being mean when we got here—“ as she says it, it all becomes very clear to her, just how much she has managed to damage the trust between them in such a short amount of time. “It might not help, but I need you to know, you know?”

Slowly, Azzi nods, and her hand brushes against Paige’s arm. “I know you are,” she whispers. “I just—I don’t know if I can…”

“It’s okay,” Paige is quick to fill the silence, her arm burning from where Azzi touched her, “I know, it’s okay.”

Azzi bites her lip, and when her eyes trail back to the bed Paige shuffles awkwardly. “Hey, how about I sleep downstairs tonight, okay?” when Azzi opens her mouth, Paige stops her. “We’ll tell my parents that you kicked me out because I was—snoring too loud, or something. I dunno.”

“But won’t they think—?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Paige waves her off, stepping aside, relieved when Azzi finally comes in. “You deserve some sleep.”

She doesn’t expect her to, but when Azzi doesn’t protest any further, doesn’t say I can’t sleep without you next to me, it comes with a bitter disappointment.

She really, really fucked up this time.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa @router2260 @guesswhoitsn @patri-ots87 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @ijustreadignoreme @pazzilover101 @tropics43 @bueckersss @bigheadfudd @surferandskater5 @iknowth35nd @rhyxanwaters @graceinshade @azzilov

[arbitrarykiwi]

Third Times a Charm: Oral Fixation 2/3

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x AFAB reader smut series

Summary: you ran into him three separate times. First was at a party, second time was at a club. And like his favorite drugs, he was addicted. The third time? Well he wasn’t going to let you get away so easy. Third times a charm and he was going to get his fix. ((Non-squid games au))

Warnings: Smut (18+), LONG (y'all.. I went over board: 6.4k words), id say this is significantly more debauched than the first chapter, alcohol use, drug use, substance mixing, stalker! Nam-Gyu themes (he finds your info online), porn with plot (long intro, there is a divider added for convenience if you wish to skip to the fuckin') , oral (m receiving), choking, dirty talk, name calling ((this chap. is significantly more gendered than the first one)) (pretty girl, good girl, whore and slut used once), face fucking, sugar daddy! Nam-Gyu themes, spitting, cum play, breath play, he’s nasty- got a filthy mouth on him, brief mention of death threats (he threatens somebody for interrupting y'all), proof read but I am dyslexic, there's prolly more- read at your own risk

Previous chapter: Taste Test 1/3

Next chapter: Bodytalk 3/3

AN: gonnna be so real yall, music inspo for this fic is São Paulo ft. Anitta by The Weekend…if you wanna read it with the fic be my guest 😋 (best time to start it is when yall meet again in da club)

The second time you ran into him was at a club.

It has been about two weeks since your interaction with him. Nam-Gyu. To say that he was all you thought about would be putting it lightly. The thought, the feel, the scent of him, was all you could think about.

Figuring with just a name to go off of and the drugged out crowd you often hung around, your luck of finding him was slim to none. You tried to search him up, nothing. All searches took you to was links about a ‘Club Pentagon’.

You tried to go out with some men, often finding yourself repulsed anytime they put your hands on you. Pushing them away and calling a cab to just go back home and get yourself off. None of those guys seemed worth your time- you’d just be thinking about him anyway.

His hands felt better. His lips felt better. He felt better.

You found yourself in your room, with a half smoked blunt hanging between your fingers as you scrolled through social media aimlessly. While scrolling you watched as a notification popped up at the top of your screen, your phone resonating a ‘ping’- a text from your friend asking you to go out to, none other than, Club Pentagon. You clicked the notification with a speed you didn’t know you had.

A reply is sent quick, agreeing to meet her at the club in a few hours. You stood up off your bed, taking a drag of the blunt you rolled- getting ready or not, you can’t waste it!

In the span of a couple hours you got ready, dolling yourself up in the best outfit you could think of. One of your favorite dresses, the one that was just a little too short but fit oh so perfect. You hope by some grace of the universe- he’s there. And with the chance that he may be there…you wanted to take a little extra time with your makeup.

After finishing off your blunt, taking more than a couple shots, and a excecuting perfect face of makeup- you’re calling a taxi with a nice buzz and making your way to Club Pentagon.

The night is cool when you step out the taxi. You pay and thank the cab driver, turning to find your friends in the long line of people. It doesn’t take long, they find you. They yell your name from the crowd, excitedly pulling you into the line. “God damn!! You look good!” One of your friends cheers, you laugh and give a little twirl. The group you find yourself in catches up, chatting, while walking slowly with the line of people waiting in queue for the club.

Soon you make it to the entrance, a large bouncer stands near a velvet rope that block the front door of the club. The large neon sign sporting the words ‘Club Pentagon’ flash a vibrant pint that illuminated the area outside the club.

Your group begins filling into a small cluster behind the velvet rope, waiting by the entrance for the rest of the group before heading into the club. Your friend in front of you passed the bouncer, adjusting her pink wristband sporting ‘21+’. It was the usual band bars around here used to signify the person wearing it was of age to drink.

You hand your ID to the bouncer patiently waiting to be let into the club. The bouncer looks to you then to your ID, he seems to re-read it then looks back up to you. “Wait here.” He tells you, stepping away. You look to your friend with a quirked eyebrow, wondering what the hold up is.

Your friend laughs, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out to the bouncer. “She’s of age officer I swear!!” You reach over to swat her arm to get her to stop. “Bitch c’mon! For one, he’s not an officer. Two, that’s literally what someone with a fake ID would say.” You laugh, already tipsy from the pregame.

The bouncer returns with a chuckle at your friend’s antics. “Not worried ‘bout that girls.” He says to you and your friend with a jovial laugh. “Your name was familiar, saw it on the VIP list.” The bouncer says, to only you this time, placing a lime green wristband on your wrist, on it the acronym ‘VIP’ is printed around the entirety of the paper bracelet.

“Huh?” You say incredulously, you haven’t even been to this club before and you sure wouldn’t pay for a VIP band yourself. You look to your friend group, wondering if they had something to do with it. Their faces mimicked yours, confused, so they obviously had nothing to do with this.

“This must be a mistake- I didn’t pay for this.” You say not wanting to get overcharged. “No mistake Ma’am. One of our club promoters put you on the list personally.” He says opening the red suede rope to let you into the building.

You’re confused, you don’t know any club promoters. But you nod, in thanks to the bouncer as you join your friends. You are still wildly perplexed but not complaining- it’s a free all you can drink ticket! Your friends ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ at you as you walk in with them.

“Which club promoter’s dick did ya suck to get that~” Your friend teases leaning into you, you laugh and shake your head. “Genuinely…no one’s. I have never been here before….the covers always been too high.” You say, your eyes scanning the grand entrance of the club- chandeliers covered the ceilings, various colored lasers reflecting off of the diamonds and dispersing into colored rays that flood the floor.

“Ohhh??? A secret admirer??!!” Your friends giggle as you make your way to the bar. You laugh her off, shaking your leaning on the bar. “For real I can’t imagine who would put me on the list…” You shrug as you all order your first round of drinks.

In your head you’re trying to find any possible reasoning. It’s couldn’t be him, could it?

Anytime you looked up his name, and you typed out those six letters more times than you could count over the weeks, he never came up….but this club that you find yourself at - Club Pentagon- did. Was he a club promoter here? Was he the club promoter that put you on the expensive VIP list?! Even if he was…you didn’t give him your name the last time you saw him. You were pulled away from him before you could even thank him for the mindblowing orgasm he gave you, let alone give him your name.

Your eyes darted around the place, examining the club that you never bothered to come to. Sure the cover was expensive but as you see the extravagant decoration, multiple stages lit up with flashing, multi-colored panels, and intricate carved marble columns throughout the place- the price seemed worth it.

You make good use of the VIP wristband, ordering rounds of shots that were covered by the lime green piece of paper that’s on your wrist. But you still can’t stop thinking of who would have put you on the list.

With the free VIP bracelet came an exclusive area within the club, a small lounge area that was one of many within the establishment. Each VIP with a bracelet and their group got one.

So there you found yourself, getting ready to head to the dance floor after spending some time on the plush leather couch of the sectioned off area.

You can’t count how many shots you’ve taken at the VIP table but you were feeling great. Your friends excitedly stood up, hearing one of their favorite songs come on. You laughed, standing with them to begin to head to the dance floor.

Your friends practically ran to the dance floor, leaving you there laughing at just how fast they made it- drunk and in heels nonetheless. Just when you’re about to leave your table you hear someone clear their throat.

You turn immediately to the person, your eyes widening. “Nam-gyu!” You say with a smile, walking over to him. He’s dressed to the nines, a black suit, a red undershirt that’s unbuttoned revealing his collarbones. He’s leaning against one of the columns that had intricate carvings on it.

He smiles, taking a drag from a blunt that he had. “Well, seems like you finally took advantage of your VIP privileges I gave you.” He says with a wicked grin. Under the flashing lights he looks like a snake ready to strike, it’s alluring in ways you can’t even put into words.

You gravitate towards him, your eyebrows raising as you realize he was the one to give you this VIP pass. “You’re the mysterious club promotor who gave me the VIP?” You question as you walk to him. You come close to him, standing in front of him- looking up at him.

He nods, looking you over like he’s a predator ready to catch his prey. His hand reaches out and dances along your arm in a light motion. You watch as his eyes take all of you in, his teeth catch the corner of his bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in a deep breath. You don’t know it but all he can think of is the way your cunt felt around his fingers and the way your cum tasted on his tongue. “Put your name on the list personally.” He responds.

“How’d you-“ You begin to say. He cuts you off, pulling you closer into him by the small of your back. “Find your name?” He says, almost mocking the way you’re sure you would have asked it. It’s a demeaning, taunting tone that does nothing to help the growing warmth in your lower stomach. You nod in response, swallowing thickly as his hand runs down the curve of your ass to grip at flesh.

He laughs, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The hand that wasn’t gripping your ass held a lit blunt. He brought it up to his mouth and took a long drag. As he does, he doesn’t look away from you. His dark eyes are lit up in an orange hue as the cherry of the blunt rages when he draws in a hit. He drops his hand to his side again.

Smoke rolls out of his mouth in smooth streams as he looks down at you and grins. “Sweetheart, s’not that hard….” He drawls on, leaning down closer to you. A devious smirk spreads across his lips. “I didn’t just get your name, I found your phone number and address too.” He rasps, pulling back after his words to look at you.

He has a mischievous, almost wicked glint in his eyes that has you spinning. You should be freaked out, fighting against him for being some sort of crazed stalker- but you don’t. You keep grinding against him, your hands finding purchase around his neck.

Your eyes scan his, wide and trying to figure out what to do. ‘Cute’ he thinks. It was like your common sense was fighting your desire for him, and it was a battle he loved to watch. “You knew where I lived and had my number…why didn’t you-“

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your ass, once again, his ringed fingers gripping into the flesh as if you’d run away. He brings his hand up in between you two, holding the blunt so that it faces you. You can taste the wrap on your lips.

You look up at him through your lashes in a way that makes him want to forget pleasantries and fuck you here and now. But he restrains himself- nodding his head towards the blunt, his eyes never leaving yours.

When your lips wrap around the blunt and suck in the smoke, you can hear him hiss. He speaks through gritted teeth. “There you go….” He rasps. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He says, it’s a tone that makes you melt, you can hear the hunger in his voice, speaking through gritted teeth as if he was fighting himself from ruining you on the spot.

When you release the blunt and let the smoke billow out of your lips he speaks again, “You’re right,” he says, finally beginning to answer your question, grinning down at you. “I could have texted or showed up to your apartment…” He says as he spins you around against him, pressing your back into his toned chest.

“But I’m not some stalker..” He hums into your ear, hand hands all over you. “..so I just put you, my pretty little thing, on the VIP list. Hoping that you and your group of friends would show up here.” He hums in a low timbre that sends goosebumps up your skin.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you look back over your shoulder to at him.

“How could you have been so sure I would have came here?” You say your hand reaching back around him to entangle your fingers in his hair. You find yourself inhaling his cologne, even with significantly less drugs in your system than when you first met him- the scent is just as intoxicating.

“I wasn’t sure. In all honesty if I had to wait any longer I would have showed up on your door step.” He says, the tone in his voice tells you he’s not lying.

And it just makes you hotter.

“But there’s no need to think about that..you’re here now.” He breathes into your ear, his free hand that wasn’t holding the blunt, moving inwards from your waist, traveling down your stomach to grip at the inside of your thighs.

Wherever his hands go, they leave a trail of white hot fire, the only solace is the small cool sensation from the metal rings adorning his fingers. You arch into him, a small gasp coming out of your mouth at his fingers digging into your thighs, just centimeters away from where you needed them most.

“I was thinking about you…” You squeak out in a weak attempt to respond to him. “Tried to look you up.” You say, your breath hitching, breaking up your words into pathetic syllables as you feel him drag your ass against his growing hard on.

Maybe it was the way you were more coherent, less drugs in your system this time meeting him- or maybe it was the thin fabric of your dress leaving nothing to the imagination as he pressed against you- or maybe it was the way his fingers left you a shaking mess during your last meeting so you couldn’t pay attention - but you swore you could feel his erection against your back better than the last time you had an encounter with him.

And he was thick.

He laughs, the vibration tickling at the skin of your neck. “I’m not one to run around with the best crowd, sweetheart. Don’t need people findin’ me so easy.”

He puts the blunt out in a swift motion on an ashtray nearby. His one hand remains on your hip, the one now free from the blunt runs up your back.

He pushes, causing you to bend over in front of him. It’s raunchy, it’s debauched but you let it happen. His hand continues its path up your back to grip the hair at the base of your neck. The way your hips move in tandem is sinful. Your dress has long since bunched up above your ass, allowing his cock that strains against his pants to rub against your clothed cunt in the most delicious way possible.

You’re bent over in front of him, one of his hands tangled in your hair while the other continues the rhythmic sway of your ass against his erection.

“But I had no worry, I’d knew you’d find me eventually…huh, pretty girl?” He has with a scoff in his voice. “Like you said, been thinking about me….” He growls, his hand that’s in your hair pulls you back against him in a rough movement. You can feel the way his clothed cock is spreading your pussy, allowing the tent in his pants grind up against your clit.

A whine is pulled out of your throat as you press yourself back against him even more. Your head nodding in reply to his words. A low groan resides him his throat has he throws his head back, basking in the feeling of how warm his dick feels pressed against your clothed pussy. The slow grind of your body against his is in time with the music. The loud thrum of the bass only serving to make every moment of this even better.

He pulls you back up by your hair, the arm on your hip wrapping around your torso and caging you into him. “Y’know…I played your little game last time, fair and square. I’d say I impressed you at that little party, wouldn’t you?” He says into your ear as he shifts his hips upwards, deliberately dragging his clothed cock up into you, the only thing keeping him from sinking into your velvety walls was your underwear and his pants.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling yourself clench around nothing. It was embarrassing, yet again, how quick he could get you to come undone. Your lip catches on your bottom lip as you try to grind down into his motions.

His hand releases from your hair and comes up to grip your jaw. “Answer me. Use your words.” He says, his breath ticking your ear. The low growl of his voice is smooth but devilish, a warning. You can feel the way his chest heaves with heavy breaths against your back. A sing that you had just as much of an effect on him that he had on you.

“Y-you did. You impressed me.” You say desperately your words slurred by his hand that grips your jaw. His grip loosens, his head dropping to your neck. His lips dance along your pulse point, tongue leaving a warm, wet trail along the column of your throat to under your ear.

“So then you should agree that I should get a nice little reward, for being so gracious, even after you cheated at your own little game?” He says, his lips tickling your ear. You nod frantically, reaching behind you to palm his erection over his slacks to prove a point of how desperately you needed him.

He growls into your ear, spinning you around to face him before smashing his lips on yours. You whine against him, reciprocating the kiss with equal desperation.

You don’t even realize when he leads you down a hall in a feverish mess of kissing. Your back is pressed against a closed door before he hastily fumbles with the knob.

You both stumble into office in the back of the Club Pentagon- being one of its top promoters had its perks of a private office and Nam-Gyu was going to use it.

It’s a fast paced mess of tongue and teeth. You find yourself turned pressed up against the door, closing it with a soft thud. His hands remove themselves from your waist, coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs rest on your cheeks while his pinky’s are nestled right under your ears. He pulls you to him, as is he’s trying to merge you into him.

His tongue explores your mouth in a skilled way that has your mind melting. You whine against him as he bites your bottom lip. Your hands work in clumsy, jittery movements to unbuckle his belt. He chuckles against you, finding your feeble attempt to rid him of his pants endearing.

He breaks this kiss, his forehead pressed to yours as his hands trail up your sides to your chest, stopping to grope at your breasts. “Eager are we?” He chuckles against your lips.

You kiss him again, the taste of his lips addictive. Pulling away to pout, looking up at him as your hands dance along the buckle of his belt. “Yes. And so what if I am?”

He grins, laughing at your words, his hands that massage your breasts slow their ministrations. His thumbs being to work against your nipples under your shirt. He brushes his thumbs over them in feather light touches, relishing in the feeling of your nipples beginning to harden under his touch. When your breath catches in your chest and you arch into him, he scoffs. “Pretty and sensitive…I’m going to have fun with you.” He says in a degrading tone, enjoying the small hint of an attitude you had being subbed out so quickly by him playing with your nipples.

He kisses you again fervently, hands removing themselves from under your bra to push you backwards by your hips. Your knees buckle when you hit a piece of furniture.

You fall to a sitting position onto a small couch in the room, whining when your lips part from his. He comes close to you, standing between your legs and looking down at you.

His eyes are dark. His hair was tousled, some strands still pushed back with whatever product he used to style it while others fall over his face. He smiles down at you, his hands running over your shoulders, along the sides of your neck to cradle your head.

His hands move up into your hair, tangling into the strands and cranking your neck back to look up at him. He moves even closer. Your chin is touching his lower stomach, forcing you to hold his gaze as he grinds his erection that is painfully hard against in his pants against your neck.

He looks down at you as if you’re a goddess in a renaissance painting. “Aren’t you just a sight…” he muses. His hands leg go of your hair, his warning gaze is enough to keep you in place. One of his hands comes up, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

You do it almost instinctively, wrapping your lips around his thumb. Eyes never leaving his as your tongue swirls around the pad of his finger.

His eyebrows raise, the breath he sucks in has your pussy clenching around nothing. “Oh…” He drawls on in a low amused hum. His eyes don’t leave your lips, it’s like he’s transfixed on where his thumb disappears into your warm mouth. “You’re fucking dangerous…” He muses in a low rumble. You can feel the way he grinds his erection into you throat as his thumb massages your tongue.

“C’mon then, I need to be inside your fucking mouth.” He growls, removing his finger from your mouth and quickly getting rid of pants and boxers. He doesn’t even have the patience to rid himself of his clothes, simply pushing them down to his knees.

His cock falls free from its confines and lands heavily in front of you, the tip smacking against your lips with a hearty sound.

Taken aback, you grip the base of his dick with one of your hands pulling your head back to look at it. It’s thick, long, the tip an angry red. The dark hairs at the base trail up his stomach in the most tantalizing line.

He hisses at the contact, you can feel it twitch in your hand. “Please, sweetheart…I’m dying…” He says, an upward cadence to his voice but his words are muffled. You look up from his cock, confused and when your eyes trail up his toned stomach to his face, your mouth is dry.

It’s a beautiful view. He has his red dress shirt is pulled up and out of the way by his teeth. His hair is disheveled, falling around his face and framing it in small shadows. His eyebrows are upturned, watching you- more specifically your mouth in a frenzied look, pleading for you to continue. His sleeves are rolled up revealing tattoos on his forearms that decorate his skin in intricate lines of black and grey.

How could you say no to him?!

Your mouth parts in a slow movement, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You place his cock on your tongue, smacking the angry tip against your tongue a couple times. Each time, you see his stomach clench as the warm wet feeling of your tongue met his dick.

He watches as you lick him from base to tip, stoping to wrap your plush lips on his the tip of cock. It’s a tease for the feeling of heaven that is your mouth because soon you release him, running your tongue along the underside of dick. The sounds he’s making are sinful, low moans and groans of your name that has your thighs pressing together to ease the ache in your cunt.

He groans, taking his shirt out of his mouth and holing it in one of his hands. His other one makes its way to the back of your head, fisting your hair and yanking your head back.

“Enough of this teasing, sweet thing. You’re still the same slut that let me finger her on the dance floor weeks ago…so you’re gonna act like it, yeah?” He says looking down at you as he begins to jerk his cock over your face.

You smile, it’s a sight that has him gripping his dick tighter. Your mouth drops open, you nod. “That’s right…” he coos, shaking your head by the grip in your hair. “Stick your tongue out.” He demands, punctuating his words by tightening his grip on your hair.

You obey, lolling your tongue out, never breaking eye contact. He leans over you, making you watch as he sucks and then spits into your mouth. You moan out when you feel the taste of his saliva hit your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy. “Swallow.” He demands again. “And fucking look at me when you do it.” He says through gritted teeth.

You open your eyes again, watching him continue to pump his thick cock over your face. You obey, closing your mouth and swallowing his saliva. Your gaze locked to his and its filthy. He stands over you, one hand on the back of your head, the other twisting around his length as he watches you swallow.

“Ohhh….” He coos, his eyebrows knitted together in an upturned expression as he watches you. “That’s it….” He says, taking a step closer to rub the tip of his dick over your plush lips. He grins down at you, his dark eyes trained on you as you stick your tongue back out, running it on the underside of his thick length.

“I don’t even have to ask? Y’know just what to do, huh? How fucking filthy you are…” He mocks in a condescending tone. His hips thrust forward just the tiniest bit, pushing the angry tip of his cock between your lips before pulling out. His eyes trained on the way your lips move around the ridge of his cock-head.

He hisses out a shuddering breath, biting his lip before speaking again, this time his tone drastically different- it’s softer. “You look so pretty like this..” He says in a soft hum, his hand brushing your hair back out of your face in a strangely comforting manner.

He surges his hips forward more, sinking his cock into your mouth. The sound he lets out is sinful. You look up, his head is thrown back, his hand clenching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “O-oh fuck…” He hisses.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, your tongue beginning to memorize every vein along his length. He isn’t quiet, he’s obscene. Every time you move your head up and down his cock he’s chanting praises followed by moans that fuel the wetness that pools in your underwear. You’re sure by this point it’s staining the fabric of the couch you sit on.

His head saga to the side, his eyes back on you. “You can do b-better than that. I know you can.” He says, panting between word, a degrading tone lacing his voice.

He moans as he feels you begin to work harder, your hand coming up to stroke at the length that you didn’t have in your mouth. His hand that’s at the back of your head moves to the side, the hand that’s holds his shirt drops the fabric to mirror his other hand.

Both hands on either side of your skull, he smirks down at you, panting. “You can take it.” He says with a chuckle, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You moan around him at his words, only spurring him on to press you down his length. As your lips inch down his cock he groans, indulging him self in the warm, wet, solace that was your mouth.

He keeps his eyes trained on you, watching as spit begins to spill at the corners of your mouth, creating a ring around his cock every time he pulled your head back and forth. He was simply addicted.

“This….” He’s cut off as you straighten your tongue out, allowing him to begin to sink in the tightness of your throat. “O-oh f-fuck….” He shudders out through clenched teeth, the words aggressive. “T-this is so much better than any fucking drug I’ve done.” He huffs out.

His hands continue to press down. His head falling backwards once more as he uses your mouth. When the head of his cock finally slips past the tight ring of your throat he lets out a moan that is so wicked it has you echoing him. You let out a sound that is between a gag and a moan, it’s debauched. Porn worthy.

His head snaps back forward watching you with a dark look. When he sees that you don’t pull away, and instead look up at him- taking more of him in your throat without the push of his hands- he laughs. It’s a soft sound, one of awe, shock and pride.

“Takin’ me so well…so fuckin’ well.” He says, punctuating his words by returning his hands to the back of your head forcing you all the way down. With your nose pressed into the coarse hairs of his pubic bone your eyes roll back into your skull as you gag and choke around him.

One of the hands on your head drops to your throat, cradling it- feeling where his cock was nestled. Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, the restriction of air leaving your pussy practically weeping onto the couch.

He pulls back, his cock pulling out of your throat in a messy string of saliva and his pre-cum. You gasp and cough, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Y-you’re so big…” you choke out in a raspy whine. He looks down at you with a pout, rubbing his hand over your lips, smearing your spit on your face.

“I know, pretty. But you can take it, yeah?” He says, his hand stopping at your cheek, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle. “Mhm.” You say with a nod leaning into his hand.

He smiles down at you, his hands returning to their position to cradle your head. “Gonna let me cum down your throat like my good whore, huh?” He says, the words down right depraved but he has such a soft and sweet tone it has your brain spinning.

You nod, mouth opening again, tongue stuck out- waiting so patiently for him.

The rapid pace is set instantly. His cock enters your mouth, instantly sliding to the back of your mouth. His cock bullies its way down your throat relentlessly. You swear your throat is going to be permanently molded to the shape of his dick. Your tongue flattens more, licking against his balls every time he sinks you to the base of his cock.

“F-fuck, your fucking throat is so tight.” He almost chokes out, his hands working your face against his cock at a meteoric speed. Any time he felt you gag, it just made him fuck your face harder- and you loved it.

He looks down at you, his head lolled to the size, his gaze hazy. “I needa cum in y-your throat so bad..” he says in almost a pleading whine. The desperate hitch to his voice has your eyebrows turning up and eyes rolling back. You moan and gag around him, an attempt to spur him on.

“S’gonna feel so good, balls deep in your fucking throat.” He rambles, his breathing becoming heavier and his thrusts sloppier. “And you’re gonna swallow it all.” He mumbles, more to himself than you but you moan in agreement. A few more thrusts is all he needed before he’s nearing his limit

“I’m going to fucking c-cum…” he chokes out, in a growl, his hands twisting into your hair, forcing your all the way down his cock- holding you at the base, tongue lapping desperately at his balls. He hunches over you, pressing you deeper into him in ways you didn’t think was possible.

You feel it in an instant, the warm spurts of cum that flow out of him, his hips thrusting in shallow movements as he milks his cock in your throat. Despite gagging and choking around him, you swallow, greedily, trying your best not to waste any last drop.

He pulls you off of him, a filthy web of your saliva and his cum connecting his dick to your lips. You choke and gasp, catching your breath. When you find it, you look to him. He’s smiling wide.

“Damn….” He says, his hand that’s not on your head swipes between you two, collecting some of the fluids that string the two of you together. “Messy lil thing aren’t ya?” He hums, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck the mixture of your saliva and his cum off his fingers.

You giggle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not my fault you cum so much.” You tease back. He laughs again hands coming to hold your face, “Uh actually yeah it is…you I think you sucked the soul outta me…” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

It’s messy, but he takes his time, his lips moving in a soft rhythm against yours- almost as if it’s a thanks for the orgasm you gave him.

He pulls back, his hands working to readjust your dress and smooth out your hair. His thumb even swipes under your eyes- a feeble attempt to fix your makeup- but an attempt nonetheless.

You jump when you hear a loud knock on the door, you gasp- knocking the door was unlocked. Nam-Gyu moves himself completely in front of you- shielding you from the door if whoever was knocking happened to barge in. “S’okay.” He soothes, looking back to you. “Locked or not these fucking dumbasses know not to enter in here without me telling them to.” He says with a grin. You giggle, your fingernails still lightly raking against his thighs.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, then another round of knocks. “We got an issue that requires your help out here, boss.” The individual calls. Nam-Gyu groans. “Can it fucking wait?” He calls over his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No can do! People out back are trying to lowball us for this batch.” The man calls back. Nam-Gyu looks to the door then back to you. “‘m sorry, princess. Gonna have to take a rain check…” He says, a genuine look of upset in his eyes as he realizes he’s going to have to depart from you.

He reaches down to pull you to stand, kissing you once more. This time it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips. You sigh into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours makes your body light up in ways you’ve never felt.

He pulls away, working to pull up his pants and boxers, tucking his semi-hard cock into his pants. You look at his cock, pouting, pressing your thighs together. He looks up to you, then down to your thighs. “‘M sorry sweetness, next time it’s all about you. Consider it the last of your payback for leaving me hanging the first time we met.” He says, taking a step back towards you, his hand coming to the back of your neck, pulling you to him and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You coming boss??” The voice calls impatiently from behind the door. “For fucks sake!! Yes. Give me a damn minute.” He yells over his shoulder.

“Wait I don’t have your number. I’m not going to find you again” You say, eyebrows knitted in a worried expression- you lost him once and with dick this good- you couldn’t lose him again.

He finishes up buckling his belt, looking to the wall and into the cracked and dirty mirror that hung there to straighten up his hair. Another loud knock comes at the door. “I’ll be there in a fucking second!” He seethes at the door. “Knock again and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” He yells in an enraged voice. His face twisted in an annoyed and enraged scowl- a genuine hatred in his eyes that has you scared. The way he was saying it showed that if another knock came, there would be someone’s blood painting the wall.

However, when he turns around to you his face immediately softens. He hurries over to you, his hands cupping your face and shaking his head. “Not gonna have to worry about that, sweet thing.” He coos, brushing your hair, helping to smooth out the evidence of how much he just wrecked you. “I have your number, remember. Promise I’ll text you.” He says with a grin, kissing you once more.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He hands you a couple 20’s. “You get home safe. Cabs on me.” He says looking at the bills in your hand before shrugging, placing even more 20’s down into the pile- way more than what you needed for cab fair. “And tomorrow get yourself a gift- on me as well.” He says winking.

Before you can respond he’s walking over to the door of his office and whipping the door open, yelling at the person who was knocking for not having any patience. He pushes the individual who was knocking back from the door way immediately so they wouldn’t see you in your less than appropriate form.

You stand there, heart thudding in your chest as you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You open your phone to many missed messages and calls from your friends. Gathering your things, you call them as you walk out to hail a cab- ready to relay all the details about who exactly gave you the VIP wristband.

Tag List: @heyitsayjayy , @chxrrybomb22 , @ziallgff , @ametheslime , @hornyfordaryldixon (( let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for the last part <3 ))

[sarastial]

──────────────────────

bus crush

ellie williams x reader

summary: your heavenly perfume catches ellie’s attention on the bus, and she can’t help but stare.

(university! ellie; implied femme reader)

a/n: i’ve been writing for years and this is my first published fic ever lol .. kinda nervy but i hope you enjoy it!

──────────────────────

Ellie Williams was drenched when she finally got on the bus that drove to and from the student housing complexes — drenched and shivering and exhausted. She had been on campus attending her back-to-back lectures all day (Tuesdays were her worst days) without so much as a thirty minute break between classes, and was beat by the time she got to the bus stop. It didn’t help that it was the peak of December, just before finals and winter break. That meant bone-rattling storms that almost shook the shitty old university buildings — which were definitely in need of some TLC, by the way — and Ellie’s overused umbrella getting fucked up with the rain and wind beating it down.

She closes said umbrella as she steps further into the bus, attempting to shake off as much water as she can from its tattered waterproof fabric before glancing up to scan for a seat.

Just my luck, Ellie thinks to herself with an internal sigh, finding every possible seat occupied by one of her equally drenched, shivering peers. She moves over to the side of the bus where there were already a couple of students standing and holding onto the cloth handles hanging from the roof of the vehicle. Ellie opts to squeeze the handrail instead, waiting for the bus to start moving. A few stragglers come in, and the bus finally departs from the station.

Someone moves to stand between Ellie and another student, cramping up the already tight space. Ellie’s about to scowl in the student’s direction when the scent of vanilla and cinnamon hits her nose.

Holy shit, she blinks, inhaling as deeply as she can without looking odd and/or slightly off-putting, Someone smells like a damn bakery.

She dares to spare a darting glance sideways at the person standing next to her … then a second, then a third. There was no doubt in Ellie’s mind that the girl who stood there, leaning into the condensation-riddled window of the bus and gazing down at the small, tattered paperback book in her hands with her old-school wired earbuds in, was the person who smelled so divine. She looked just like she smelled, nice and warm and pretty and yummy and —

Ellie inhales sharply, looking away and biting the inside of her cheek. Her hand comes up to tuck a loose, damp strand of her choppy, auburn hair behind her ear, gaze trained on the view outside through the foggy glass bus door that was right across from where she stood. The sight of the rain pouring down onto the dark, dampened streets of her little college town distracts her for a while. She waits for a few moments before stealing a longer glance at the girl and taking her in — from her long, perfectly manicured fingernails and mixture of dainty and chunky rings to the bootcut jeans she wore that somehow managed to hug her in all the right places.

Ellie feels a bit intimidated by how put-together the girl looks, by how different the two of them are appearance-wise. Her own nails are short and blunt from her nervous habit of chewing on them, and her clothes are baggy — wide legged jeans that are soaked at the bottom hems from walking through puddles all day and a zip-up hoodie with rolled up sleeves to show off her sick new tattoo. But Ellie really, really, really wanted to talk to the girl. She wanted to ask her about what she was reading, about what she was listening to, about what perfume she was wearing and about how the hell she managed to look so pretty after being out in a rainstorm.

She’s definitely straight, Ellie deflates slightly, pressing her teeth into her chapped bottom lip and furrowing her eyebrows, deep in thought.

Ellie doesn’t even realize that she’s still staring at the pretty, nice smelling girl until she’s met with a pair of eyes and a small, confused smile. She freezes up, enthralled by the new angle of the girl’s face.

She’s looking at you …

She’s looking at you! Look away, dumbass!

Ellie clears her throat and whips her head back to face the door of the bus in front of her, blinking fervently and internally cursing herself as she tries to play off her staring. It’s too late, for sure. She’s already made herself look like a creep, watching the girl while she minded her own business.

Damn it. Way to play it cool.. She squeezes the handrail a little tighter as the bus turns, trying her best not to sway in the girl’s direction as the vehicle lurches sideways. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself.

Ellie’s internally pouring over that slightest, faintest smile that the girl had given her when a voice breaks through her thoughts, soft and mellow.

“I like your tattoo.”

Ellie’s mind doesn’t even have the time to process the fact that it’s her, it’s the girl, and that she’s talking to Ellie and she’s complimenting Ellie and that Ellie should reply and say something and —

She turns her head a little too quickly, gaze flickering over to the girl at her side. Sure enough, she’s smiling again. She’s waiting for a response.

“Oh, uh,” Ellie spurts, tucking that damn strand that kept spilling back into her eyes back behind her ear, “Thanks. Just got it a few weeks ago.”

She takes in the girl’s silent nod of acknowledgment, heart pounding in her ear. They just look at each other for a moment. Then, the girl slowly turns back to her book, lowering her gaze and tentatively flipping a page. Her lashes fan out against her cheeks in a way that makes Ellie sure she’s some goddess in disguise sent down to earth to bait a poor mortal like herself.

“I like your smell,” Ellie blurts before her mind catches up, watching as the girl turns back towards her with a small, amused smile forming on her face. “I mean, I like the way you smell. Like, your perfume. It’s nice.”

Ellie winces internally, wanting more than anything to kick open the emergency exit and run back to her dorm and crawl under her covers and die. But the girl laughs — she laughs — and Ellie’s scuffed up boots stay planted firmly on the floor, so she doesn’t move.

“Thank you,” the girl replies, warm gaze sweeping over Ellie’s burning, freckled face. It’s obvious that her laugh wasn’t meant to be a mean one.

Ellie feels heat gather in her face and turns to look at the handrail she’s squeezing, studying it as if it were the most interesting thing on the bus. But it wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t, not with that pretty girl standing so close to her. But she can’t find it in herself to say anything else, so she just keeps staring at the handrail until the bus comes to a screeching halt.

It’s her stop.

Ellie hesitates for a fleeting moment, wanting more than anything to ask for her name or something. Instead, she lets go of the handrail and picks up her umbrella, sparing one last look at the girl — who’s too caught up in her novel to notice — before stepping off the bus into the biting wind and pouring rain.

Unbeknownst to her, the girl peeks up from her book with a small, giddy smile to watch her go just as the bus doors close.

[myloveer0]

''Dream at first lust''

(Ambessa x reader NsFw)😭🥵❤️

(Part II is here..!!)

18+ Read it at your own risk!

---Imagine waking up in the middle of the night, only to find Ambessa standing before you. What would you do?---

I want Ambessa so bad guys! I'm scared of myself!!

Note: Thanks for waiting, everyone! I've been busy with college lately, but I still made time to update this story. I’ve already finished drafting the next two chapters, and all I’ll say is that—the next chap is where the spice gets even spicier! I can’t stop giggling Ugh! 🥵🔥🔥🔥

“I-it’s not what it looks like,”. It was all you could think to say.

Ambessa only looked at you, her lips curving. She tossed the phone back onto the bed with a casual flick of her wrist, the screen landing face down. The flashlight blinked off, plunging the room into darkness again.

Your heart raced as you scrambled, crawling across the bed to switch on the lamp beside the bed. Warm light flooded the room, but it only made things worse.

You froze, a curse slipping from your lips as your eyes found her once again.

Ambessa was still standing there, proud and tall, but the warm light didn't make things better it only made the room sensual in your eyes—the way the warm light illuminate her silk robe clung to her figure, the deep plunge exposing a delicious, taunting glimpse of her cleavage. The loose folds of fabric shifted just enough to expose her long, toned leg, smooth and strong. God! Help! Why is she so fine...

Your face burned, your breath hitching as heat rushed through your body. Can't believe your eye fucking her. You knew you should look away, but you couldn’t. She was a goddess made to attract everyone and you were one of it's victim.

Ambessa noticed. Of course, she noticed.

“I’ve seen enough, child,” she said smoothly, her voice cutting through the silence. Her lips curved into a small, wicked smile, her gaze locked onto you. “I was wondering why you couldn’t even look at me properly. But now... I think I understand.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re wrong…” you said weakly.

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Ambessa murmured, her voice dipping into a sultry purr. Her mind was set—no excuse you gave would change her mind.

“I’ve seen that look before,” she continued, stepping closer. Making sure to have a good look of you. “A mix of fear and… hunger.”

Ambessa's words hit you like a thunderclap, and you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She leaned forward slightly, her robe shifting just enough to reveal half of her cleavage as if teasing you at more of the skin you already couldn’t stop staring at.

“You have a fascination,” Ambessa continued, her voice soft but deliberate and inspecting how you stare at her chest. “In ways you shouldn’t.”

Your chest tightened, your head spinning with embarrassment, arousal, and desperation.

“I—” but nothing else came you. Words failed you completely under her gaze. Ambessa knew exactly how much power she held over you—knew the effect she had, the way her presence alone unraveled you. And from the way she reacted, she wasn’t denying it for a second. She liked it.

She chuckled softly, “Don’t worry, child,” she said, her voice wrapping around you.. “I find it... amusing. Endearing, even.”

“P-please, just stop talking for a minute,” you stammered, your voice cracking as you buried your face in your hands, wishing the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

Ambessa’s chuckle was soft but unmistakably amused. “Besides,” she said, her tone sharp yet teasing, “you already look guilty enough.”

You glanced up at her, confusion written all over your face. “What… what do you mean?”

Ambessa didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and began to pace the room, her steps deliberate and calm. Like she didn't transported in a strange place. Her movements carried a grace, her robe shifting slightly as she walked, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her powerful legs. She stopped at the curtain, her hand pulling it aside. The city unfolded before her—a glittering sea of lights and towering skyscrapers against the night sky.

You watched her closely, noting the way her expression flickered between confusion and curiosity. Her sharp eyes scanned the skyline, taking in the overwhelming modernity before her. She looked like someone completely out of time, out of place. She was as confused as you on how she mysteriously appreared in a strange place.

Ambessa gaze didn’t leave the window. Before she continue, “You’ve delved into yourself deeply tonight. Shamelessly, even.” She turned her head slightly to look at you, her piercing eyes finding yours once again. “Enough to present yourself with such… confidence.”

Her words carried a weight you didn’t fully understand, but the way her gaze shifted—her dark eyes trailing over you—made your stomach twist. You slowly glanced down at yourself, your heart stopping your eyes widen in disbelieve the realization hit you like a freight train.

You were naked.

Oh shit!

H-how can you be so clueless! You’d forgot how you fallen asleep in nothing but a tight red strap tube, the fabric clinging to your skin and leaving absolutely nothing. No bra, Your nipples, hard and proudly percking clearly visible, pressed against the thin fabric, announcing themselvesto the person infront of them aching for her attention. You were dressed slutty and downright scandalous and Ambessa wasn't shy to stare at you.

Heat rushed to your face, your entire body burning with humiliation as you let out a startled squeal, grabbing at the bedsheet and pulling it over yourself in a panic.

“No. No, no, no, no,” you muttered frantically, wishing this was all a horrible dream. You’d completely forgotten that you’d fallen asleep like this—after… that. You were just flashing yourself with your legs wide open in front of Ambessa, completely forgetting you were naked. Now you want to hit your head for being so stupid.

Ambessa’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she watched you flail, her lips curving. Your assumsion leading she already knew what you did before she appear. Her gaze lingered on you, and it was clear she wasn’t going to let you escape the moment. Your breathing were harder now, and you reaches around the sheets for support.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice low and teasing “Was this all for yourself?” She tilted her head, “Or were you hoping for… company?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. Your throat felt tight and all you could do was clutch the sheet tighter around yourself. The trembling in your body betrayed you, every nerve alight under the weight of her piercing gaze. Mortification mixed with want and needs.

You wanted to admit it. To agree with her, to give in to the pull of your arousal. Every instinct screamed at you that this was the moment—the one your fantasies had been wishing toward.

Your mind wrestled, whispering that maybe this wasn’t real, that it was all a dream your subconscious had conjured to torment. But if it was a dream, why fight it? Why resist? You should enjoy it. Take advantage. Surrender to the magnetic pull of her dominance.

Ambessa chuckled, starting to walk toward you closer this time, making your eyes widen. She stop beside you looking down at you like you were a feast infront of her. Stepping so close to the bed. that you could feel the heat of her presence. Her sweet smell and your arousal getting wild.

“Relax,” Ambessa said, her hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet her gaze. The moment her skin brushed yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

Her touch was firm, but not rough. “I’m not angry. or anything... I’m flattered”

Your breath hitched. “Y-you are? ''

“Of course.” Ambessa smirked, “How could I not be? You’re only human, after all. And humans are so predictable when faced with power and lust, aren’t they?”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper against your ear. “Tell me... what is it you fantasize about?”

You froze and avoid gaze, your mind a storm of panic, desire, and sheer disbelief. It feels dirty and wrong and your shaking with need.

“Oh, don’t be shy.” She pulled back just enough to look at you again, her expression one of amused curiosity. Her face was so close to yours that you could see the finest detail of her face, and it was enough to make you weak. “I want to hear it. Or...” Her thumb brushed your jaw as she tilted her head thoughtfully. “...should I guess?”

Please, don’t… You knew she already knew what you were thinking, it was all inside the phone and she was just teasing you, fascinated by your reaction. Before you could stop yourself, a question slipped out.

“Do you even want to do it with a woman! ” you blurted out, instantly regretting how uncertain you sounded.

Ambessa paused, one brow arching. Like you just asked a dumb question. She knew exactly what you were doing—grasping for a distraction, anything to shift the tension away. But from the way her lips curled into a smirk, it was clear she wasn’t irritated. If anything, she was entertained.

Arms crossing over her broad chest, she leaned back slightly. Then she chuckled.

“You mean, do I fuck women?” Ambessa repeated, her voice laced with mockery. “Is that what you’re asking, child?”

Your breath hitched at the boldness of her words, and you could only manage a small, mortified nod.

Her dark brown eyes gleamed as she leaned forward again, closing the space between you, suffocating you in the sheer weight of her presence.

“Oh,” she murmured, dragging out the word like a tease. “You don’t know just how much I do.”

The smirk on her lips widened, “I fuck every woman I can get,” she said, her voice thick with unshaken confidence. “Strong, soft, bold, shy—it makes no difference to me. They all have their… charms.”

She tilted her head, watching your reaction before adding, “The only thing that matters is whether they can keep up with me.”

Ohh god please.. you can't take her teasing anymore..

But if it really is.. does she want it to a stranger like you. Why haven't she questioned your identity or be suspicious. On how she mysteriously transported in a whole new dimension. "W-why are you doing this...?'' You asked ''What if I'm really one of the Black Rose, and I dragged you here?" you pressed.

Ambessa’s brows meet and hardened, and her once calm expression turn anger that made your chest tighten. You just made a big mistake. Regret, you didn't just keep your mouth shut.

"Don’t fool me." She straighten “I know the Black Rose. I know what they’re capable of. But you?” She gave you a look of pure contempt, "You are no threat to me. Not by a long shot. You are just a helpless, deluded woman—so desperate to fantasize about being used and discarded by someone like me."

You shifted back, your heart pounding with fear. You hated to admit it, but you were starting to fear her. This was the warlord standing before you. Yet, deep down, you knew you like this side of her.

“You don’t get to play me, child” Ambessa said, her voice sharp, “I’m not as nice as you think I am.”

Her eyes locked onto yours “Don't ever mention and use those words again or else you might not like what i do to you. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you remember exactly who you're dealing with.”

Your throat went dry. You tried to think of something to say, but the words stumbled from your lips. Your eyes started to blurry. You didn't want Ambessa to hate you. “I-I’m sorry, Ambessa. If I upset you… I just love you so much. And all of this feels like a dream come true. I have this thing, a-and I’m curious ab—”

Ambessa grabbed your jaw to make you look at her. ''No more blabbing child. And when did i permit you to use my name as you please. For now call me my lady.''

You shoke your head in agreement ''y-yes my lady medar-'

Without warning, something thick and long plunged deep into your throat—her fingers, moving in and out, mimicking fucking. Gag you tell your breath hitch. The sensation was intense, almost too much, stealing the air from your lungs. You couldn’t quite catch your breath, the pressure and pace pushing you to your limits. Making your eyes rolled in your eyelids.

F*ck! This is really happening...

Your wide eyes locked onto hers, pleading silently for a moment to process, of the overwhelming intensity. But she offered none—no pause, no mercy. Her remaining fingers clamped tightly around your chin, holding you firmly in place as though daring you to pull away.

"Is that all you can do? Beg for mercy, only to be treated like the whore you’ve always desired? Tell me, this is what you want? right." Ambessa's voice was low, steady, laced with a dangerous kind of softness "Just one word, and I’ll stop all this..." Her gaze bore into you, there was no unspeakable mistake in her eyes, dark and hungry.

You shook your head slowly, trembling not in disagreement, but in desperate plea. You didn’t want her to stop. You couldn’t. Every nerve in your body screamed for more, even as the sensations overwhelmed you. It felt so good it was almost unbearable.

"Use your words, little one," Ambessa murmured, each word sinking into your skin. And just like that, every ounce of restraint in your body dissolved. Her fingers slid out from your mouth, trailing to the corner of your lips, leaving a glistening smear of saliva. You look up at her smitten all over over face.

Oh, God.

"Yes!" The word tore from your lips, trembling with desperation. "F*ck, yes—keep going, don’t stop. My lady... you can do anything you want with me..." you pleaded, clinging to her arm desperately, like a kitten afraid to be abandoned. All that mattered in that moment was your need for her.

A victorious smirk appeared on Ambessa's lips. “Then prove it, little one. Show me how much you want me,” she said, her voice with a mix of seductive.

For a moment, you thought Ambessa might close the distance between you, but instead, she stood up straight and stepped back. Confusion flickered across your face as she dragged your desk chair toward you, the sound of it scraping softly against the floor. Placing it firmly in front of you, before she sat down.

Her legs spread wide, shamelessly confident. Her hands rested casually on the arms of the chair, her fingers tapping lightly as if she were waiting for you to entertain her. In this moment, she looked every bit like a queen surveying her subject, and you were utterly captivated.

“W-what do you want me to do?” you stammered, your voice trembling as you tried to hold yourself together under her piercing gaze.

“Straddle my thigh,” Ambessa said smoothly.

Your heart pounded in your chest as her words settled over you, heat pooling low in your stomach. But still, you hesitated, your body frozen in place, overwhelmed by the intimacy of her command.

You swallowed hard. “Your thigh isn’t what I want, my lady,” you whimpered softly, barely able to meet her gaze. “I want you. Please. Touch me more”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile, a glint of amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “My thigh is all you get right now,” she said, her tone teasing yet firm. “You’ll have to prove yourself first. If I’m satisfied, then i may be nice enough to grant your wish..”

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Kiss

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean Winchester kisses you Word count: 861 A/N: I am debating on making this a series, covering different "Firsts" with Dean.. Any interest in that? Let me know!

The first time Dean Winchester kisses you, it happens in the least romantic place imaginable—an old gas station parking lot on the outskirts of nowhere. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow over the cracked asphalt and the Impala parked nearby, her paint gleaming like polished obsidian. The faint smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp scent of impending rain, a storm brewing in the distance.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about Dean ever feels planned, really. He’s a mess of contradictions—cocky and self-assured one minute, guarded and vulnerable the next. You’ve been riding shotgun with him for weeks now, chasing down leads, salt-and-burning restless spirits, and fighting things most people wouldn’t dare to believe existed. Somewhere along the way, you became more than just hunting partners. You don’t know what to call it yet, but there’s a connection between you, an unspoken pull that you’ve both been too stubborn—or scared—to acknowledge.

Until now.

It starts with an argument. Of course it does. Dean has this way of pushing your buttons, and tonight he’s doing it with the precision of a master.

“You can’t just run in there without a plan!” you snap, your arms crossed over your chest.

“And what was your plan, huh?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “To stand around and wait until the ghost decides to play nice? That’s not how this works.”

“It’s called strategy, Dean. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of going full kamikaze every damn hunt!”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You think too much. Sometimes you just gotta act.”

“And you think too little!” you retort, your eyes narrowing. “One of these days, your impulsiveness is going to get you killed.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than you intended, and for a moment, Dean just stares at you. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Fine,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell do you even need me?”

It’s not the first time you’ve fought, but there’s something different about this one. The air between you feels charged, like the storm rolling in above. You don’t answer right away, and Dean takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“Why, huh?” he presses, his tone softer but no less intense. “Why do you keep sticking around if I’m such a screw-up?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the storm clouds overhead. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Because it’s not that simple. Because you don’t stick around in spite of his flaws—you stick around because of them. Because Dean Winchester, for all his faults, is the kind of person who will throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to save someone else. Because he’s loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and has a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the world, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

“Dean…” you start, but his name barely makes it past your lips before he moves.

It’s not hesitant or tentative—it’s sudden, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally snapped. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused but somehow gentle, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed. It’s not perfect—Dean’s lips are a little chapped, and the angle is slightly awkward at first—but it’s real. There’s an urgency to it, a raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves you breathless. His hands are warm against your skin, grounding you even as the world seems to tilt on its axis.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your hands are fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer as if the space between you is unbearable. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss with a low, almost involuntary sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like the dam you’ve both been holding back has finally burst, and there’s no going back now.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. The storm is closer now, the first drops of rain starting to fall, but neither of you seems to notice.

“Wow,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckles, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I probably should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your fingers still gripping his jacket. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, there’s no wall, no mask, no bravado. Just Dean.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and the tension between you finally seems to ease. The rain starts to pick up, but neither of you moves. For once, the hunt can wait. For once, the only thing that matters is this moment—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[madamechrissy]

♔ Silent Serenades ♔

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Duke Satoru Gojo x Duchess Reader

♔ Content/Warnings: Explicit sexual content, THE END OMG- lactation kink lowkey lol, highkey a breed kink, reader is a mom, oral (f receiving) spitting (they're still freaks) time skip, Gojo talking shit, fluffy and cute, HAPPY EVER AFTER- sweet and emotional- a lot of closure I hope you enjoy the end!

♔ Word count: this chap: 6k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England.- dual povs

♔ Part Fifteen ♔ Masterlist ♔ Playlist

Final Chapter- Fire on Fire

Six Years Later

“God, just look at them.” Satoru is murmuring, as you all are hiding in the foyer next to the ballroom just roaring with laughter and music, and he’s got your pretty breasts yanked out of your corset, squishing them and exhaling as they’re dripping milk making you squeak.

“Toru! Here!?” You all are literally in the middle of a masquerade, his mother has two of your children entertained, while your Nan has your youngest baby in the nursery, just a few months old.

Satoru’s silver mask is brushing against your breasts as his tongue laps at the milky liquid, moaning as he drags you close against him. “So sweet my god, you know how much I love this.”

“W-wait till… later… mnh!” Your eyes roll back in your own little glittery silver mask, as he suckles a sore nipple in his mouth, humming as the sweetness rolls into his mouth, and you feel desire shoot through you. In the background you hear the laughter, the music, but it’s drowned by your heart racing.

“Just a little drink, Princess. You’d be so cruel to your husband and deny him his favorite drink?” He pouts at you with his pretty pink lips, you sigh, arching your back and garnering his grin.

“This is how I keep getting with child, will you not give me a break- f-fuck…” He chuckles as he nips at you, shaking his head and sucking your other nipple now, you’re biting at your lower lip, so wet you can’t stand it, how ready you are for him.

“Not my fault you’re so sexy round with me, and your tits are even fucking nicer, god.” He’s sucking at your other breast now, lips latching your nipple, your thigh on his hip as he drags you against his hard body. He’s sucking down more milk, which makes you go insane, hands trembling as you cling to broad shoulders.

“You’re making me too wet, s-stop…” He’s chuckling, slipping up layers and layers of your skirts, fingers finding your clit in little circles, you’re soaking his gloved finger, breaths mingling together.

“Slutty mommy hmm?”

“Oh stop! Mommy!? You’re r-ridiculous.” Satoru’s chuckling now, kissing down your collarbone, biting it, right under the cool metal of your jeweled necklace, you yank at his hair, earning his glare, blue eyes bright and piercing.

“You’re interrupting my meal, Duchess.”

“Duke, you’re being a whore.”

“You love this whore.” He slips two fingers in your slick walls, feeling you clench them now, soaking the long, slender digits and moaning. “Feel her, god she’s so perfect still.”

“Your fingers… so thick I…” You’re whining out, gasping and covering your mouth while he smirks, so pleased. “We can’t do this right here!”

“Why not, let me fuck you in your pretty masquerade mask, while these nipples drip milk, mmm..” You glare right back up at him, when you hear footsteps, he’s just chuckling, pulling you quickly and turning you both, adjusting your top and sucking you right off his fingers. Lewd and obscene.

“You really have to do this to me?” You whisper, he knows what that damn action does to an already addled brain, he bends down and kisses your lips, as passersby see you both, awwing at the loving couple you two make, not the insanity he was pursuing a moment ago.

“Poor duchess, are they leaking now?” His taunt just makes you wetter, damn him.

“You know they are!” You hiss at him, only for him to chuckle, leading you both back out to the floor as you try to compose yourself.

“What’s the point of being a Duke if I can’t fuck my wife everywhere I want to, in my own Castle at that.” He mutters quietly, earning a smack on the shoulder, while you both glide back in and smile at everyone.

“You can do so, later, also the kids-”

“They need another sibling.”

“They do not.” Satoru pouts again, as two of your kids run to you now, a boy and a girl, the boy has Satoru’s shocking white hair but your eyes, and your oldest daughter has his blue eyes and your hair. The youngest baby is just the spitting image of you, which Satoru adores, he loves seeing all the features of you in the children you all have, children he adores.

The wife he adores, brattiness already spreading down the Gojo family line, surely from you he thinks, as he watches your eyes light up even behind your mask, your pretty grin. Your son runs to you, as your daughter runs to Satoru, hugging each of you, you bend down and pick him up, as Satoru picks her up, planting little kisses on their cheeks. Satoru’s mom smiles at you both, how adorable you are.

“Mama, Mama can we please stay up!” You giggle, shaking your head at him.

“I’m sorry, but bedtime is bedtime, handsome boy.”

“Papa!” Your daughter cooes at Satoru, he pouts now, looking at you and pulling her close.

“Bedtime, little princess.” You order, Satoru sighs.

“Mama is cruel I’m afraid.”

“Excuse me! I am not cruel. You need your rest, hmm my sweet girl?” She sighs, pouting so cutely.

“Can we watch Mama and Papa dance?” Your daughter asks, and you smile as you nuzzle her cheek.

“If Mama wants to.” Satoru says, ever so gallant as he makes a show of bowing to you after he puts your son down, and your kids eyes light up as they watch the two of you, their own masks on their cute little faces.

“I’d love to, Duke Gojo.” You tease with a wink, placing your hand in his as he leads you out to the waltz, hand on your hip as he turns in effortless circles, no one is even dancing they’re all just watching the two of you.

It is your masquerade, after all.

From the corner of your eyes you see Suguru and Shoko, watching you both with knowing smiles, and several of your other friends, lords and ladies all around you, but everything fades but him. Even from your first dance, back when you were strangers and enemies, the way his hand slips up your waist, you remember it all, vividly, like it was a lifetime ago.

But even then you knew, you knew there was something there, when he’d whispered angrily how beautiful you were, and you couldn’t believe him, you hurt him, and he hurt you. It feels so foreign and wrong to imagine hurting each other, not now that you two have built so much, every moment you breathe is just full of love for him, for your children.

He smiles down at you, so charming, not that glare of the past, and is met with your fluttering lashes and a sweet curve of your lips, not that adorable little fucking scowl you give him sometimes still. Typically when he’s trying to put more babies on you, and you’d probably like a break.

But it’s not Satoru’s fault you’re so pretty pregnant.

That’s so clearly your fault.

Your hand goes to his shoulder, over the silk brocade of his cravat, brushing slowly down as you twirl for the view of every one of the ton. Hardly anyone knows your story, what you’ve been through, and those who know bits of it even would never truly believe what you were like.

How could two black holes converge and not destroy each other?

Somehow you both had made it through.

“You’re the prettiest woman in this ballroom.” You’re flushing now, he can see it under the glimmer of the chandeliers, while he’s got you pressed firmly against him, a hand holding yours while you dance a dance you’ve both done so many times. Flawless steps, even when he has your tummy clenching in desire.

“You’re the prettiest man in London. And the sluttiest.” He smirks, as he dips you over his arm now.

“Oh, you’re the sluttiest brat in all of England.”

“Me!?” You demand, seeing mirth in his gaze behind that mask.

“You.” You’re both laughing, as no one can hear just how audacious and scandalous your conversation is.

“I think you have the title of sluttiest man in history!” You tease in a hushed whisper in his ear, and he moans softly, pulling you closer.

“More than Henry the eighth!?”

“More than him, you just don’t chop off heads.”

“You brat!” You’re so flushed from the dance, from your mirth, looking every bit the glittering diamond he met so long ago. “I’ll punish you for that.”

“Let’s see what you come up with, Duke.” Satoru sighs, aching to smack your pretty backside when he slowly ends the dance, your hands joined as everyone around you claps.

“Now it’s time for me to bed my Princess.” He whispers, feeling your skin heat up as his breath ghosts the shell of your ear, his cheek pressing yours.

“The children first.”

“Psh, why do we have all these nannies if-”

“Ah-ah, don’t be so spoiled, Duke.” He huffs, when soon the two of you are bidding your farewells for just a bit, though the two of you never end up coming back down to your own events, and you suppose everyone knows better by now.

It was not ‘normal’ for a Duke and Duchess to put their own children to bed, but you and Satoru were far from ‘normal’ or typical. People all smile as the four of you pass by, as the two of you hold your children in your arms, walking them up the stairs, your daughter already is falling fast asleep against Satoru’s chest, and your son is fighting it, all fussy.

“Don’t want to sleep, hmm? Too much excitement?” You ask softly, Satoru loves how soft your voice gets with your children.

He loves hearing you sing to them at night.

He loves being a parent next to you, so devoted, you just enjoy them so much, he supposes that’s one of the reasons he just can’t stop getting you with child. You are laying your son down, brushing his silky locks and smiling as he reaches for you with his little hands, as Satoru kisses his daughter on her forehead, tucking them both snug in their pretty room.

Intricate, huge and elaborate, it also had little touches of the Duke and Duchess strewn throughout it. A pair of your gloves on the dresser next to the stuffed animal you loved as a child sitting on the dresser, Satoru’s glasses next to that along with his favorite book that he’d read to them. It’s full of love despite just how huge it is, compared to their delicate little beds with their white canopies.

“But mama, tell me a story!” Your daughter says now, you laugh softly, coming over to sit next to her, the bed gently dipping just a bit, your gowns flowing in flounces so glittery, the moonlight capturing it so beautifully, as Satoru studies you, the soft slope of your shoulder bare in the night.

He remembers just when your first baby came, his lips twitching with amusement just a bit.

‘Suguru, it sounds like she’s dying!?’ Satoru was pacing back and forth, in long strides, hands yanking at his messy white hair, Suguru himself grimaces, taking a shot of whiskey as your screams echo through the hall.

‘Shoko is with her, and your mother… she’ll be…’

‘This big head is your fault, Satoru Gojo! I swear to god!’

Suguru snorts in laughter, as Satoru downs a shot himself, and King Sukuna walks past them, shaking his head. ‘I’ll never have a fucking heir if this is what happens to the girl, shit.’

Satoru scowls at him. ‘I still hate you.’

Sukuna grins at him widely. ‘Oh I bet you do, but I think she probably hates you more now.’

‘Knock me out with something, dear god!’ Satoru himself chuckles just a bit, shaking his head.

‘That’s my Duchess for you’

“Once a Prince lived in a very beautiful castle, and he was quite brooding,” Satoru hears your soft words now, brushing his son's hair back as he sits next to him, and the two of them watch you. “And a Princess was set to wed him from another land, well she was pretty… fiery.”

You smile at him, and his heart catches in his chest, god how much he adores you, how much you’ve both grown these past six years. The love grows so much for each other and your children. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe, when your eyes meet across your children’s room in the night, and the two of your memories are in sync, that day in the village.

The day he fell fully in love with you, the day you let yourself feel something finally, the day that changed the trajectory forever.

“They argued quite a bit at first, they were both so very stubborn, they surely thought they didn’t love each other. Foolish young royals, you know.” Satoru smiles, as you recall it all, him holding you so close, dancing in front of children, the little girl wearing your tiara.

You get misty eyed as Satoru speaks. “They were very foolish.”

“You know the story Papa?” Your daughter asks, Satoru gives her a nod then, blue eyes glinting in the dark room, as the sounds of the ball below barely penetrate the cozy room, just an echo of music and footsteps.

“I know it well, the Prince went to the village with the Princess one day, to see their subjects, and he found her putting her own crown on a little girl.”

“Aww, she seems so sweet!” Your daughter giggles out, and you feel your cheeks heat as Satoru grins.

“She was fiery indeed, but sweet deep inside. Quite like a truffle.”

“A truffle!?” He’s winking at you as you roll your eyes with a smile. “I suppose he was like a truffle as well.”

“Surely he was not!” Satoru’s lips set in a terse line, only spurring on your amusement.

“He was. The prince was so conceited, he thought the whole world was in love with him.” Satoru rolls his eyes now, earning your sassy little grin that lights up his fucking heart.

How could two that went through so much find such happiness?

Every day seems more and more like a dream, every day he stands by your side and holds you in his arms.

You’re a dream.

He’s your dream.

“I suppose many were in love with him, but he was quite annoying about it. But then, the Princess saw something different about him, when he asked her to dance, in the middle of the village! With so many looking on.”

“How romantic!” Satoru grins at his daughter’s wistful words, even at six she’s quite the little dreamer. You also feel yourself melt as you watch her lashes lower, and your son is already snoring lightly.

“He didn’t make it through the story.” Satoru teases, now the two of you sit next to your oldest, as she reaches her hands out, and you each hold them.

“Finish the story, mama!”

“Of course, baby.” You hold Satoru’s hand in your other grip, one with her teeny hand, one his huge warm one, feeling so complete then. “The Princess saw his heart that he hid away so well, and she fell in love with him, as they danced for all the little children to cheer.”

“Did he love her too?” She asks, her hand squeezing the two of yours, and you both look at each other.

“He loved her too, very much. He saw her beauty was not just on the outside, but the inside too.” Satoru’s words make you melt, when you both look at your pretty daughter smiling softly.

“Inner beauty is the most important thing. Though it doesn’t hurt, you are the most beautiful girl there is, you and your sister.” You say then, kissing her cheek, and she giggles.

“So are you mama!” She declares, and Satoru nods.

“So is Mama.”

“Oh, you two.” You kiss her one more time, tucking her in firmly now. “That’s enough for tonight, hmm?”

“Did they live happily ever after!?” She asks, eyes wide again, and you feel Satoru’s hand on the small of your back as the two of you stand.

“They did, very happy, and so was all of the land.”

“Yay!”

You both grin at her. “Good night sweet girl.” You kiss your son’s forehead as well, shutting the door softly behind you both. “A truffle huh?”

“A truffle. With hazelnuts that cut your mouth up.”

“You!” You shove at him and he laughs softly, cupping your face now, every time Satoru touches you feels like the first time, your body never stops responding with a madness.

“Shh, let me guess, checking on the baby? Before you let me put another inside you?” His husky declaration damn near ends your resolve, his hand on your tummy, still not quite flat after your third baby, but Satoru seems to enjoy your body more and more with each one.

“You let me focus, Sir.” You peck a kiss on his chin, heading down the halls with him next to you, until you’re in the nursery, peeking to see your sleeping baby.

“Good, saw them, let’s make more.”

“A moment, Satoru, shh!” Your glare is met with his hungry gaze.

“God you’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“Oh you do go on.” You step quietly into the room, holding up your skirts, seeing the beautiful mix of the two of you swaddled and sleeping peacefully. Your face lights up as you look down at her, and remember the look on Satoru’s face with your first baby.

‘Oh my god…’ Satoru’s walking in now, as you’re a sweaty mess, you’ve screamed so much you’re sure you traumatized everyone there, but it’s all worth it when you see Satoru holding her.

Your daughter.

‘A little girl, look at her. She’s beautiful.’ You whisper, exhausted when he sits next to you, and everyone leaves the chamber, to give you some privacy.

‘Like her mother.’ You’re crying when he kisses you, and tears fill his eyes, as he holds the sweet little baby against his chest. ‘I love you, sweet girl.’

‘I didn’t know my heart could be so full.’ You say softly, as Satoru hands your baby back to you, and you hold her tightly, as she opens her eyes, and you smile when Satoru sees it.

‘My eyes.’

‘Your eyes.’

‘You scared the entire castle, you know.’ You laugh, wincing then at the pain, and Satoru’s eyes grow concerned.

‘I’m just sore. Look, she’s hungry.’

‘I’ll get the wet nurse-’

‘Absolutely not.’ You sit up with his help now, and he’s watching enamored as you place the baby to your breast, and she latches after a few tries, sucking happily, making his body warm with how sweet of a sight it is.

‘A pro like her Papa.’

‘Oh god, Satoru!’

You’re now in Duke Gojo’s arms, when he holds you close, and you both study your youngest daughter in her sleep. “You get prettier with each one.”

“You’re sweet to say so.”

He scoffs. “When am I sweet?”

“Often, little truffle.”

“Psh.” He picks you up in his arms, bridal style, the way he wished he had that first night with you, but he does it almost every night now, while you all close the door, and the nannies smile at the two of you when you pass by.

You bury your face against his chest as he carries you, inhaling the familiar scent of the man you love. “You spoil me.”

“I do indeed, bratty Duchess.” You’re smiling as you kiss up his neck, and he holds you tighter, sweet little moan from his throat. “Tease.”

“Mmmhmm.” Soon he’s got you to your chambers, shutting the door behind you and letting you down, shocking you as he spins you, kissing down the nape of your neck, his masquerade mask brushing against your skin, when he unties yours by the ribbon, letting it fall to the ground.

“Fuck I need you, Princess.” You’re trembling when the corset is untied, when his fingers brush against the indentations on your precious skin. “I hate when you wear them.”

“It’s only for this gown, silly man.” You look behind your shoulder, when your silvery glittery gown falls and flounces around your ankles, and you’re left bare aside from those stockings he loves on you.

“No one could look this good in these.” You’re blushing as he picks you up right out of the dress in pieces on your floor, turning you and picking you up in his arms.

“I want to see you, Satoru, please.” He’s eagerly helping you shrug off his jacket as he lays you on the bed, you’re so eager his buttons pop, earning him smacking at your hand. “Excuse me!”

“This is an expensive shirt you brat. My favorite, so cock thirsty?”

“You’re such a-” He shuts you up with an eager kiss, and you can’t stop the whine that leaves your throat, as he grinds his cock against your heat, feeling you over his breeches.

“Slutty cunt is so ready to be filled by me.” His filthy words just excite you more.

If there’s one thing you and Duke Gojo know how to do, It’s fuck.

He’s biting your lips, squishing a sore breast, as you’re tugging desperately to bare his chest to you, exhaling when you feel his muscles with your finger tips, his abdomen tensing as his cock presses even harder. “Need you.” Your words nearly end him then and there.

“I need you.” You’ve got him almost naked, when he’s easing your stockings and slippers off your legs, kissing down your thighs fervently as he does, eyeing your body as hungrily as he did the first time. “God you’re so sexy for me.”

“Satoru… please…”

“Begging?” He raises a brow and grins, and you just nod, jerking as his breath brushes your clit, when his two fingers have your cunt spread wide. “I love when you beg f’me, god look at this little clit, she wants me to kiss her hmm?”

“Yes, yes - f-fuck!” He’s got his mouth on you now, you feel his teeth, his tongue, the plush of his lips, when he teases your poor little clit, twitching for his attention as he pulls back.

“Look at her, pretty little cunt so wet.” He’s watching arousal just pool out of your soppy little hole while he’s sucking it all up, drinking you loud and lewd, echoing in your room.

“Mnh!” You’re screaming out, thanking the world you have an entire castle to do just that, though you’re sure the maids and butlers perhaps get a kick out of the two of you, you’re sure it couldn’t reach the halls too far.

Satoru loves how you scream, how you’re yanking his white hair at the fucking roots, grinding your cunt so desperately on his face. He’s gripping your hips, wider and sexier from your babies, just making him ache to put more inside your tummy, pressing his cock against the mattress, dying to be inside you. But moreso aching to drink all the cum from your cunt.

“That’s it, let go, I feel it.” He’s pressing down on your stomach, slipping two fingers inside, watching you unravel, tits jiggling just so, full of milk he can’t wait to drink more of, when he’s done sipping you. “Cunt is soaking these sheets, huh? You’re a messy little slut f’me, aren’t you?”

“Slutty f-for you…” Is all you can answer back, as he crooks long fingers too deep in your entrance, and your walls are spasming around his fingers. “Satoru!”

“That’s it, feel me don’t you?” He’s pressing harder as he crooks fingers up on that spot, and you’re shattering, orgasm washing over you, which he laps up off his fingers, tongue then shoving inside you hungrily, desperate to drink every bit of his Duchess up.

“Please, fuck me god Toru, your cock in me please!” He’d smirk usually, but he’s got you pulling at his hair, and the plush of your thighs on either side of his head.

“Not done yet.” He’s flicking his tongue again on your engorged clit, so tiny and swollen, he grins psychotically as you’re jerking, twitching, shaking.

“Too much ngh!”

“You know you can take it, shh brat.” He flicks his tongue once more, overstimulating the little clit as he loves to, knocking you into another orgasm that blinds you completely, you’re sputtering for air when he finally relents, slipping up your body, hot thick cock finally against your inner thigh. “Can’t think? Can’t function?”

“Mnh…” You can’t argue with his sarcastic, cocky self when you cannot, in fact, function or think.

“You're gonna take this cock so good, aren’t you Princess…” You’re gulping when he shoves his cock in your entrance, moaning as you wrap his tip, pushing past that tight ring of muscles. “Still so tight, how?”

“Ngh…” He’s grinning at your lack of words, watching your eyes roll back as he sinks even deeper in your snug, soaking wet little hole.

“My duchess only shuts up when my cock stuffs her full.” He taunts, shoving in so deep he’s stuffing you indeed, your pussy tries to accommodate, to stretch, as your nails press into his skin, and you’re whimpering, walls gripping his cock so good he almost cums then and there. “Fuck…”

“You talk too much, Satoru- shit!”

“You cuss too much, mnh…” His turn to whimper, as he pauses, looking down at your face, glowing softly by the candles flickering next to the bed, inhaling your scent when he bends over you. “Let me drink more.”

“You’re insane.” You’re yanking his head down, however, when he’s sipping the sweet white liquid just pouring out of your pretty nipples, and moaning as it fills his mouth. “You’re greedy t-tonight…”

“You love it too.” He’s eyeing you, and it’s true, it feels so fucking good, his cock stretching your soaking walls while they flutter, and he’s sucking your nipples so hard in his hot mouth.

“Ah!” You’re cumming as he drinks milk spurting out, his big hands taking you over while he pulls you further down on his length. “Satoru!”

“Mmm… that’s it, Princess. Milking me while I’m milking you.”

“You’re… fucking crazy I swear…” He’s grinning as he turns to your other breast, sucking the sore peak into his mouth, while you’re trying not to pass out from how much pleasure he’s ripping from your body. “I l-love you.”

He pauses then, teeth grazing your peak before he leans back up, cupping your face gently for a moment. “I love you.”

You two kiss, desperate, while he fucks slow and leisurely for a few, letting you feel every single inch of him, so many you never get used to it, even after years of fucking this man every day. The only time he leaves her alone is the month after the children are born, but he’s not even good at waiting long. 

Not like you want him to wait.

You’re cumming all over his cock again, when you see it, the shift of madness your husband does, when he goes feral inside of you, hands gripping harder, cock drilling your cunt harder, kisses deepening. He pulls back, as your hands are clinging to his strong biceps, thumbs brushing against the muscles that tense, before he pulls back, eyes glowing blue.

“Going to put ten fucking babies inside you.” He’s lost it now, truly he has, his eyes flashing, the man who never wanted babies wants some army!?

“No not t-ten you… psycho m-man…”

“Aw, can’t talk, so pathetic, Princess.” You’d scowl but he’s got you folded in half, in ways you didn’t know he could still after all your babies, but he manages to do just that. “You know you want it, huh pretty?”

“F-fuck off I don’t I… ah, there, fuck!” He’s smirking like the little shit he is while he fucks all sense out of you, as he always manages to.

“You love it.” He whispers, taunting you as his cock is hitting your cervix, his precum drooling as it drags that spot in your walls. “Say it.”

“I love it- mmm!” He’s grinning that psychotic grin again, eyes flashing as he folds you completely under him, his heavy weight on you making the bed creak, the heavy wood headboard somehow slamming those burgundy and gold walls, only Satoru Gojo can make heavy old wood slam.

“That’s it, look at you, ready for it, aren’t you? All my seed inside you?” You nod, helpless, but he’s not close to done, not when he murmurs - ‘open’ - and he’s spitting right in your mouth, a hand gripping your throat. “That’s it, still so slutty, my pretty whore, aren’t you?”

“Yours, yours…” You’re lost as he squeezes your throat, as you swallow his spit, and he drowns you with his everything, cock, hands, tongue slipping in your mouth and possessing it.

“Lemme feel it, c’mon Princess.” He’s lost himself now, crying out as he moves, pumping in and out of your loud, slutty cunt, as you struggle to take him. “Beg for it, for another baby in you.”

“God… you’ve gone m-mad…” He’s just kissing you again, slamming his cock so deep, swallowing up your scream.

“Beg.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah-ah.” He’s choking harder, the game you both play, the push and pull of the two of you, while you swallow each other whole, like the black holes you’ve always been, just craving each other’s light with every kiss, every breath, every stroke of his cock inside you. “Beg.”

“M-make me.” He’s chuckling, but his cock is twitching, you feel too fucking good, when don’t you? He’s never been able to get enough, and he never will. 

“Make you? You can still speak, Duchess?” He pulls back, slamming his cock too deep and too hard, groaning as he feels himself pulse, ready to fill you to the brim, his hands bruising on the backs of your thighs. “Beg me now, to make you a mommy again.”

“Mnh… one more.” He’s lost now, pulling back and cumming so deep inside you, so much it’s pouring all around his length, as he cries out against your lips, and you drink each other’s whines, clinging to each other in the night, your bed a huge rumpled mess beneath you.

“One more, hmm?” He asks, breathless, and you’re giggling now, the sound shattering his heart, as it always has, he brushes your now messy hair back, as he eases out, exhaling when he sees that mess he’s made, taking his cock and jerking it more, letting cum pour on your tummy. “Messy girl.”

“You’re messy!” He’s just exhaling at how pretty his cum looks, kissing you once more, fingers brushing between your folds, making you jerk. “Sore, it’s been a while since we…”

“Since I folded you in half?” He asks with a brow, enjoying your flushed cheeks, glittery eyes.

“That.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it until we fill you up again.” He’s kissing your tummy, lapping along a mark left from one of your babies, you can’t keep track, swiping up his own cum along with the sweat from your skin.

“Could you not give me a few months this time?” You’re asking later on, when he’s got you in the hot copper tub, you both can hear the masquerade going on, but you’re having quite the party with just the two of you.

“It’s not my fault you’re delectable pregnant. That’s all you.”

“You’re too much, Duke.” You stick out your tongue, gasping as he pinches sore nipples, hungry eyes feasting on the milk that releases. “No more!”

“You’re a cruel, evil Duchess.”

“Me!? Says you.”

“C’mere, bratty Princess.” He’s got you turned now, water sloshing around your bodies as your breaths mingle, and he’s brushing your hair back gently, as your arms wrap around his neck, and you study him, carefully. “What is on that mind of yours, I see those brows knitting together.” He touches them thoughtfully.

“Just thinking. Satoru, do you ever wish… we weren’t so stupid?” He frowns a bit at that.

“You mean do I wish I wasn’t terrible?” You sigh, shaking your head.

“No, not that, we both were. Do you wish we… met at a different time, a different life perhaps, one where we didn’t… royally fuck it up so badly at first?” Satoru’s hand drips with rivulets of water when he cups your face, blue eyes swirling with emotions, droplets falling off his wet lashes.

“No, because I’ll meet you in every life, and always find you.” You choke up in tears then, falling and leaving little drops against the bath, your thighs are on either side of his, your hands cupping his face.

“I will always find you, in any life. I love you, my Duke.” He’s tearing up himself, with his pretty Princess in his arms, it feels like some dream.

“I love you, my Duchess.” Your lips pressed together, and the two of you fall again, with every kiss, with every moment, the past long, long gone.

You would find each other in any life, in any timeline, you know in your heart and soul, this is where you belong, when he looks up at you with those eyes, the ones that have always seen you, even when you didn’t see yourself. And he knows, when he tastes your tears against the sweetness of your lips, and feels you so eager for him again.

You all will always love each other.

It’s burning, it’s insanity, it doesn’t dull over the years, it only gets better, when he’s inside you again, and kissing those full breasts, lapping up more of you, and you’re screaming out his name, echoing in the chamber. “Ten babies.”

You laugh softly, but it turns into a cry when he slams your cervix, smirking up at you. “No!”

“Nine.”

“No- ah! Fuck it… Four.”

“Four it is.” You’re laughing as you kiss, before he cums so deep inside of you, murmuring in your ear - ‘Ten’.

The End

A/N LONG ONE- I've never been more invested in one of my stories, and this is BY FAR the longest, at over 150k words. I can't believe what a journey I had. The Duchess is as close to a self insert as I'll get, so this one means a lot to me. It may not have all the likes of some of my new works (difficult subject and angsty lol) but I am truly proud of how I wrote it. I know cheating is a rough subject, but remember that THEY did not choose to be together, they were forced. It doesn't make their actions right, and it's okay if you hated Duke Gojo, or the Duchess, or even Nanami, it's okay if you felt mad or upset at them, because that's being HUMAN. They're not perfect, but the Duke and Duchess are perfect for each other. The angst was heavy, and the emotions were as well, but I truly hope you enjoyed their journey and the deep love they do share despite it all. Sorry for this long, long rambling note, but this story meant a lot to me. I love all of you who followed it from the beginning or just are finding it, and understand what I meant to do here.

Another A/N- if you want to know, their reincarnations are Fratboi Gojo and Sorority reader in Took you Like a Shot aha. That's their much happier versions still lowkey/highkey hating each other, but much less toxicc!

taglist #1- @kalopsia-flaneur @bunheadusa @7thsthings @disilluzions @antisocialinlw @Sukunassfinger @lelsforlino @heeknow @muvasuperior @prince-wyiilder @lavender-hvze @ssetsuka  @labelt-san  @sadmonke @philiatothephobia @ambiguouslady42 @stromynight @dreamygirli3 @jjknanamin @jazlenekasi @wuvnada @nanasukii28 @sw3etnena @dark-agate @tamaki-simp @yuuuumii @givluv2tyy @peppertoastuniverse @sw3etnena @webshooterrr9 @thikcems @erensblackwife @murayamayoshiki-lovergurl @blue-musingss @huuuhwhaat @makingtimemine @saccharinesatoru @sunnyviewsblog @nanananananaiknow @ekaterinatepes @szna @ayumilk @trishiepo0 @just-pure-trash @nanamiskentos @ifiwereabug @devastyle @aldebrana @alygator77

Buy me a glass of wine (KoFI) - General Masterlist

[theorphicangel]

heaven can wait | gojo satoru x reader | chap. 3

pair: guardian angel! gojo x fem! reader

description: the last thing you had expected was to come face to face with your very own guardian angel to which you had no idea that they existed.

now you have to deal with an annoying six foot-something angel who leaves nothing but feathers and chaos behind him. but as time passes you begin to learn more about him and he finds himself bending the rules just to be around you a little longer.

however there is one rule that guardian angels like him must always abide by.

they mustn't fall in love. ever.

tags: strangers to lovers, no curses au, modern au, satoru is annoying but you learn to love him, forbidden love, semi-slowburn, i think, eventual smut, fem! reader, angel! satoru, mentions of death, heights, more tags to be added

art cred: @aidonotknow, original work is here, please check out their art!!!

taglist: @therealisttheillest @ohmygeto @bunheadusa @czarixoxo @lalalandincraz @descargueestoporgojosatoru @emochosoluvr @celear @thoreeo @moxieisanalien @amberbalcom14 @13-09-01 @k-kkiana @tyyqqaaa @ehcilhc @entr4p3 @fushiguroooozzz @marajafarli @slutlight2ndver @twinkling-moonlillie @pickledsoda @satansthiccasscheeksreblogacc @worganmalker @yukinohoshikuzu @ilovebeansyay @sherrieblossoms @vaniyeiszero

let me know if you would like to be on the taglist!

chapter three: the fall

wc: 0.7k

playlist

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

You’re not exactly sticking to your promise.

After last night the two of you had set boundaries, Satoru swore that he wouldn’t make you feel paranoid and keep you under surveillance 24/7 but he did set up a time with you where he would pop in and check up on you. 

He told you to trust him but do you really? 

Over the past twenty four hours you feel like you’ve stepped into a fantasy world of delusions searching up anything and everything about guardian angels. There’s so many sources surrounding the concept, often overlapping with each other which makes everything even more confusing. You’ve stayed up the entire night reading websites and forum pages just to see if someone has had the same experiences as you. 

Of course no one outrightly says that they have a personal guardian angel but you can gauge that just from their questions and answers that their experiences must be relevant to your own. If not, how else were they on the forum before you?

But does everyone get a guardian angel? Satoru never really explained the reasoning behind why he was sent to you or who specifically sent him for you. You don’t have any immediate family who would do this kind of thing for you, you barely knew your father and your mother passed away when you could barely remember. All your life you’ve grown up under the care system but never really found a final family to be with.

You wonder how much Satoru knows about you, he possibly knows you more than you could ever know yourself. 

Sitting in your room you’ve watched the time pass from dusk till the bare crack of dawn trying to make sense of everything that is going on in your mind. You still can’t believe it. It all feels surreal to you like a fever dream and you still feel like you have something to prove. After exhausting your search engine until no other new sources come up you find that you have another idea. 

And it’s not a good one.

That’s what brings you to the edge of a random car park in the outskirts of the city. It’s still early morning, the city barely waking up for morning rush hour. Surprisingly, it didn’t take you long to search for an almost empty building to throw yourself off.  It’s only a few storeys high but the height still makes you swallow nervously. With shaking hands gripping the ledge you try to judge how far you’ll fall off the building. 

If you ever make it to the ground that is. 

The whole purpose of this was to test your reality. You’re still in disbelief that there is someone out there in the universe who is actually responsible for you. In fact this was more of a test for your angel rather than yourself. You bite down on your lip, enough to taste metallic blood on your tongue as you attempt to push away thoughts of doubts. 

Distracting yourself, you glance at the sunrise ahead. The shade of a peaceful orange leading to a clear blue sky for the day. One that you might not ever see. 

The shade of blue reminds you of Satoru’s eyes. He seems unreal, perfectly beautiful to be an angel. 

As your thoughts cross to him, guilt encases your body for breaking his promise. Your hands turn into fists at your sides, no you couldn’t break out of it now. This would prove it. Prove that you weren’t going crazy and that Satou would keep his promise of looking after you at all times. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, you finally gain the courage to step up on the ledge.

And if he doesn’t save you then…

Then you would hope that you would end up with a few broken bones and nothing more. You swallow thickly staring directly at the ground. Maybe this was a bad idea. What the fuck were you doing with your life? Here you are, standing on the edge of a building just to prove a point about a mythical being who you weren’t sure was real or not. 

Without any hesitation your feet leave the edge and as soon as you fall you regret it all. 

Who were you kidding? No one was going to save you. Not even if that someone was a gorgeous blue eyed angel. 

This was all for nothing. Just like yesterday in the middle of the road, you simply close your eyes and accept your consequence waiting for your body to make contact with the ground. 

But it never comes. 

Instead you find yourself in the arms of an angel with white hair who seems more pissed off than ever. 

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch15

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity,

chap contents: its fluffy at the start, jk tries to tell oc but it doesnt work out, ur so oblivious, kissies nd hugs, dinner w the parents (whoopsie) oc finds out FINALLY in the WORST way possible.

wc: not that long

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610

a/n: the chapter weve all been dreading is here </3, but anyways, how do u guys think it went? was it unexpected?? the next chapter will be way more angsty but i had to leave it onn a cliffhanger LOL. IM EXCITED TO PROGRESS BROOO IMMA START WRITING CH16LIKE RN. as always Ty for reading my loveliesssss

masterlist, <prev | next>

The first thing Jungkook registers is warmth. Your warmth. The way you’re curled into him, breathing soft and steady, completely unaware of the weight pressing down on his chest.

He should get up.

That’s what he always does—slips out of bed before you wake, padding quietly to the kitchen to make breakfast. He loves seeing your half-asleep, delighted expression when you find food waiting for you. Loves the way you blink at him in surprise, like you still can’t believe he’s there.

But today… he doesn’t want to. Today, he wants to pretend. Just for a little while.

Before he inevitably has to wipe that smile off your face and tell you.

Before it’s the last time doing this with you.

Jungkook watches you, the way your lashes flutter against your cheek, how your lips part slightly with each exhale. His throat tightens at the thought that in three weeks, he won’t be here. He won’t wake up to this. Won’t wake up to you.

He nearly cries.

His head is propped against the pillow, warm, heavy eyes tracing over you as you breathe steadily beside him. The sheets have fallen just enough, exposing your bare legs, the curve of your thigh, the way your sweatshirt dwarfs you.

He swallows. Looks away.

God, he’s down bad.

But mostly, he’s endeared.

Because you’re so comfortable around him now. Now, you curl into him instinctively. Now, you leave your things in his bathroom without thinking.

Now, you make him feel like this is real.

Like you’re his.

He could stay like this all morning.

But then, you stir.

And before he can even think about it, he’s leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You groan.

Eyes still shut, you scrunch your nose. “Gross.”

Jungkook just grins.

“You love it.”

Your eyes flutter open, squinting up at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re beautiful.”

You blink.

Then, your face heats, and you roll over, reaching for your phone.

Jungkook scoffs. “Wow. Ignored.”

You mumble something incoherent, already scrolling through your notifications.

And that’s when he realizes—this is the moment.

He should say it. Now.

Before breakfast, before the day starts, before he has a single chance to chicken out again.

So he clears his throat.

“I have something to—”

Ping.

You cut him off immediately.

“Oh my god, Nari texted me.”

Jungkook’s jaw clicks shut.

You sit up, eyes glued to your phone, grinning at the screen. “She woke up and immediately sent me, and I quote—‘Bitch, I had a dream that I got lost in Jungkook’s apartment. It was just endless hallways, and I couldn’t escape.’”

You snort, amused. Jungkook exhales, not amused.

But he doesn’t try again.

Not yet.

And then you move, shifting closer,nuzzling into his shoulder with a sleepy hum.

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut.

You don’t notice how stiff he’s gone, don’t notice the way he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep it together. He’s never been good at this—holding back. He’s always been all in, always felt things too deeply. And right now, he feels like he’s breaking.

“I have something to tell you,” he murmurs. His voice is hoarse, unfamiliar even to himself.

You don’t hear the weight behind his words.

Your stomach rumbles and you giggle.

And just like that, the moment is gone.

Jungkook exhales, staring at the ceiling again, willing the burning in his eyes to disappear. You don’t notice. You’re too busy reading whatever nonsense Nari sent you, letting out a quiet laugh before typing back.

So he doesn’t say it.

Instead, he just watches you. Watches the way you stretch, the hem of your hoodie riding up your thighs as you move. Watches the way you rub at your eyes, still too sleepy to be fully coherent.

And when you start to sit up, he acts on impulse.

A firm arm wraps around your waist, tugging you back into him. You let out a small yelp, but he just buries his face in your neck, exhaling deeply.

“Mmm, stay longer,” he mutters, voice still thick with sleep.

You hesitate for only a second before melting into him, pressing your face into his chest. “You’re so clingy,” you tease, but your arms loop around him anyway.

“Yeah,” he admits easily. “I am.”

You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

You stay like that for what feels like forever, tangled together in a mess of sheets and sleepy warmth, neither of you in a rush to move.

Eventually, though, reality calls.

You get up first, dragging him to the bathroom where you both brush your teeth side by side. He watches in the mirror as you grumble about your bedhead, fighting with your hair while he stands there, letting the mundane normalcy of the moment soak into his bones.

It’s so unfair.

The two of you make your way to the kitchen next, where you start pulling out ingredients while Jungkook leans against the counter, watching.

“You gonna help, or just stand there looking pretty?” you ask, raising a brow.

Jungkook grins, pushing off the counter. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan, smacking his arm with a spatula.

He laughs, dodging your half-hearted attack before reaching for the eggs. You cook together, bickering playfully the whole time—him attempting to take over, you pushing him aside with a dramatic sigh of exasperation.

Jungkook had planned to say it during breakfast.

It was perfect—just the two of you, sleepy and slow, in his kitchen.

He imagined it before you woke up: Standing beside you, cooking together, stealing little kisses, pretending you’re dating for real.

But he can’t get a damn word in.

Because today, of all days, you are so chatty.

Like, more than usual.

“Did you see that video I sent you the other night?” you ask, flipping through your phone as you sit on the counter, giving up helping him, legs swinging. “The one of that guy falling off the treadmill? It made me think of you.”

Jungkook—who currently has taken over with the breakfast, thank you very much—pauses.

“Excuse me?”

You smirk. “I feel like you would fall off a treadmill.”

Jungkook scoffs, placing eggs on a plate. “I am literally one of the most physically fit people you know.”

You tilt your head. “And?”

“…And I don’t fall off treadmills.”

“Not yet.”

He glares. You grin.

But again—he hesitates.

He should just say it.

He opens his mouth—

“Oh, wait, also—” You cut in again, oblivious to his crisis.

And just like that, he misses his chance.

Again.

Because you don’t stop.

You ramble about your weird customers at work, about how Nari got hit on by a drunk guy at the diner, about how you’re craving something sweet, maybe pancakes, but not the diner’s pancakes, because they taste like sadness.

And Jungkook just—listens.

Because he can’t help it.

Because he loves listening to you talk.

Even when it’s keeping him from saying what he needs to say.

Even when he’s running out of time.

Jungkook gives up.

For now.

You’re too happy, too talkative, and every time he tries to squeeze in a serious conversation, you effortlessly derail it with another story, another joke, another distraction.

And honestly?

He doesn’t even mind.

——

The food turns out better than expected. You both sit down at the table, and for a moment, it’s perfect.

Too perfect.

He needs to say it.

He needs to tell you.

“Hey…” Jungkook starts, but you’re already cutting him off, rambling about something completely unrelated. He tries again, but every time, you interrupt yourself with another tangent.

He doesn’t mind.

Loves the way you talk, loves the way your thoughts jump from one thing to the next without warning. He lets you go on, a soft smile playing on his lips, even as his chest feels heavier with every passing second.

“That was good, huh?” he says, nodding toward the empty plates.

You hum, licking sauce off your thumb. “I give it a solid 8.5 out of 10.”

Jungkook gapes.

“Excuse me?”

You shrug, smug. “Points deducted for lack of pancakes.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You said diner pancakes taste like sadness!”

“Not homemade pancakes.”

He narrows his eyes at you, shaking his head as he stands up to collect the dishes. “Ungrateful.”

You just grin, watching as he rinses the plates before stacking them in the sink.

“Oh, my parents are coming to visit tonight.”

Jungkook blinks. “Wait, what?”

You glance up at him, sipping your juice. “Yeah. They’re in town for the weekend, so I’m gonna have dinner with them tonight.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “So you’re going home?”

“Yeah.” You shoot him a look. “Why? You sad about it?”

He doesn’t answer fast enough.

“Oh my god, you’re so clingy,” you tease, kicking his foot.

Jungkook exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I am.” He rolls his eyes, walking past you—until you reach out and grab his wrist.

“Then come.”

Jungkook freezes.

His head turns so fast you almost laugh. “What?”

“Come meet them,” you say simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “My mom would love you.”

Jungkook stares.

He expected you to laugh it off. To tease him for even suggesting it.

But instead— Instead, you’re serious.

You actually want him to come.

And suddenly, the weight of his secret comes crashing down on him all over again.

He shouldn’t do this.

He shouldn’t pretend like this is normal. He shouldn’t accept this invitation, knowing full well he’s about to destroy everything you think this is.

But—

The way you’re looking at him right now—

Soft. Open. Like you trust him.

And fuck, he doesn’t want to let you down.

So he forces a grin, nudging your knee with his.

“Is this it?” he teases. “The meet-the-parents moment? Should I bring flowers? Shake your dad’s hand like a man?”

You laugh.

But he’s not laughing.

Because meeting your parents means something.

It means you see him in your life for real.

And he—he won’t even be here in three weeks.

But instead of saying that, instead of being honest, he just smiles, leans closer, and murmurs, “Your mom’s gonna love me.”

You grin. “That’s what I said.”

And just like that—he’s agreed to come.

Even though he shouldn’t.

Even though he knows this is going to make everything so much worse.

But for now, he lets himself have this.

Because if this is all he gets before everything falls apart—

He wants to make it count.

——

You get dressed in what you came in—your hoodie and sweatpants, both slightly wrinkled from sleep. Jungkook watches from his place on the bed, hands behind his head, eyes hooded as you gather your things.

“You’re just gonna leave like that?” he asks, voice still thick from the morning.

You shoot him a look. “What’s wrong with this?”

He shrugs. “Nothing, just… thought you’d wanna freshen up before you go.”

You narrow your eyes. “You just want me to shower here.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head, smirking.

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bathroom, sharing a toothbrush holder with him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

The shower is familiar—you blush from the memories of it last night. You bicker over water temperature, flick suds at each other when you think he’s not looking. He kisses your wet shoulder at one point, and you shove him away, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

After, when you’re brushing your teeth again, you leave your toothbrush in its usual place next to his. He doesn’t say anything about it, but he stares for a beat too long, something unreadable in his gaze before he looks away.

And then comes the usual argument.

“I’ll take the bus,” you insist, slipping on your sneakers.

Jungkook snorts. “No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“No, you won’t.” He’s already grabbing his keys, like he knows he’s won this fight before it’s even started.

You groan. “Jungkook, you don’t have to drive me—”

“I want to drive you,” he says simply, holding the door open for you. “Get in the car, baby.”

You grumble under your breath, but ultimately, you do.

The drive home is quiet, comfortable. His hand rests on your thigh absentmindedly, thumb brushing over your legs. You watch the city pass by through the window, messaging Nari a quick otw home, mom n dad r coming later text before tucking your phone away.

When you pull up to your apartment, he turns to you. “Text me what time I should come later.”

“I will.”

Jungkook leans in, kissing you slow, like he’s savoring it. You don’t question it, just press into him, fingers curling around the collar of his hoodie.

You pull away first. “See you later?”

He nods, lips still slightly parted. “Yeah.”

And then you’re out of the car, climbing the stairs to your apartment.

——

You expect Nari to be dead asleep when you walk in.

She’s been knocked out for the past two days, after all, barely responding to texts, dead in your bed from your hell sent night shift, only waking up for food and bathroom breaks.

But instead, you step into the apartment and—

“YOU’RE BACK!”

You startle, nearly dropping your bag.

Nari is sprawled out on the couch, bright-eyed and looking suspiciously well-rested.

You blink. “Weren’t you, like…dead?”

“I wasn’t dead, I was recovering,” she corrects, stretching like a cat. “I had a very intense weekend, okay? I deserved to sleep like I was in a coma.”

You roll your eyes, kicking off your shoes. “Sure. So, what? You just woke up?”

“Mmm…” She pretends to think. “Like, an hour ago.”

You squint at her. “So you were only asleep for, like, half of the past two days?”

“Correct.”

“And what did you do for the other half?”

“Laid here. Watched TikToks. Waited for you to come back and tell me everything.”

You snort, flopping onto the couch beside her.

She immediately grins, wiggling her eyebrows. “Sooo… How was it?”

You raise a brow. “What? Breakfast? My drive home? Be specific.”

“Bitch.” She glares. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You laugh, leaning back. “It was… good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. Good.”

She narrows her eyes.

Then—her expression shifts, turns cheeky.

“Did you guys have another round this morning?”

Your jaw drops. “NARI—”

“WHAT?” She cackles. “It’s a valid question! I mean, he sounded like he was gonna eat you alive over text last night!”

You groan, covering your face. “Oh my god.”

She nudges your leg. “So? Did you?”

“NO.”

She squints. “Damn. Missed opportunity.”

You throw a pillow at her.

She wheezes.

“Bitch, we need to clean.”

You blink. “Not tired anymore?”

“Yeah, but I’m wide awake now,” she says, already yanking a pile of laundry off the couch. “I miss your mom. I can’t wait to see her. This place is a disaster.”

“Who said you were staying?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Me,” Nari says, completely serious.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight her on it. Instead, you both spend the next couple of hours speed-cleaning, stuffing random things into closets, wiping down every surface. The place looks clean, even if it’s mostly an illusion.

Then comes the cooking.

You find a recipe for roasted chicken, following a tutorial step-by-step. It seems easy enough—until the kitchen fills with smoke, and the chicken looks questionable at best.

“It said 400 degrees for 20 minutes, how is it still raw?!”

“Did we even preheat it?”

“Oh my God, Nari.”

You and Nari are standing in the kitchen, staring at the baking sheet in horror. The chicken you so proudly marinated is still looking suspiciously pale.

Your kitchen looks like a warzone. Flour on the counter. Herbs spilled. Something is burning, but neither of you know what.

Somewhere along the way, the sauce burns, the seasoning is questionable at best, and the chicken looks vaguely threatening.

At one point, you both step back and stare at it.

Then, at the same time—

“Yeah, we can’t serve that.”

You groan, wiping your hands on a towel. “I need to run to the store.”

“Want me to come?”

“Nah, stay here. Keep an eye on things.”

Nari salutes. “Aye aye, captain.”

And with that, you grab your jacket and head out.

——

You smooth down your sweater, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

When you return, bags in hand, you expect to just see Nari lounging around.

But instead—

Jungkook is there.

Already inside, casually chatting with Nari like he owns the place.

The second he sees you, he grins.

You roll your eyes. “You’re early.”

“You sound upset.” He steps forward, taking the bags from your hands like it’s second nature.

“Because I am.”

He laughs, setting the bags down before tugging you in for a quick kiss.

It’s warm, familiar, and despite your fake complaining, you let yourself melt into it.

Nari watches, arms crossed. “Ugh. You guys are gross.”

Jungkook pulls away just enough to smirk. “Jealous?”

“Of you? No. Of Y/N? Absolutely.”

Jungkook snorts, and you just shake your head, smiling.

For a moment, it’s perfect.

For a moment, you think tonight will be fine.

And then you freeze.

“…Did you cut your hair?”

Jungkook stands there, hands in his pockets, hair shorter than before. It’s not buzzed, but the longer strands are gone, leaving it neater, more structured.

He runs a hand through it. “Yeah. I… have a shoot coming up.”

You tilt your head, inspecting him. “You look good, but… I kinda liked the mullet.”

He snorts. “Did you?”

You nod. “It was hot.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles, but there’s something off about it. Like he’s holding something back.

Because he is.

Because he knows this isn’t for a shoot.

Because in a few weeks, it’s all coming off.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he just lets you pull him towards you, lets you run your fingers through his hair, lets himself enjoy this moment.

Even if he knows it’s borrowed time.

——

The three of you are sprawled out in the living room, waiting.

Jungkook is beside you on the couch, lazily letting you run your fingers through his freshly cut hair while he scrolls through his phone. Nari, on the other hand, is laser-focused on the chicken.

You don’t miss the way she keeps side-eyeing it like it might disappear if she blinks too long.

“Nari, stop eyeing the chicken,” you deadpan, flicking her arm.

She groans dramatically. “But I’m starving—just one bite?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

She makes a whining sound, but you stand firm. Meanwhile, Jungkook is just watching the whole interaction, shaking with laughter, like this is peak entertainment.

“You two are unreal,” he mutters, grinning.

And then there’s a knock at the door.

You immediately straighten up, running your hands over your sweater as if there’s invisible dust to wipe off. Nari lets out an excited gasp.

“Oh my god, yes,” she whispers, giddy.

Jungkook, however, noticeably stiffens. His fingers twitch against his thigh, and when you glance at him, you catch the way his jaw flexes.

You reach for his hand, squeezing lightly. “You’ll be fine,” you reassure him. “I promise she’ll love you. They’ll both love you. But… just a warning, they’re very energetic.”

“Very energetic,” Nari adds. “Now hurry up and open the door before they break it down.”

You roll your eyes but step forward, unlocking it.

Your parents arrived late, obviously.

And they do so with energy.

Your mom practically bursts into the apartment, already talking.

“Y/N! Oh my god, we hit so much traffic—your father missed the exit—oh, honey, come here, let me see you.”

You barely get a word in before she’s already hugging you, pulling back to hold your face between her hands.

“Hi, Mom,” you laugh, hugging her back.

She pulls away to cup your face, eyes scanning you like she’s checking for signs of distress. “How are you? You look so pretty! Have you been eating well? Are you sleeping enough?”

Behind her, your dad is eyeing the situation with a small smirk. “Yeah, hi to you too,” he says, voice dry but amused.

“Hi, Dad.”

You barely get the words out before your mom moves on, immediately turning her attention to Nari with an excited gasp.

“Oh my god, Nari! Look at you, gorgeous as ever—come here, let me see you!”

And just like that, you’re shoved aside.

Nari giggles, soaking up the attention like a sponge, while you turn to your dad. He gives you a knowing look before pulling you into a quick hug.

“Surviving?” he asks.

“Barely,” you deadpan.

He huffs out a chuckle. But before either of you can say more, your mom’s voice cuts through the room like a siren.

“Oh, my daughter in law! You look so good! Have you been eating? You’re glowing!”

“Mom.”

“Oh, hush. If I had a son, I’d marry him off to Nari immediately.”

Nari grins, dramatically flipping her hair. “You hear that, Y/N? Your mom has taste.”

Then—your mom turns and sees Jungkook.

And oh. Oh, Lord.

Her hands fly to her chest.

“Oh my goodness.”

Jungkook blinks, startled.

Your dad lets out an approving hum, arms crossed, nodding slowly, as if analyzing Jungkook’s existence.

“So this is him, huh? The singer boy?”

Jungkook laughs nervously. “Uh—yeah. Hi.”

Your mom immediately grabs his hands, beaming.

“You are so handsome! Look at you! Wow, Sweetie, you didn’t tell me he was this gorgeous in person!”

Jungkook’s ears turn red.

Nari, watching from behind, cackles. “Oh my God.”

Your mom ignores her.

“Oh, sweetie, you must be tired. Are you eating well? Do you need anything? Can I get you something?”

Your dad claps him on the back. “Strong handshake. I respect that.”

Jungkook is getting smothered.

You just stand there, watching, amused, arms crossed, letting him suffer.

Then, finally, your mom turns back to you.

“Alright, let’s eat! I’m starving. And I brought real food, don’t worry.”

You don’t question how she knows youd fuck up the food.

Nari snorts. “Yeah, thank God.”

And just like that, your parents have fully claimed Jungkook as their own.

Nari and your mom settle at the table, chatting away like old friends, while your dad stays standing, arms crossed as he eyes the chicken suspiciously.

Meanwhile, you’re in the kitchen with your mom, helping her unpack the food she thankfully brought.

“Sweetheart,” she suddenly sniffs, “it smells like smoke in here.”

You freeze for half a second before continuing to open containers. “Huh?”

She gives you a look. “Did you burn something?”

“Yeah. No. Yeah. Yeah, Mom.”

She sighs, clearly so used to this. “Good thing I brought food, then.”

You nod, relieved.

As you both carry the dishes to the table, Jungkook instinctively gets up to help. But the second he moves, your mom waves him off.

“Oh no, no, no, sit down, sit down, relax.”

Jungkook hesitates. “Uh… no, I’ll help.”

“Really, I—”

“I insist,” he says, already reaching for a dish.

Your mom pauses, then huffs out a chuckle. “Oh, alright then. What a gentleman.”

Meanwhile, Nari—who has been waiting for this moment—immediately lunges for the chicken.

She does not hesitate.

It’s like she hasn’t eaten in weeks—just shoveling food onto her plate like a woman possessed.

“Jesus, Nari,” you mutter, watching in horror. “Pace yourself.”

She barely acknowledges you, already halfway through her first bite. “I told you I was starving.”

Jungkook chuckles, finally seeming to relax as he takes a bite of his own food. There’s still a bit of nervous energy in his shoulders, but it’s nowhere near as tense as before.

As the dinner settles into an easy flow, your mom and Nari fall into conversation, as they always do.

“Nari, what happened to that boy you were talking to?” your mom asks mid-bite. “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

Nari immediately launches into a dramatic rant about Men and Their Many Flaws, and your mom nods along, engaged as ever. They have a weirdly close bond—it’s been that way for years.

Meanwhile, your dad turns to Jungkook.

“So,” he says, eyes flicking to Jungkook’s arm. “Did your tattoos hurt?”

Jungkook blinks, glancing down at the ink covering his skin. Then he shrugs, casual. “A little.”

Your dad hums, contemplating. “I wanna get one.”

Jungkook perks up. “Oh yeah? What are you thinking of getting?”

Before your dad can answer, you cut in.

“Dad, you’d cry the second the needle touched your skin.”

Your dad scoffs, affronted. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I literally saw you tear up when you stubbed your toe last time we had dinner.”

“That was different!”

Jungkook is trying so hard not to laugh.

“I’m big and tough, just like Jungkook,” your dad insists, puffing out his chest.

“Sure,” you deadpan.

Your mom, barely paying attention, waves a hand. “Anyway—”

And then, suddenly, all eyes are on Jungkook.

“So,” your mom says, tilting her head, “how did you two meet?”

Jungkook blinks, clearly not expecting to be put on the spot. But after a moment, he smiles. “At the diner.”

“Oh my god,” Nari suddenly cuts in, turning to your mom. “Did you know Y/N didn’t even realize who he was at first?”

Your mom, still eating, barely reacts. “Oh, I’m not surprised,” she says, waving her fork. “She was never really into that kind of stuff.”

Jungkook laughs, glancing at you.

Your mom, however, suddenly gasps.

“Oh, Jungkook—you should meet her cousin. She is obsessed with you.”

You groan. “Who?”

“No, really! Albums, posters—your face is everywhere in her room!”

Jungkook’s eyebrows lift in amusement. “Oh yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I know. She’s obsessed.”

Jungkook grins. “Next time, bring something and I’ll sign it for her.”

Your mom gasps. “Oh my god honey, she would die.”

Your dad, who has been quietly observing this whole thing, suddenly leans back with a smirk. “Alright, son,” he says, “I like you.”

And just like that—Jungkook is in.

Before you even realize it, half the chicken is gone.

You glance over at Nari—and yeah.

It was her.

Your parents immediately notice.

“Oh, sweetie,” your mom coos, pushing her plate toward Nari. “You must still be so hungry. Here, have some of mine.”

Your dad follows suit, sliding his dish over. “Yeah, come on. Eat up.”

Nari stares at them in horror.

Because, in reality, she is stuffed. Absolutely miserable. But she’s also too deep in the bit to stop now.

So she swallows thickly, nods, and—forces another bite.

You watch in pure amusement as she struggles, her expression slightly green, but still determined.

Jungkook notices too, chuckling quietly.

Then—your mom leans in, casual as ever, and asks:

“So, Jungkook.”

Jungkook looks up. “Yes?”

She smirks. “Are you in love with my daughter?”

You nearly choke.

Jungkook freezes, caught so off guard that he blinks—mouth slightly open.

Your dad, on the other hand, grins, immediately jumping in to tease.

“I don’t know how you could be,” he says, shaking his head dramatically. “She burned the chicken.”

You gasp. “How did you know?”

Nari, still trying not to die from fullness, weakly raises a hand. “It’s… pretty obvious,” she mutters.

Your dad cackles.

Jungkook, still flustered from the question, simply shakes his head with a small laugh, covering his mouth.

The conversation continues on—shifting topics, flowing naturally, Jungkook settling even more into the comfortable chaos of your family.

Then, out of nowhere, your mom casually says—

“Honey, did you know your cousin finished his enlistment last week?”

You blink. “Who?”

“Your cousin. He just got discharged.”

“Oh.” You nod, remembering. “Yeah, Mom. I miss him. We should visit sometime.”

Your dad hums. “We definitely will. He’s not busy anymore.”

Jungkook listens quietly, still chewing—but then—

Your mom turns to him.

And she asks—so casual, so normal—

“Jungkook, honey. When will you be enlisting?”

[doki-doki-imagines]

author note: fic written a long time ago, but that is really fitting now. Hope you'll enjoy reading it!💫

“Michael is inside the locker room, you should see him.” Noa’s voice is firm, as always, even after such a big defeat, for him, it’s just like finishing a chapter, ready to start the new one, not many afterthoughts to ruin his next steps.

Michael Kaiser, your boyfriend can’t deal with defeat as well.

You enter the empty room, only your boyfriend is in, sitting in his sweat-drenched uniform, a towel covering his face.

You take uneasy steps toward his figure, he doesn’t even look up, too absorbed in his own world.

“Michael, I’m here, can you look at me?” You sit next to him, the bench creaks under your weight, you pinch the corner of the towel trying to lift it up, to finally see Michael’s face.

Your hand gets slapped away.

“Don’t even try it.” Some time ago this crude and cold voice would have swollen your eyes with tears, you would have been able to hear just the crippling hate in his voice.

Now you can hear the sad undertone and how the hate isn’t for you, but only for himself.

“What do you want to look at-“ he stands up abruptly, the bench recoil, the towel falls on the ground “At this failure! At this poor excuse of a player, walking trash-“ Michael can’t finish his phrase, broken sobs interrupt.

His blue eyes are bloodshot, the red of his makeup staining his face, sticky with dried tears. Michael is trembling, you don’t know if for sadness or anger, he is hitting his chest with his left fist, while the right hand is pinching his neck, the skin is broken, some drop of blood on his roses tattoo.

“Michael stop-“ You try to walk near your boyfriend, but he pushes you away and crouch on himself hands now covering his face

“No! You can’t understand, you don’t want to understand! This is all my life, I’m nothing- I shouldn’t even live if-“

“Michael!” You shout, finally stepping closer “Don’t you dare finish that phrase.”

It wasn’t the first time Michael got depressed after a match, but this is a peak he never reached before and it indescribably broke your heart.

He finally looks up, new tears forming in his deep blue eyes, you gently hold his cheeks with your hands, and lift his face up so you could look at him straight in the eyes.

“Your value as a person doesn’t depend on a match, no wait let me reformulate. Your value doesn’t depend on football. And don’t you dare-“ This time you are the one letting out a sigh “to say that you shouldn’t live anymore, because I can’t imagine a life without you.”

You kiss his forehead just before hugging him tight against your body, your right hand caressing his head.

Michael doesn’t reply back, he just keeps sobbing and crying on your shoulder.

“Please Michael stop crying, but I promise, losing this match won’t be your end, there will be a ton of other occasions, please Michael believe me.” You coo at him.

“O-Ok” His body still trembles under you.

“Can you look at me when you say that?” You say softly before kissing the top of his head.

He lift up from your shoulder and nod, a wobbly smile appearing on his face, his breath still being broken by sobs.

You smooch his forehead again, this time the contact last longer and he closes his eyes in relaxation, finally the sobs and sighs are slowing down and he is regaining control of his body.

“Can I kiss you even if I look like a mess?”  

A small laugh escapes your lips but you nod.

“I find you handsome-“  “you look like a wet kitty, love it.” You wanted to say, but his mouth catch yours before you can finish.

His chapped lips find yours. It’s a slow dance, made of broken breaths bound by a strong love. Your right hand drying away those fresh tears, your thumb moving slow circles on his sticky cheeks, the left one finds peace in the back of his neck, scratching his little hair knowing full well he loves it.

He is way more restless, the right hand that was holding your arm to keep you as close as possible to his body find soon his way to your waist, fingers moving up and down pressing and releasing your waist like a piano key hoping to generate a new sound at every broken breath. His left one is kept firmly in the back of your head, pushing your face impossibly close to his, nose bumping, eyelashes caressing each other faces.

It’s when you feel the familiar feeling of something wet in your mouth that your mind return to reality.

“Michael, ehi-“ You put both your hands on his chest gently pushing on his pecs “I think you should take a shower.”

He looks at you with his wide blue eyes and tilts his head clearly looking at you like you just said the dumbest thing on Earth.

“Are you saying I stink?”

This time it isn’t small laughter that leaves your lips, but one of those that shakes your entire body and that makes Michael look at you with even wider eyes.

“Yes a little, but that wasn’t my main point. I think you need to take a hot shower, relax and come home with me and watch a film that neither of us is gonna finish because we’ll both fall asleep the second I press play.”

The blonde seems to think about it a little before nodding, walking towards the locker room’s showers stripping at every step for the joy of your eyes, till he disappears around the corner the sound of running water filling the room.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join me?” Just his head pop out from behind the wall, water already dripping down his face and hair, a particular droplet following the line of his veins down his neck, skin shiny and inviting-

“Go finish your shower, there will be better times.” You see his head bending down, probably preparing his better kitty eyes to convince you “At home we’ll have all the time of this world for example.”

Michael never finished a shower so fast.

[gjsatorus]

welcome home ✩

summary: you come home to satoru taking care of you

— fem reader, fluff, established relationship, there’s one suggestive joke, not proofread

note: this week has genuinely been so tiring for me i need someone like satoru rn AND chap 237 was like a slap in the face i just can’t, SPOILERS there was no signs of gojo at all and megumi is gone. like i’m hoping that gojo shows up in 238 next week 😞🤍 but what abt gumi.

tired. beyond exhausted, you unlock the front door to your house. barely being able to take your shoes off without falling face first onto the floor, but you managed. then there was a voice that made you perk up slightly, it was no other than your love, gojo satoru.

“welcome home love!” he was smiling ear to ear, giving you a kiss on your lips before leaning in to hug you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you buried your face into his neck. he notices your tired form, frowning a bit, you looked like you were ready to fall asleep on him, “toru.. so sleepy,” you mumbled out.

“i got ya, i’ll take care of you tonight sweetheart,” the white haired man chuckled feeling your grasp on him weaken due to the sleepiness. he picks you up, his arm under your legs and the other supporting your back as he walks into the bathroom. gojo places you on the sink counter while getting the bathtub filled up with water.

“toru..?” you open one eye watching him get your bath ready. “hm?” he answers before walking back to you, holding your hands in his. “can you join me please darling?” you squeeze his hands and he squeezes back in return. “of course,” the blue eyed smiles before taking off your shirt then your pants and the rest of your undergarments.

you place one foot into the bath feeling the temperature before completely sitting down in the tub. the water was warm, it smells like lavender, you were about to doze off before you feel him sit behind you. “my baby’s sleepy today hm?” gojo snickering at how fast you leaned against his chest, he grabs a bottle of shampoo and begins scrubbing your scalp with it.

“so tired toru.. been a long day,” you sigh at the feeling of his fingers massaging your head, hearing a small “mmm” from the man behind you. “how’s your day handsome?” you ask and he giggles at the nickname, “same old, same old. the higher ups wanted me to do something, but i wasn’t really that interested,” gojo explains while rinsing your hair. “you’re gonna kill them some day,” you chuckle as you closed your eyes.

it was silent, but the comfortable type of silence. you could hear the splashing of the water whenever satoru moves, he then gets the bottle of conditioner and applies it on the bottom half of your hair. “you wanna just sleep and cuddle after this, pretty?” gojo asks, spreading the body wash on your shoulders and the rest of your body as he waits for the conditioner.

“please,” you mumbled out again, feeling him rinse your body and the conditioner out of your hair. then you opened your eyes when you realize something, “how about you toru? want me to wash your hair too?” his eyes widen before softening a little, “if you want baby,” satoru grins. you turn around, facing him as you get the bottle of shampoo.

he kisses your nose once you looked back at him, you start scrubbing his scalp. “my toru’s so cute, so lucky to have you,” you say, giving him a peck on his cheek while rinsing the shampoo out of his hair thoroughly. “i’m the lucky one,” he opens his eyes and watched you spread the body wash on him just like how he did with you. “toru, i’m the lucky one,” you roll your eyes teasingly while rinsing him.

“alright we’re done,” you stood up from the bathtub and immediately started to shiver before sitting back down, the coldness did slightly wake you up. “i’ll go first and help you out sweetheart,” he began drying himself as you close your eyes. once you open them again, he was holding the towel ready for you, getting up from the tub and quickly wrapping yourself around it.

his towel was wrapped around his waist while his white hair was still wet, water droplets fall onto his skin. “like what you see?” gojo smirks catching you stare at him before walking away. changing into more comfortable pajamas, you begin blow drying your hair, feeling a pair of arms wrap around you again.

“help me please baby,” he points to his wet hair then at the blow dryer in your hands. you smile gently before drying his hair too, it was soft and smooth. after that was done, he quickly pulls you onto the bed making you yelp in surprise. your head gently pressed onto his chest, hearing his heart beat as his arms wrap around you, nuzzling closer to him.

you start feeling drowsy again at the warm feeling, “toru before i fall asleep, i love you and thank you for tonight,” you kissed the back of his hand before falling asleep. gojo looks at you with adoration, “goodnight to you too baby, love you more,” he gave your forehead a kiss and began falling asleep as well.