#I’m just like ‘fuck off’ (I do not say that. EVER)
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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫.
⭑.ᐟ。𖦹°‧ warnings . . . approximately 7k words, smut with plot, cheating, older!ellie (reader is 23), chef!ellie, body hair, fingering/oral (e!receiving), no use of y/n, food play, ellie drinks coffee in this one :p 𐔌.author's note.ᐟ ֹ₊꒱ first post of the year!!! muahahaha (totally not proofread :p) HAPPY NEW YEARRR!!! i just wanted to take a moment to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you who reads and interacts with my writings/posts in general. it truly means the world to me. :3 i also wanted to let my moots know that i love you all, y'all are so funny and cool, and i appreciate you more than you know. even if we haven’t interacted much, just know i’m lowkey stalking your blogs (in admiration, ofc… i’m definitely not hiding in your basement as you’re reading this)
It wasn’t supposed to go this far. You’d never planned to walk this road, never imagined the day you’d become someone like this. A homewrecker, or whatever the fuck people called it. This wasn’t you, not really. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
But as you kneeled before the Ellie fucking Williams, none of that mattered. Your soft hands held on to her hips with a fervent grip, almost as if your life depended on it, tongue dragging up her dripping heat, collecting every bit of that sweet, sticky honey from the slit of her soaked pussy to the carved ridges of her toned abs. She was a masterpiece, sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and you were hungry for her essence, desperate to savor every inch she had to offer. No matter how many times you have done this before, it never gets old—she never gets old.
Golden syrup trickled from the curve of her perky breasts, pooling in the valley between them before rolling down to her hardened nipples. You couldn’t just ignore them, couldn’t leave them standing there neglected. Slowly, deliberately, you made your way up, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, your mouth worshiping her as she deserved. She whimpered—soft, breathy, almost vulnerable.
You’d done that. You made her sound like that.
But Ellie wasn’t one for patience, not in the kitchen, nor in a different context. That was her thing—impatience, control—making things happen whenever she wanted it. Her calloused hand gripped your shoulder, pushing you back down with the kind of force that sent a jolt straight through you.
“Get me off, like you always do, will ya?” her voice rasp and lazy, dripping with authority.
You looked up at her, smirking despite your knees throbbing from the cold tile beneath you, bruises blooming on your skin like pretty violets, a dark reminder of how many times you’d been down here like this lately. “Yes, chef.”
You didn’t break eye contact as you sank lower, lashes fluttering, bambi-eyed and eager. Ellie always had this power over you, this hold that went deeper than lust. You admired her. You wanted her job, her life, her. You wanted to be her, and fuck, you wanted to be with her, too. But that was a dream too big for the likes of you, and you knew it.
So for now, you gave her what she wanted, what she demanded, losing yourself in her, the scent of her, the taste of her. Your tongue laid flat and ready, exposed for her, and she didn’t waste a second. Instinct took over as her hips bucked against your pretty face, her throbbing, greedy clit grinding against the wet muscle of your tongue. Her desperation only fueled you, and as her heat consumed you, your breath hitched. Your free hand slid down, pressing against your own aching core, rubbing yourself through your soaked panties while you devoured her.
In minutes, you were a wreck. Hair tangled and wild, her hands yanking at it with no care for gentleness. She didn’t give a single fuck if she was hurting you—not now, not ever. That’s just how she was, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The pain only made you hungrier, needier, leaving you gasping for more.
“God,” she gasped, her voice breathless, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”
Your heart skipped, your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from humming proudly against her. The vibrations made her hips jerk, her clit twitching against your warm tongue as you worked on her with even more determination. Your fingers moved faster, circling your swollen bud through the drenched fabric of your panties. The soft moans that escaped your throat only made her rougher, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling you closer as she chased her release.
“Fuck…” she cursed, her voice breaking as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering shut. She was gone, completely lost in what you were giving her. “This is why you’re my favorite.”
The words hit like a shot of adrenaline, causing a fluttery, erratic sensation to erupt in your stomach. You sucked harder, more hungrily, her juices dripping down your chin and mixing with your spit, your tongue lapping it all up like you couldn’t get enough.
A low moan rumbled from your chest as you got more of her taste, vibrating against her clit and making her cry out in return. Her toned thigh tightened around your head, pulling you impossibly closer. You could barely breathe, your nose buried in her trimmed, reddish bush, but you didn’t care. Her other hand released its grip on the steel counter behind her, letting her back fully press against it to seek steady support while she trapped her stiff nipple between her fongers. Each calculated motion you made left her gasping, her shallow breaths hitching as if she were on the verge of losing control.
Your fingers slipped past the waistband of your white panties, eagerly teasing your slit before pushing them into your pulsating walls without wasting a second more. You were too wet, too sensitive, and way too horny to be patient, couldn’t wait until she came to feel good. You winced slightly, stifling a soft mewl as you sank them deeper and deeper.
She noticed, of course, she did. “What a fucking slut you are,” she chuckled, her voice a breathless mix of amusement and disbelief. Her hips ground impatiently against your mouth, her grip on your damaged hair tightening to the point of pain. “Just like that,” she gasped, her head tilting back again as her body tensed. “I’m close already.”
You couldn’t stop a giddy chuckle to slip past your lips. The sound was soft, playful, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Her head snapped downward, her brows furrowing in confusion as her gaze locked onto yours.
“Something funny?” she asked, her voice sharp despite the breathlessness.
“What, your wife doesn’t touch you at all?” you taunted, your voice laced with mock innocence as you pulled back just enough to meet her hooded gaze.
“She does,” Ellie shot back almost instantly, her voice sharp and defensive. But her actions betrayed her words as her hand gripped the back of your head, forcing you down again with the kind of need that spoke volumes. She was selfish about it, pressing herself against you without hesitation, demanding more of you like she always did.
You gave in, plunging two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right, finding that sweet spot that made her body restless and her moans grow louder. Your mouth stayed busy, lips and tongue working on her rose nub in tandem, sucking and flicking in rhythm with the movement of your hand. Her body was tight, trembling under your touch, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride knowing you were the one making her feel like this—pulling sounds from her that her wife hadn’t in years. It was wrong, but Ellie couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not with the way your fingers worked inside her, not with the way your tongue seemed to know exactly what she needed.
You looked up at her briefly, catching the flicker of something in her eyes—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was quickly replaced by hunger as her fingers tightened in your once-soft hair. “Don’t stop,” she rasped, her voice growing desperate. And you didn’t.
How could you sleep with another woman’s wife? The thought lingered in the corners of your mind like a restless echo of a whisper, making you feel guilty and disgusting, until your gaze landed on her again, and suddenly, the guilt felt distant, almost irrelevant, like it was never there to begin with.
Even a blind person would succumb to her allure, you told yourself, as if that excused anything. That charisma of hers—it wasn’t just a pull. It was a wicked spell that left you weak in the knees. The world around you always seemed to fade into a hazy blur as she walked into the room, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating. Self respect? It vanished the moment her soft lips crashed against yours, leaving you drowning in the pounding of your heart and your feelings for her.
Maybe it was her beauty, effortless and unassuming, the kind that seemed to defy time itself. She wore it effortlessly, as if time itself had conspired in her favor. She looked fresh, radiant even, no matter her age. Thirty-six. Was that too old for you? Surely not. There were worse gaps out there, you reasoned, though even the thought of reasoning felt ridiculous when it came to her. She made rationality crumble, made you question things you never had before.
Ellie hadn’t always been this person, this version of herself that took and took without restraint. She hated it, hated the way she’d sunk so low, but she couldn’t stop. Not when it came to you. She’d had plenty of pretty girls come and go in her kitchen, of every age, bright-eyed and eager to prove themselves. But none of them had caught her attention the way you did. There was something about you that made her stomach twist and her chest flutter in ways she didn’t want to admit.
It made her feel disgusting.
The guilt clung to her like a parasite, heavy and suffocating, consuming her at night as she lay next to Dina. Sweet, devoted Dina, who didn’t deserve any of this. Dina, who kissed Ellie goodnight with the same tenderness she had ever since high school, who still looked at her with love in her eyes, even though Ellie knew she didn’t deserve it.
But the truth was undeniable. Dina didn’t make her happy anymore. Maybe it wasn’t even Dina’s fault, maybe the problem was Ellie herself. Years of love, years of marriage, and yet something had changed. Dina was steady, reliable, safe. But safe had grown boring. Too domestic, too… predictable.
Then you walked into her restaurant.
Ellie remembered that day like it had been etched into her memory with a hot iron. You had this nervous energy about you, your manicured hands trembling slightly even as you tried to project confidence. It was endearing the way you squared your shoulders and forced a smile despite how jittery you clearly felt. Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off you.
Your nerves were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of excitement and dread swirling in your chest. Meeting someone you had admired for years was thrilling, yes, but it was also overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. Your love for cooking had always been an anchor in your life, a passion ignited by your dad—a man whose laughter echoed in every inch of the house on cozy Sunday afternoons, whose hands expertly kneaded dough or seasoned a sauce with precision and care. Those moments were your happiest memories, fragments of a simpler time.
When he passed, it felt like a part of you went with him. Alongside the grief came a determination that burned quietly within you. You owed it to him, you told yourself. You had to carry on his passion, keep alive all the little tricks and lessons he had passed down. He never got the chance to go to a culinary school, never had the means to chase the dream he so clearly deserved. You’d been luckier. You had opportunities he could only ever dream of, and for that, you couldn’t complain.
However, somewhere along the way, doubt began to creep in.
It was subtle at first—a quiet voice in the chambers of your mind that questioned if you were truly good enough. That voice grew louder with time, eating away your confidence. Even after you graduated from a prestigious culinary school—one that rarely opened its doors to just anyone—you couldn’t shake the feeling that others were better.
More talented. More deserving.
Still, you pushed forward. Giving up wasn’t an option, not after everything you’d invested: all your savings, grueling hours of study, sleepless nights, sacrifices you had made, and the moments you had teetered on the edge of failure, only to claw your way back. Quitting now would mean throwing all of that away. Worse, it would mean letting down the one person whose opinion mattered most to you.
How would your dad react if he were still here? Would he understand your struggles, or would he shake his head in disappointment? Those unanswered questions haunted you late at night, swirling endlessly in your mind as you tossed and turned in your bed. Would he be proud of the path you had taken? Or would he see your insecurities as a weakness?
You didn’t know. You might never know. Yet that was part of what kept you going, clinging to the hope that, somehow, all of this would be worth it.
When your culinary school recommended Ellie Williams’ restaurant for an apprenticeship, your heart nearly stopped. You couldn’t afford not to say yes, but that didn’t stop the nerves from turning your stomach inside out. She was a legend, known for her perfectionism, innate talent, and the kind of reputation that inspired both awe and fear. She wasn’t just a great chef. She was the chef, and to top it all off, she’d walked the same halls at your school. Knowing she had started where you were now gave you hope, but it also set the bar impossibly high.
Ellie was why you chose that school in the first place, and now you were walking into her domain, hoping you wouldn’t screw it all up.The interview wasn’t something you could avoid, no matter how much you wanted to. Everything about her was intimidating—the stories of her strictness, her infamous zero-tolerance policy for mistakes, and her disdain for laziness in any form. All of it left you shitting your pants in anticipation.
The moment she stepped into the office a waitress had told you to wait in, the air felt like it had shifted, and the chatter of the bustling restaurant beyond the door suddenly muted. She carried herself with confidence, the intimidating kind. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a few rebellious strands framing her freckled face. The years had carved faint lines into the corners of her olive eyes, but they only added to her beauty. Her gaze was piercing, the type that made you feel stripped bare with just one glance.
She wore her chef’s jacket open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms adorned with faint scars and a faded tattoo. Her stance was casual but strong, her crossed arms flexing toned muscles beneath the freckled skin. She looked like someone who had worked for everything she had and who wasn’t afraid to call you out if you hadn’t done the same.
The interview itself was mercilessly brief. Ellie didn’t waste time, her words were stern and straight to the point. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable except for the slight downturn of her lips. It wasn’t just that she looked unimpressed, it was as if she had already decided you had something to prove.
Her voice cut through the silence with a rasp that spoke of too many late nights and maybe one too many cigarettes in her youth. “I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand,” she began, “And I don’t give out praise for showing up. I want to know why you think you can keep up here when most fresh-out-of-school types run for the door the second they realize what I expect.”
You stumbled over your words at first, her intensity throwing you off balance. Her stormy green eyes stayed locked on you the entire time, dissecting every word that left your mouth. You couldn’t help but notice the faint quirk of her brow, a hidden challenge laying in its arch, daring you to falter.
When you finished answering, her expression didn’t change, her arms still crossed in that stance that screamed impatience, like she had better things to do. She let the silence stretch, as if weighing your every word. Finally, she nodded, just once, curt and decisive, before standing.
Your posture straightened awkwardly, every muscle stiff as you tried to hold her gaze. You didn’t want to look nervous, not to her. Ellie Williams wasn’t the kind of person who tolerated insecurity, and the last thing you wanted was to give her the impression that you didn’t know what you were doing.
“I’ll give you a week,” The older woman conceded, “A trial. During that time, you’ll work every shift I tell you to—no complaints. If I think you’re slacking even once, you’re out. Understood?”
Anxiety coursing through you at her words, the pressure settling on your shoulders like a lead apron. You nodded, swallowing your nerves and summoning every ounce of determination you had left. “Understood, Chef.”
“Good.”
Ellie pushed herself off the desk, her hand extended toward you, and for a second, you froze. When you finally reached out, your fingers met hers—rough, calloused, worn down by years of relentless labor in kitchens like this one. Her grip was firm and commanding, her knuckles marked with tiny cracks and the faded scars of burns long since healed. You couldn’t help but notice how her hand lingered just a second too long, enough for you to feel the weight of her scrutiny.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t,” you promised, your voice cracking slightly, betraying how much you wanted to sound confident.
Easier said than done.
The week passed in a blur. Each day felt like a battle that tested you to your limits. The kitchen wasn't just hectic; it was hell. A scorching inferno of non-stop work. Pans clattered, oil sizzled, and the air seemed perpetually thick with heat and the aroma of garlic and herbs. Voices shouted over the din, and orders barked with urgency. The counters gleamed under the lights, every inch of the space immaculately polished, ready for Ellie’s scrutinizing eyes to find fault in it.
And find fault she did.
It was like suddenly, you couldn’t hold a knife to save your life. Ellie would swoop in, catching you mid-slice with a firm, “Stop—just stop for a second.” Her voice cut through the noise, causing the chattering to quiet down. Suddenly, all eyes were on you. It felt so humiliating. “Are you a chef, or are you a five-year-old holding a knife for the first time?” She’d stand there, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, watching you squirm. You tried to steady your hands, gripping the knife tighter, and all you got was a scoff, a look that made your stomach twist.
Then it was the mess. “Look at this mess! You think I’m running a playground here?” The older woman would gesture around your station, eyebrows pinched, lips in a tight, judgmental line. “Clean as you go, or you’re out of my kitchen.” There was no leniency. Her gaze was like a hawk’s, sharp and all-seeing. The second you moved a dish or reached for a towel, her eyes were back on you, always expecting you to fail.
And food presentation? Forget it. “Did I ask for a food explosion?” She’d glance at the plate you’d put together, her mouth twitching in that grimace that made you feel about three inches tall. “Plates come out looking perfect, not like someone took a bite out of them before they left the kitchen. This isn’t cafeteria food; it’s a reflection of our work—my work. Start over.”
Every mistake felt magnified, like each misstep was some personal insult to her craft. One evening, she caught you hesitating by the stove, trying to balance the pan with a little too much caution.
“What are you afraid of, a little fire?” She stepped up, snatching the pan from your hand and demonstrating with quick, fluid movements, flames licking up as she seared the dish. “If you can’t handle a hot pan, you’re not going to last five minutes here. Heat means flavor—no hesitation. Either own it, or let someone else do it who actually knows what they’re doing.”
Each critique came hard and fast, like she was testing just how much you could take before breaking. But you’d see that flash in her eyes, just for a second, when you corrected yourself or caught her rhythm without her saying a word—a glint of approval, almost pride, though she’d never admit it. That kitchen was hell, and Ellie was the one lighting the fire.
Gradually, you grew on her in ways Ellie refused to acknowledge. At first, it was your dedication that caught her attention. You were so damn passionate, throwing yourself into every task with a fire she hadn’t seen in years, not even in herself anymore. It reminded her of how she used to feel about cooking, back when it wasn’t just a job, back when she wasn’t doing it for anyone but for herself. A sparkle that had been her whole world until the sparkle began to fade.
That same drive she once held was mirrored in you, and it hooked her in a way she didn’t let you see.
At first, it was harmless, or at least, she told herself it was. Viridescent eyes would wander absentmindedly while you worked over the stoves, catching the way you moved, the confidence in your hands, and the soft furrow in your brow when you were deep in concentration. It wasn’t even intentional at first, just a passing glance, a stray thought. Then she noticed the way her gaze lingered longer each time, how her mind wandered just a little too far. And once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.
She made sure you never noticed. Ellie was good at that—at control, at holding the reins so tight they left marks in her palms. Whenever you turned her way, she’d tear her eyes away before you could catch her looking, busying herself with anything else. But there was no denying the way her focus shifted, no longer just assessing your technique or critiquing your timing. Her gaze followed you for other reasons now. The curve of your body in those faded denim jeans seemed to pull at her attention no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, and every time she brushed past you, the accidental touch of her hand against yours sent a spark up her arm that she couldn’t shake.
Still, she kept herself professional. She corrected you like she corrected everyone else, keeping her harsh tone and her words blunt. You weren’t special, she told herself. You couldn’t be. And yet, when her fingers lingered a second too long while adjusting your grip on a knife or guiding your hand to the perfect spot on the cutting board, she felt the edges of her resolve begin to fray.
Then came the night that changed everything.
The last customer had left, the dining area was quiet except for the faint buzz of the lights. The rest of the crew had clocked out and gone home, leaving you alone in the kitchen, scrubbing at a caramel spill that had hardened into the countertop like cement—a clumsy incident of yours. Your movements were hurried, and your brows knit together in frustration as you scraped at the sticky mess.
Ellie stayed behind, like she often did, overseeing the final cleanup before heading home to Dina. The thought was always there, hovering at the back of her mind like a shadow, but tonight, it felt distant, blurred. She stood at the far end of the counter, arms crossed, her gaze glued on you without even realizing it.
Something about the way you moved hypnotized her. The way your lower lip caught between your teeth, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead from the heat of the kitchen, the fluid way your body bent and shifted—it all made her stomach twist in ways she hadn’t felt in years. You were stunning, achingly so, and the red-brown-haired woman couldn’t stop herself from noticing every little detail about you.
Her chest tightened as she battled the strange, unwelcome flutter deep in her gut. It wasn’t just attraction—it was something more insidious, something that made her feel both exhilarated and ashamed. She didn’t feel this way when she went home to Dina anymore. She hadn’t for a long time.
Ellie furrowed her brow, her thoughts an unsteady swirl as she watched you wipe at the counter, your features etched with determination. She told herself to leave, to walk out and go home, but her boots stayed rooted to the floor.
When you finally finished and prepared to leave, you took a deep breath, the familiar wave of intrusive, overthinking thoughts gnawing at your self-esteem all over again. You steeled yourself, fighting the inner tension, before turning toward Ellie. She was focused, double-checking a few final things, but your stomach twisted with nerves. You couldn’t let her walk out without asking, without knowing. It might have seemed pathetic, but you needed the truth, needed to know if you’d wasted your time, if you should’ve just walked away and taken a job at McDonald’s instead. Because if that was all you were capable of, then why bother aiming higher?
“Can I ask you something?” you ventured, stopping the older woman in her tracks. Your voice carried a note of hesitation, the vulnerability in it impossible to miss.
Ellie paused, glancing over her shoulder before turning fully toward you. She wiped her hands on the apron snug around her waist, her expression shifting from its usual intensity to something softer. “Sure,” she uttered, curiosity flashing in those green eyes.
You hesitated for a beat, your fingers nervously brushing over the edge of the counter. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Am I completely helpless? Like… am I trash?”
The insecurity in your voice hung in her ears, and for a moment, Ellie just stared at you, her mouth tightening as the question sank in. Something about the way you stood there—your shoulders slightly hunched, your gaze fixed somewhere below hers, bracing yourself for the worst—tugged at her chest.
She recalled that feeling all too vividly. The nights spent doubting herself, the pit in her stomach as she questioned if she was good enough to stand in a kitchen like this. It was a memory she thought she’d buried, but now it resurfaced in the form of you—young, insecure, and so painfully earnest.
“No,” Ellie reassured, her voice was firm but not unkind. She stepped closer, her apron swaying slightly as she moved, and her eyes softened into something warmer, a nuance you had never seen before in those irises. “You’re not trash. You just… need time to find your footing. Everyone starts somewhere, and I’ve seen enough to know you’ve got more potential than you give yourself credit for.”
You weren’t helpless. You were just trying to figure it all out, and she couldn’t help but see herself in you, more than she cared to admit.
It wasn’t then that things started between you two. Not that night. But exactly a week later, it began.
It happened during a chaotic morning when you accidentally nicked your finger while chopping vegetables. The cut wasn’t deep, but the sight of blood had you panicking. Ellie had swept in with a surprising amount of care, guiding you to her office to patch you up and calm you down.
She hadn’t pictured you as the panicking type—self-assured was more the image you projected—but that moment revealed something else entirely. You were sweeter than you let on, a little naive, even, but there was a warmth to you, a vibrancy she hadn’t realized was there.
At first, it was innocent enough. A lingering touch as she wrapped the bandage around your finger. Then came the late nights in the kitchen, staying behind to help her with something small or lingering because she had promised to teach you a few of her tricks, always claiming you were the only one worth teaching.
Initially, it felt special, as if you were being singled out for something significant. You didn’t realize that those excuses were designed to keep you there longer than anyone else. You had no reason to suspect otherwise. Ellie was subtle and calculated in her approach, so it never occurred to you that she might be making a move—especially with a whole wife waiting for her at home.
Ellie knew what she was doing, she always did. Once you had let her see the cracks in your confidence, the way you second guessed yourself, she used it to her advantage. Whenever you vented about your insecurities or the weight of expectations, she was there, whispering reassurances in that husky voice of hers. Her praise was addictive, and you found yourself craving it more than you’d ever admit.
Before long, the lines began to blur. Innocent late-night conversations with a married woman gradually evolved into deep discussions over shitty after-hours coffee as you sat on cracked stools in the empty kitchen of her restaurant, the smell of grease still lingering in the air. She’d vent about her wife, about how distant things had gotten, how they barely spoke unless it was to fight. All you’d do was nod, offering words of comfort because that’s all it was supposed to be. Comfort. But then her hand brushed yours one night, and everything started spiraling.
Those comforting touches soon escalated into stolen kisses in her office, the kind that left you breathless. Her hands explored you sinfully, and she couldn’t get enough. Then you’d find yourself waiting for everyone to pack up and leave, your heart thrumming in your chest like never before. For the lights to dim, and the sound of keys to jingle when Ellie locked the front door, making sure to keep any potential intruders out. When the coast was finally clear, she’d be on you, no hesitation, no second-guessing. Her lips, as soft as petals of a blooming rose, would crash into yours like she’d been starving for it, her hands rough and desperate, would shamelessly yank at your shirt, your pants, anything that was in the way.
It was always messy. Messy and quick, like you didn’t have time to think about what the hell you were doing—perhaps because she didn’t want to think about it, not before, not during, and certainly not after. She’d leave the moment it was over as if it had never happened, leaving you with only the echoes of what had happened. She’d shove you up against the cold steel of the prep table, and it’d be so fucking wrong but so fucking good all at once. Her lips, her hands, her voice—it was addictive. The way she whispered filthy things in your ear completely contrasted the sweet nothings she used to talk her way into your bed.
The only other sounds were the occasional car passing by outside and your obscene whimpers, loud and unrestrained as she shoved her fingers deep inside your cunt. She liked it that way, liked seeing you lose control while she stayed so composed. Her wedding band glistened under the low kitchen light, covered in your juices, the gold stained with the sin of what you both knew shouldn’t be doing.
It wasn’t love, not really. Or maybe it was, in some twisted, fucked up way. Whatever it was, it kept you coming back.
Maybe it was because of the way she looked at you as if you were a risk worth taking—it made you feel invincible. Special. Because she had chosen you, of all the girls that worked for her. She hadn’t even chosen her wife, Dina, who waited at home every night as she fucked you roughly on the kitchen counters, bending you over the surface as your hard nipples pressed against the cold metal and her fingers plunged deeper into you. That was enough to make you dumbly believe she couldn’t live without you, that she’d be willing to leave Dina for you.
It was in those moments that you felt like you were her everything.
After six long, agonizing months, the truth hit you in the back of the head like a ton of bricks—you weren’t special.
You weren’t the one she picked. You were just another victim of her lies. She was just that—a cheater. And just like every other cheater, she promised you love and loyalty only to pull the rug from beneath you when you least expected it.
Your heart dropped when you saw Dina walk into the restaurant, bouquet in hand, her son clutching her hand like a lifeline. It felt like the world spun too fast, and all you could do was stare as she sauntered into the kitchen, greeting everyone with that perfect, beaming smile of hers.
And then Ellie—your Ellie, the one who made you believe in something real—just kissed her. Not a quick peck, but a real kiss. One that felt too familiar. A kiss that made you sick, made your stomach churn like you had swallowed rusty nails. You could hear their voices, muffled through the noise of the restaurant, but the words were clear as day. Trivial shit. Talking about their son. Pet names. Casual chatter, the kind that could’ve been any couple. But it wasn’t supposed to be them. Not when Ellie had kissed you like you were the fucking air she needed to breathe, like her wife had failed her in ways you couldn’t even begin to understand. Ellie kissed you with that desperate hunger, like she was starved for something real, and you naively fell for it.
When the auburn haired woman looked back at you, for a split second, everything froze. She saw the pain hiding behind your strained, faint smile, the hurt you were barely managing to mask. Her face went pale, and then, like a fucking coward, she ditched her wife, brushing her off with some lame excuse about being too busy. You saw the fear of being caught. The guilt. The shame. All of it etched in her face, and you hated her for it.
You confronted her, demanded answers, tried to make sense of the lies she’d spun to you for months. But she stuck to her story, every word coming out of her mouth an excuse to protect herself. “It’s not like that, it’s all a facade. She’s not like this at home.” Fucking bullshit. Dina was the perfect wife. The kind of woman anyone would kill to have by their side. Ellie was the fucking problem. She couldn’t stay away from things she shouldn’t want—you. She never could.
She convinced you, promised you she would leave Dina, that one day, it would be just the two of you. But when that night came—the night you spent together, tangled up in sweat and passion—it was the end, one you never knew was coming. You were still panting, your heart pounding, when she rolled off of you.
“Babe, where’re you going?” You croaked, your voice strained and filled with disappointment. Your arm reached out slowly, but she was quicker, already perched on the edge of the bed, ready to up and leave. You could hardly keep yourself together as she pulled on her clothes.
“Home. To Dina.” The words fell from her lips so casually, as if they didn’t tear you apart to hear them, as if the aftermath of your activities wasn’t still gripping your chest, stealing your breath. You propped yourself up, your hair a tangled mess clinging to your sweaty forehead, forcing a playful expression, masking the pain inside you with a fake pout.
“Five more minutes? Where’s my aftercare?” You hoped your teasing would soften the moment, maybe make her cave the way she always did. It was a little game you’d played, and it usually worked.
In return, she dropped a whole bomb on you that made your chest tighten painfully and your stomach sink, “Look, we can’t keep doing this.” Her back was to you, her muscles flexing as she reached down for the rest of her clothes, the soft moonlight casting a faint glow over her freckled skin, leaving you drowning in the silence that followed.
“What?” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes trailed over her back, over the red scratches you’d left there in the heat of it all, unable to comprehend how things had turned upside down so fucking fast.
“You heard me.” Her voice grew colder all of the sudden. “I have a wife, and I’m not gonna divorce her, no matter how bad things are.” She sounded so final, like her decision was set in stone and nothing would sway her.
You tried everything. You begged her, your voice breaking as you told her to stay, to not walk out of your life just like that. You yelled, you cried, you threw every last ounce of yourself into making her see what you two had, what she was throwing away. Nothing worked. She still left.
It didn’t just end there. She had one more kick to land. A week later, she fired you.
Fired you.
She called you into her office, and just when you thought she was about to offer even a shred of compassion, there was another cold punch to the gut. She handed you a card with a number on it, and you stared at it, bile rising in your throat. As if everything you two had could be wrapped up in a neat little package with a goodbye card like you were nothing more than some evidence she needed to get rid of in order to clean her conscience and carry on with her life like you never happened.
“What’s this?” You had questioned, confused, pissed off by the lack of any emotion in the exchange.
“Another restaurant that would much appreciate your devotion. She’s my friend and—” she kept going, but you couldn’t hear it anymore. The more she spoke, the more you felt the anger boil inside, hot and suffocating. You couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Are you firing me?” you snapped as the realization hit you harder than it should’ve. You’d fucking hated this job, she made you hate it, but it had been the best thing that ever happened to you. And Ellie knew that, she knew how much it meant to you. She simply couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. Guilt had started eating away at her—after six months of sleeping with you, no less.
Ridiculous.
“No, my friend Abby told me she needs more—” She tried to bullshit her way out, but you saw right through it. She sighed, frustration in her voice as she planted her hands on her hips, looking down at the floor, avoiding your gaze like the coward she was. “Yes. I’m firing you,” she finally admitted, cutting through her own bullshit.
“Is it because of—”
“Yes.” She confirmed, not even letting you finish the question.
“Wow.” You blinked at her, the words heavy in your mouth, disbelief written all over your face. You barely managed a faint frown, feeling your insides twist. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stomped out of her office, ripping your apron off like you were shedding the last bit of dignity you had left.
That’s what led you here. Sitting in your car, parked in front of Ellie’s house—this massive, gaudy mansion that felt like a fucking slap in the face. Too perfect, too shiny, too fucking out of reach for someone like you. Your fingers dug into the steering wheel, gripping it as if you wanted to rip it apart, your eyes locked on Dina’s silhouette as she paced back and forth behind the windows. Meanwhile, Ellie was still at work, living her life as if nothing had happened, while you were left drowning in your stupid, fucking choices. Only because you fell for her words, her kisses, her promises.
She couldn’t just ruin your life and walk away without consequences. No, you wouldn’t let her get away with this shit. You felt like a goddamn homewrecker, not only because you had slept with a married woman, but because of what you were about to do now.
Your hand hovered over the doorbell, your fingers shaking as you tried to convince yourself this wasn’t a mistake.
It was too late to back out.
The seconds dragged on like hours before she appeared. Dina, standing there at the door with that look on her face—confused, curious, like she was trying to place you before she realized she had never seen you before.
“Sorry? Do I know you?” Her voice was soft, too soft, as if it was meant for someone who had slept with her wife. Those warm, brown eyes staring back at you made you feel like the lowest piece of scum, causing your words to catch in your throat, tangled and desperate. It was as though they were trying to strangle you from the inside.
“Are you okay? Do you need anything, sweetie?” Her tone shifted, softening as she noticed the panic clouding your eyes, the tremble that gripped your body. But no amount of softness could quell the scorching anger inside you. You wanted to throw it all out—the truth. The ugly truth.
Before you could even utter a word, her son appeared from behind her, his small hands holding up a drawing, pride beaming from his small face. “Mommy, look!” His innocent, excited tone cut through you, “Can’t wait to show mama, too.”
Dina gently hushed him, running her fingers through his brown hair, and your eyes locked on the ring glinting on her finger. Your gaze lingered on Dina for a moment before drifting to the family photos adorning the wall behind the woman. Some captured small trips, others moments on the beach, while a few were wedding and baby pictures. Then, your eyes returned to the child’s innocent face, his tiny hand clutching the drawing—it made something inside you crack, without a warning.
You swallowed hard as you blinked, fighting to compose yourself.
“Sorry, I was looking for... Jake. I must’ve gotten the wrong address.”
#ellie williams#ellie the last of us#ellie x reader#ellie tlou#ellie williams x reader#ellie smut#the last of us 2#ellie x y/n#lesbian#lesbianism#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x you#tlou part 2#tlou ellie#tlou 2#dina the last of us#dina woodward#dina tlou#tlou2#the last of us part 2#sapphic#wlw#wlw ns/fw#tlou x reader#the last of us#tlou fanfiction#ellie williams fanfiction
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velvet lies
pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.2k DON'T FORGET TO READ PREVIOUS CHAPTER tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter< next chapter
“You’re not serious.”
“Himari, please let’s not fight. I said I’d spend the 26th with you.”
“That doesn’t matter!”
She huffs, watching her boyfriend get his shower ready to go out and spend the day with another woman. Bitterness swirls in her stomach, anger threatening to be released if she wasn’t digging her nails into her palms. “You’re spending Christmas with some random bitch and a snot-nosed kid. How do you think that makes me fe—”
“Be quiet.” Satoru says, turning around to face her with a firm frown set in place. “I’ll tolerate you insulting me but don’t disrespect them, especially Koji.”
Himari freezes, her words catching in her throat as she registers the sharpness in Satoru’s voice. His usual laidback tone is gone, replaced with a seriousness that sends a chill down her spine. Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her expression. “Disrespect them?” she repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re choosing them over me, Satoru. On Christmas. What am I supposed to think?”
“You’re supposed to understand,” he replies, his tone softening but remaining firm. “Koji is my son. I’ve already missed enough of his life—I’m not going to miss any more.”
“And what about me? What about us?” Himari snaps, stepping closer to him. “We’ve been together for almost two years, and I’ve only just now found out about all this shit. How do you think that makes me feel? Like an afterthought? Like you don’t trust me?”
Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows she has a point, but he also knows this argument isn’t going anywhere productive. “Himari, this isn’t about trust. It’s about priorities. Koji needs me, and I’m not going to let him down. Not ever. I just need you to understand that, that’s all.”
“And what about my needs?” she presses, her voice breaking slightly. “Am I just supposed to sit here and wait for you to decide when I’m important enough to make time for?”
“You’re important to me,” Satoru says, his gaze meeting hers. “But Koji will always come first. That’s not going to change, Himari. If you can’t accept that…” He trails off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.
Himari’s jaw tightens, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You waltz into my life with all your charm and promises, and now you’re telling me I have to share you with some other family? What kind of relationship is this supposed to be? I did not sign up to be a fucking step-mother.”
Satoru steps closer, his expression softening slightly. “It’s the kind where I’m trying to do right by my son while still being with you. But I can’t do this if you’re going to make me choose.”
She stares at him, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “Maybe you already have,” she whispers before turning on her heel and storming out of the bathroom.
Satoru watches her leave, a heaviness settling in his chest. He doesn’t chase after her, instead turning back to the shower and letting the water run. For a moment, he just stands there, the steam fogging the mirror and blurring his reflection.
He’s made his choice, and he doesn’t regret it. But he knows the fallout isn’t over yet. He sighs as he steps in, closing the glass door. She’ll come around in a few hours when she’s all settled down, that’s how it always is—so he won’t dwell over it. Besides, he has more pressing matters to take into account.
Hearing the shower run in the bathroom, Himari has stomped over to the bedroom. Hands fishing the sheets in order to feel for his phone. After some seconds, she finds it. Already knowing the password, she angrily unlocks it and begins swiping and surfing through every app of his. “If you’re cheating on me, Satoru. I swear to god.” She mutters to herself, scowling down at the screen.
She doesn’t see anything, but she does click on his message with you. It all consists of just talks of the kid.
Himari scrolls through the thread of messages, her scowl deepening as she reads. The exchanges are polite, straightforward, and almost entirely about your son—pickup times, school updates, doctor appointments. Nothing incriminating, nothing emotional. Just... parental coordination.
But it still stings.
Her grip tightens on the phone as her eyes skim over a message from a few days ago, the last message between you two:
Y/N:
Thank you for picking him up and the food.
Satoru:
Of course, he’s my son. Just let me know if you need anything else.
Himari scoffs, tossing the phone onto the bed with a frustrated huff. “Let me know if you need anything else.” she repeats mockingly under her breath. "He’s bending over backward for her, and I’m just supposed to sit here like nothing’s wrong? Yeah fucking right.”
She paces the room, her mind racing. No matter how innocent the texts look, she can’t shake the feeling of being replaced. It doesn’t matter that Satoru insists he’s doing this for his son—his attention is divided, and she’s no longer at the center of his world. Her pacing comes to a halt as she glances back at the phone. A new idea begins to form, one she knows is petty but feels justified in her growing anger.
"If he won’t make me a priority," she mutters, picking up the phone again, "then I’ll remind him of what he stands to lose."
She opens the camera app and snaps a picture of herself, deliberately angling it to show her figure in the soft light of the bedroom. Attaching it to a blank text, she hovers over the send button. But something stops her. A hesitation, a flicker of doubt. She’s never had to fight for Satoru’s attention before—he’s always made her feel like she was the only one that mattered.
Until now.
With a frustrated growl, she deletes the photo and tosses the phone back onto the bed. Crossing her arms, she glares at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower still running behind it.
"If you want to play the perfect dad, fine," she mutters. "But don’t expect me to sit around and wait while you pretend I don’t exist."
Sitting down onto the bed, another form of thought pops in her head. Yanking the phone back into her hands, she presses his photo album. There must be something in here. And so, she scours and scours, zooming in on every picture in fear you’ll be in the background. However, she doesn’t find anything. Only pictures of that little brat who looks like his mirrored version. “Because of you…” she grits, hand tightening around the phone.
Continuing to scroll higher, she can tell she’s reaching earlier years. Still, the insecurity and fear plaguing her chest causes her to not stop—not until she gets to the very first photo in his album. Then she’ll for sure know he’s still hers. She’s in the year 2015, before she met Satoru. He looks younger, more boyish. She pushes down the endearing feelings she holds towards his younger self and scrolls up.
Until, she comes across a video.
The start of it has your face in it and she’s clicking. You’re sitting cross legged on the floor in some Christmas jammies, a Santa hat on your head with a big Christmas tree behind you. She can assume Satoru’s sitting across from you, hearing his voice say, “Okay, go!”
The entirety of the video is her holding back throwing his phone across the room. Seeing you two open each other's gifts, seeing you smile at her man, and seeing her man look at you holding the camera in such a soft way—a way she’s almost never experienced before.
She’s getting nauseous.
She almost throws up when she catches a glimpse of you two kissing, saying the words I love you so softly. She quickly clicks out and shuts the phone off when the sounds of low moaning fill the speakers.
Why does he even still have this? Does he look back on this?
She wants to claw her eyes and ears out of her body. Feeling utterly infuriated at her boyfriend for keeping practically a sextape of his ex even after all these years. You fucking assume, Satoru! Himari sits on the edge of the bed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her mind is a storm of thoughts—jealousy, anger, and a pang of something else she refuses to name. Satoru’s insistence on prioritizing Koji and you feels like a betrayal, even if she knows deep down it’s not the same as him being unfaithful.
Still, she can’t shake the bitterness creeping into her heart.
She glances at his phone again, her jaw tightening. What does she have that I don’t? The question gnaws at her, even as she tries to shove it aside.
When the sound of the shower cuts off, Himari straightens her posture, her eyes narrowing. A brewing begins to form—not a vengeful one, but one that will force Satoru to confront the rift growing between them. Moments later, Satoru steps out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, his damp hair tousled and messy. He pauses when he sees her sitting there, her gaze piercing through him. “What’s with the look?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
She doesn’t answer right away, instead standing up and taking a slow step toward him. “Satoru,” she starts, her voice low but steady, “do you even realize how this feels for me? Watching you drop everything for her and that kid?”
He sighs, already bracing himself for another argument. “Himari, we’ve been over this. Koji is my son. I have responsibilities—”
“And what about your responsibilities to me?” she snaps, cutting him off. “I’m your girlfriend. I’ve been by your side for years. I’ve supported you, loved you, stood by you. But lately, it feels like I don’t even exist to you.”
Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration etched into his features. “This isn’t about us, Himari. It’s about Koji. He’s my son. I missed years of his life because I didn’t even know he existed. I’m not going to waste more time by pretending he doesn’t matter.”
“And I don’t matter?” she fires back, her voice rising. “That’s what you’re saying, right? That I come second to some kid you barely even know?”
Satoru’s patience finally snaps. “He’s not some kid, Himari! He’s my blood, my responsibility. And if you can’t understand that, maybe you don’t belong in my life after all.”
The words hang in the air like a slap. Himari stares at him, stunned into silence, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to process what he just said. Satoru doesn’t wait for her response. He grabs his phone from the bed, slipping it into his pocket, and heads toward the door. “I’ll be back later,” he says flatly. “Don’t wait up.”
The door slams shut behind him, leaving Himari alone in the room, her anger boiling over into tears she refuses to let fall. In the silence, one thought echoes louder than the rest:
I won’t let her win. You wanted me to teach you, right? Then I’ll teach you.
Satoru’s already not having a good day. He could put most of the blame on his girlfriend, the other on his parents for questioning why he’s spending the holiday with you instead, and also the fact that there’s traffic.
Of course there’s traffic.
It’s a good thing, almost. It gives him some time to himself. It lets him calm his annoyance, the last thing he wants to do is ruin the day for his son. He’s also a little nervous to see you. He hasn’t seen or texted you since your small argument last time, and while he does feel bad, the other part of him still believes that what he did wasn’t wrong. Hopefully—maybe today or another day—he can settle that issue with you truly. There’s a lot of things he needs to settle with you, actually.
But just like they say one day at a time, one problem at a time.
His finger taps absentmindedly against his steering wheel as he surges his car forward before stopping again. Sighing, he checks the time. Cutting it a little close. He turns the music up and leans back, sighing heavily.
But the song on the radio is something upbeat, and it only serves to grate on his nerves. Satoru switches it off with a sharp jab of his finger. The silence that follows isn’t much better, though—it leaves too much room for his thoughts to wander again.
He wonders if you’ll bring up the argument as soon as he arrives. You’re not one to let things fester, not when Koji’s around, but he knows you’ve probably been stewing on it, the way you always do when it involves him. The guilt creeps in again, and he brushes it off like a pesky fly. He’s good at that—pushing things aside until they’re too big to ignore. That’s why you two are in this mess in the first place, isn’t it?
Well, it’s surely part of it.
The honk of a car behind him jolts him out of his thoughts. The traffic’s moving again, and Satoru presses on the gas, muttering a curse under his breath. He’s cutting it close, all right.
By the time he pulls up outside your place, his nerves are just frayed enough that he almost considers texting you to say he’s here instead of going to the door. But that feels… cowardly. He’s Satoru Gojo, for crying out loud. He can face you.
He steps out of the car, walking into the complex and up to your apartment. When he knocks on the door, it takes a moment before he hears the faint sound of footsteps approaching. The door swings open, and there you are, looking… tired. But not unhappy to see him, which is something. Adorned in an apron too, how cute.
“Hey,” you say, your voice softer than he expected.
“Hey,” he replies, trying for a smile that doesn’t feel forced. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
You nod, stepping aside to let him in. The warmth of your home envelops him immediately, and the faint sound of Koji’s laughter from the other room eases some of the tension in his chest.
“How’s he doing?” Satoru asks, his voice low as he glances toward the sound.
“He’s excited. Been asking about you all morning,” you say, crossing your arms but not looking at him directly.
Satoru shifts on his feet, his fingers tightening around the handle of the gift bag. “Yeah, well… I’m here now.”
You look at him then, your expression unreadable. “Yeah. You are.”
There’s a moment of quiet before Koji comes barreling into the room, his face lighting up when he sees his dad. “Papa!”
Satoru smiles, scooping up his son with ease as he walks into the living room, settling down onto the couch. The smell of delicious food fills his senses, eyes closing momentarily with a heavenly sigh. “Smells good, what’s your mother making?”
Koji grins, his arms wrapped tightly around Satoru’s neck. “She’s making roast chicken and cookies!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement. “And I helped with the cookies. But Mama said I ate too much of the dough.”
Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Sounds about right. You’ve got a sweet tooth like your old man.”
Koji’s giggle is infectious, and Satoru can’t help but feel a swell of warmth as he holds his son close. His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, where the faint sound of clinking dishes and soft humming filters through. For a moment, the tension from the past few days fades, replaced by the simple comfort of being here with his family.
“You’re late,” your voice cuts through the air, light but pointed. You step into the living room, wiping your hands on a towel as you glance at him. He notices the small smudge of flour on your cheek, but there’s a softness in your expression that Satoru clings to. His eyes move down your figure, ignoring the fluttering in his heart because you just look so damn cute in an apron. It feels domestic.
You’re wearing a comfortable dress underneath, hair down with gold jewelry. Satoru physically gulps and tears his eyes away when they linger too long on your smooth legs. “Like I said, traffic.” He replies effortlessly, flashing you a sheepish grin. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”
You inhale deeply, lips thinning but you concede with a simple nod. “Food’s almost ready. Koji, go wash your hands. And don’t forget to use soap this time.”
Koji pouts but hops off Satoru’s lap, darting toward the bathroom. The moment he’s out of earshot, the room grows quiet, the weight of unspoken words settling between you and Satoru. He leans back on the couch, watching you as you cross your arms and lean against the doorway. “You didn’t have to go all out today, you know,” he says, his tone softer than usual. “I could’ve helped you cook—”
You shrug, looking away for a moment as you cut him off. “It’s Christmas,” you reply. “I wanted it to be nice. For Koji.”
He nods, understanding what you’re not saying. “For Koji,” he echoes. There’s a pause before he adds, “And for you, too. You deserve something nice, Y/N.”
Your eyes flicker to his, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all you find is that familiar look—the one that’s both infuriating and disarming at the same time. “You can’t just say things like that and expect everything to be okay, Satoru,” you murmur, your voice barely audible.
“I know,” he says, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “But I’m trying, okay? I know I’ve been pushing boundaries, and I’m sorry. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I don’t want to miss any more of this. Of him. Of you.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. You hate when he says confusing things like this because it messes with your head, fooling yourself into thinking there’s something else there. Clearing your throat, you straighten out your light pink apron. “Don’t say things like that.”
The firmness in your tone causes Satoru to purse his lips. Standing up and walking over to you. “I don’t mean anything weird by it.”
“You may not think that, but other people have different opinions.”
“Are you still mad at me from before?”
That always ticks you off—asking such obvious questions with such an innocent face. You think he’s joking, just trying to poke at the bear. But his concerned eyes, brows lifted up—it tells a whole other story. You open your mouth to respond, but Koji’s cheerful shout from the bathroom interrupts.
“Mama! Papa! I’m ready!”
You glance toward the bathroom, then back at Satoru. The moment is gone, but the tension lingers. “Dinner’s in ten,” you say simply, turning on your heel to head back to the kitchen.
Satoru watches you go, a bittersweet mien playing on his godly face. He knows he’s got a long way to go—but for now, he’ll take whatever moments he can get. It’s Christmas, he wants to make the most out of it. And if that means faking it til he makes it, then so be it.
He’s not the only one faking.
You three are seated at the circular table in your kitchen. the warmth of the meal and the soft glow of fairy lights draped along the windows creating a cozy atmosphere. Koji chatters excitedly about his favorite Christmas movies as he eagerly digs into his plate, his small hands occasionally reaching for a cookie from the platter in the center. If Koji knew any better, he’d ask why his parents weren’t really talking to one another.
And unfortunately, he does know better.
“Mama? Papa? Why are you so quiet?”
Damn kids’ continent, but uncomfortable questions.
You freeze, the fork halfway to your mouth, glancing at Satoru across the table. His eyes briefly meet yours before flicking back to Koji, his usual confident demeanor faltering under the weight of the question. “Quiet? We’re not quiet, bud,” Satoru says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “I’m just too busy stuffing my face to talk. This food is so good.”
Koji tilts his head, unconvinced. “But you always talk a lot, Papa. And Mama, you’re not smiling. I thought today was a happy day.”
Your grip on the fork tightens, the weight of Koji’s words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say. You force a small smile, though it feels paper-thin. “It is a happy day, sweetie. Mama’s just tired from all the cooking, that’s all.”
Koji frowns, his big, curious eyes shifting between you and Satoru. He’s far too perceptive for his age, and it’s moments like this that make it clear just how much he picks up on. Satoru clears his throat, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, how about this? After dinner, we’ll all watch a Christmas movie together. You can pick, Koji. And then, we can open the presents.”
Koji’s face lights up at the suggestion, but he’s not completely distracted. “Okay! But only if Mama picks, too. We all have to pick one!”
You manage a soft chuckle, finally taking a bite of your food to avoid answering immediately. Satoru’s gaze lingers on you, and you can feel the unspoken words sitting heavy between you both. “That sounds like a deal,” you say after swallowing. “But only if you promise to eat all your vegetables first.”
Koji scrunches his nose but nods. “Deal!”
The rest of the meal is filled with Koji’s chatter, and though you and Satoru exchange a few words here and there, the tension remains. It’s not lost on either of you that Koji’s cheerful energy is doing the heavy lifting to make this feel like the family dinner it should be. When the plates are cleared and Koji races to the couch to pick out the first movie, Satoru hesitates in the kitchen. He grabs a dish towel and starts drying the plates you’ve already washed, a small gesture that feels too intentional to be casual.
“You don’t have to help,” you murmur, not looking at him. “I got it.”
“I want to,” he replies simply. There’s a pause before he adds, “I would’ve helped cook too, sorry I came later.”
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his expression softer than you expected. “It’s okay,” you admit quietly. “It’s just dinner and opening gifts, I didn’t ask you to.”
His hand stills on the plate he’s holding. “I know,” he says, his voice low. “But it’s still an obligation of mine, you don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here now, remember?”
The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard. The truth to his words cause you to bite your lips, guilt sinking into your bones. It didn’t feel like one of those snide comments, but it had practically the same effect. And you know that he’s here, so he can handle some of your weight. However, it’s nonetheless hard to trust him with it, fearing it’ll be too heavy for him too. Before you can respond, Koji’s voice echoes from the living room.
“Mama! Papa! Hurry up, the movie’s starting!”
You sigh, drying your hands on a towel. “Let’s go before he starts it without us.” Satoru follows you to the couch, where Koji has already made a nest of blankets. As the movie begins, Koji snuggles between the two of you, his small hands clutching the remote. He giggles, snuggling closer to you both, dropping the remote to the table.
It’s not perfect, but for tonight, it’s enough. It has to be, it’s Christmas. Although you’re not doing too much this holiday, not that you ever do, it still means a lot to Koji. Because he finally has his dad to spend it with.
As the movie begins, Koji seems to have other plans. He grabs both of your hands—Satoru’s right and your left— bringing them in front of him and making them mash together. Immediately you tense up, just the slightest graze of Satoru’s long fingers having more of an effect on you than you anticipated.
You pull away, Satoru’s hand lingers before he soon gets the hint.
Koji frowns, head swiveling between his two parents. “Mama, Papa, you’re supposed to hold hands! That’s what families do,” Koji says, his little brows furrowing in frustration. His pout deepens, clearly displeased with your reaction.
You give him a soft smile, hoping to smooth things over. “We are a family, Koji. We don’t need to hold hands to prove that,” you say gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“But it’s Christmas!” he protests, his small hands still clutching yours and Satoru’s as if he could force them together by sheer will. “Santa says families should be happy and together on Christmas! That’s what they do in the movies.”
Satoru chuckles lightly, though there’s a hint of something conflicted in his expression as he looks at Koji. “Santa sounds like a pretty smart guy,” he murmurs, his gaze briefly flicking to you before resting on Koji again. “But sometimes families have their own way of being happy, bud. It doesn’t always look the same.”
Koji seems to consider this, his lips pursed in thought. “Okay… but can we all hold hands just for the movie?” His tone is pleading, his wide eyes impossible to say no to.
You hesitate, feeling the weight of Satoru’s gaze on you, before finally relenting with a quiet sigh. “I….Alright, just for the movie,” you say, letting Koji place your hand back in Satoru’s.
Satoru’s fingers brush against yours again, warm and steady, and for a moment, neither of you moves. The contact feels heavier than it should, but Koji’s delighted giggle pulls your focus back to him.
“See? Now it’s perfect!” he exclaims, snuggling back into the blankets with a satisfied grin. He holds your conjoined hands.
Satoru hums softly, unintentionally giving your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before turning his attention to the screen. The movie plays on, Koji’s laughter filling the room. And while the air between you and Satoru remains thick with unspoken words, for this moment, you let yourself stay in the quiet warmth of your son’s happiness.
The warmth of Koji’s small hands on top of yours is grounding, even as the tension between you and Satoru buzzes just beneath the surface. You glance at him briefly, finding his expression softer than usual. He’s watching Koji, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but when he catches your gaze, something knowing lingers in his eyes.
You look back at the screen, ignoring the familiarity Satoru’s large hand brings you. It’s familiar but different at the same time. It feels a bit more calloused, proof of his own events he’s faced in his life during the time you were separated.
And to him, your hand feels just as it always did. Warm, soft, and so perfectly fitting. It’s like two puzzle pieces, or a key to a lock. For a second, he compares how it feels to Himari before mentally chastising himself. That’s probably a fucked up thing to do. But he’s already done a lot of that in his life. His thumb runs smoothly across your knuckles, causing a shiver to run down your spine.
You want to pull away, but your son is a reminder to keep up the act.
The movie plays on, filling the silence with cheerful music and laughter, but you can hardly focus. Satoru’s hand is still resting lightly against yours, his thumb brushing against your rugged muscle every so often, whether intentionally or not. It sends a twinge of something—nostalgia, maybe?—through your chest. You shift slightly, trying to focus on the screen, but Koji’s contented sigh draws your attention back to him. He’s nestled between the two of you, his little face illuminated by the glow of the TV, looking completely at peace.
“Are you happy, Koji?” you ask softly, the words slipping out before you can think them through.
Koji nods emphatically, his grin widening. “Yeah! This is the best Christmas ever!”
Satoru chuckles, his voice low and warm. “That’s a pretty big claim, Koji. We haven’t even opened the presents yet. What makes it the best?”
“Because I have Mama and Papa,” Koji says simply, looking between the two of you with wide, earnest eyes. “I don’t need presents or anything. Just you two.”
Your heart clenches at his words, and you feel Satoru’s hand tighten a bit around yours. You don’t pull twitch away this time, letting the moment settle over you like the soft glow of the fairy lights. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been emotional this entire week already, or the fact that Koji is just so happy, but you’re feeling yourself choke up.
For a brief second, the weight of everything—the arguments, the hurt, the uncertainty—fades into the background. It’s just the three of you, here and now, and maybe that’s enough. “Merry Christmas, Koji,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Hiding a trembling lip against his white tresses. Your eyes close, forcing your tears to stay exactly put where they are.
“Merry Christmas,” Satoru echoes, his voice unusually tender. He peers over at you from the corner of his eye, a guy-wrenching twisting at his stomach when he sees your expression. He wants to wipe away the crinkle between your eyebrows with his free hand, but he decides against it—probably not the best thing to do right now. He can only offer you a firmer hand on top of yours, cradling it like it’s a diamond. It’s like a warm quilt, it feels oddly comforting.
Again, you’re getting nostalgic. Maybe that’s another reason why you feel like crying right now—knowing you only have this fleeting moment. Koji’s smile widens, his hands squeezing one last time before settling back into his blanket cocoon.
The hours pass, having watched multiple movies already. Koji’s on the edge of falling asleep before you carefully wake him up that it’s midnight. He practically jumps right back into action, all former sleepiness gone and relaxes with utter excitement. “Presents! We can open the presents!” He scrambles to the tree, already beginning to pick at the ones he wants to open.
You smile softly, watching Koji bounce around with excitement, the energy from the day still shining brightly in his eyes. He’s so full of joy, so eager to unwrap the surprises you and Satoru managed to get for him. The sight warms your heart, even as a quiet tension lingers in the room.
Satoru, still leaning back against the couch, watches Koji with a mix of amusement and something more—something heavier. His lips twitch, as if trying to hold back a smile, but the look in his eyes when he glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Alright, baby,” you say softly, standing up from your spot. “Let’s open them, but remember, one at a time.”
Koji nods, his little hands already tearing into the first present like a whirlwind. He pulls out a small toy car and holds it up triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It’s just like the one I saw at the store!”
Satoru chuckles and ruffles his hair. “That’s a good one, Koji. I’m jealous. What else ya got?”
You can’t help but smile at the exchange, even as you reach down to grab the next present for Koji. But something still nags at you. The way Satoru looks at Koji, it’s so…heartwarming. It’s a look given only to his child, one a father could only give out. You feel both touched and warm at the same time.
Tonight is about Koji, about making sure he feels loved and special. And while you and Satoru are at odds, you both are doing one hell of a job of making sure that it comes true.
As Koji continues to unwrap gifts, the room fills with laughter and the sound of crinkling wrapping paper. Your heart swells watching him, but in the back of your mind, the remnants of the earlier tension refuse to fully fade. The space between you and Satoru feels both distant and strangely intimate all at once.
After maybe an hour, after admiring each gift right after opening it, Koji finishes opening his presents. You both settle back into the couch, Koji nestled between you, holding onto his new toys. There’s figurines—mainly Spider-Man or Avengers based—toy cars or motorcycles, a little rocket ship, hot wheels, a Nerf Gun, new clothes, he really got it all this year. Of course, most of the contribution was from Satoru. The silence stretches, but it feels softer now. The tension, although still there, feels more like a quiet hum in the background, overshadowed by Koji’s happiness.
“Thank you, Mama,” Koji says sleepily, his little voice thick with the exhaustion of the day. “And thank you, Papa.”
Satoru leans in, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Koji’s head. “You’re welcome, bud. Merry Christmas.” He smiles, watching his son begin to put his Spider-Man on top of the motorcycle, sparing a glance back at the tree. It’s then his smile falters.
“Oh, you forgot two, Koji.”
“Hm?” His son looks up, seeing the two gifts all the way at the back of the tree. Getting so distracted with all his other gifts, he must’ve forgotten about those two. He sets his toys to the side and crawls back onto the floor to reach for the gift bags. Reading the tags, he looks over at you. “Oh, Mama. These are from your friend.”
When Koji stands up and hands you one of the presents, you’re suddenly reminded. Oh. In a way, you did also forget that Suguru got you and Koji something—just so wrapped up in watching Koji rip apart each of his gifts. You smile faintly, thumbs running over the intricate snowflake patterns.
“Friend?” Satoru asks, his voice bringing you back to reality.
Head turning over, you realize that his face has contorted—scrunched up slightly when he holds onto Koji’s gift, reading the name of the receiver. “Suguru?” His eyes meet yours, filled with a tint of disapproval. “When did he get you two something?”
You almost lie, feeling a random burst of gultuness hit you. But it’s gone as soon as it comes. Because Satoru’s voice sounds curlis in a sense, but also suspicious. It makes you feel a little irritated, holding back a light scoff. So what Suguru got you and Koji something? “He came over to drop it off.”
Maybe that wasn’t the best answer to give. Now Satoru’s body has faced you fully, eyebrow raising like he’s trying to put two and two together. But there’s nothing to put together. “And when was this?”
“A few days ago,” you reply back, firming your intonation.
Satoru’s gaze narrows ever so slightly, and you can feel the shift in the air between you both. The tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface all evening suddenly intensifies. “A few days ago…” Satoru repeats, his tone now more deliberate.
“Is there a problem?” You ask, mirroring his reaction.
Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, very obviously holding back on something for the sake of his son and the holiday. Shaking his head and giving Koji’s gift back to him. “Nope, no problem.”
You can’t help yourself as you huff under your breath, focusing back on your son as he opens the gift. He gasps, yanking the tissue paper out and revealing a bright, shiny new Spider-Man action figure. His eyes widen with delight as he holds it up to you and Satoru, showing off the intricate details of the toy. "Look, Mama! Look, Papa! It's just like the new one I saw on TV!" He beams, completely oblivious to the lingering tension in the room. “It talks and makes noises and lights up!”
You chuckle softly, finding his excitement endearing. "It's perfect, Koji. You’re going to have so much fun with that."
Satoru, however, seems distracted. He’s still watching you closely, his expression unreadable, though there’s a faint edge to his demeanor. You can tell he's trying to keep his composure, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.
Koji has almost entirely disregarded his previous gifts to play with his new gift, his attention fully focused on the toy in his hands.
Satoru clears his throat, the subtle sound pulling you back from your thoughts. "So, Suguru came by to drop off gifts...?" His voice carries a tone that’s almost too casual, but you don’t miss the hint of something more in his eyes.
You hold his gaze, the irritation bubbling up again. "Yes, he did. He’s been kind to us." You can’t help the defensiveness that creeps into your voice. "Is that a problem?"
Satoru doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he glances over at Koji, who’s happily occupied with his toy. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes again. "No, I didn’t say that. I just... I just didn’t know he was so involved."
You feel a knot form in your stomach. The subtle way he’s questioning you, the way his posture tenses every time Suguru’s name comes up—he’s feeling something, and you’re not sure how to read it. Before you can respond, Koji looks up from his toys, his voice full of innocent curiosity. “Is something wrong, Papa? Mama?”
You both turn your attention to him, but the tension doesn’t fully dissipate. You force a smile, trying to keep things light. "No, Koji. Everything’s fine." You reach over to ruffle his hair. "Are you enjoying your presents?"
Koji nods enthusiastically, his smile wide. "Best Christmas ever!" he exclaims. He looks down at your gift. “Open yours, Mama. I wanna see what your friend got you.”
You hesitate, still trying to steady your emotions after the tension with Satoru. “Alright, sweetheart,” you say, holding your gift upright in your lap. Gently peeling away the wrapping, revealing a small, wooden box. The delicate craftsmanship catches your attention immediately.
Koji’s eyes widen in anticipation. “What’s inside, Mama? What is it?”
You open the box, revealing a small silver pendant shaped like a star, its surface engraved with intricate patterns. It’s beautiful—elegant and simple, a perfect fit for you. You trace your fingers over the smooth edges, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you smile at the thoughtful gesture. It comes with a thin silver chain, a small note underneath it. When you pull it out, it reads:
“For the one who shines the brightest, even in the darkest of times.”
Your heart skips a beat as you read the words. It’s simple, yet so deeply personal. You trace the note with your fingertips, a mixture of warmth and something else stirring in your chest. You always mocked Suguru in the past for being so corny with his words, you never expected to be on the receiving end of them. And you never expected to blush from it either.
“Isn’t it pretty, Mama?” Koji asks, his voice filled with genuine excitement. “I think it’s sparkly like the stars!”
You nod. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. I’m sure it’ll look lovely on me,” You slide the pendant into your hand, clutching it for a moment longer before carefully setting it back inside. But, despite your best efforts to keep things together, you can feel the tension building again. Satoru’s look that he fails to hide is getting more on your nerves by the second. He’s acting like he has some right to be upset if his friend is giving you something. He’s acting like it’s a bigger deal than it actually is.
“Are you gonna wear it?” Koji asks, his eyes shining with curiosity. “Papa, won’t Mama look pretty with it?”
You peer over. “Of course, Mama will look pretty with it,” he says with a half-smile that’s forced. “She’s always beautiful, no matter what she wears.”
You scoff this time. What a load of shit.
Koji squeals, clearly pleased with the answer. “Right, Mama? You’re the prettiest!”
You smile back, feeling warmth in your chest, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, sweetheart,” you mutter softly, trying to keep things light.
It’s extremely late now. Koji has passed out in his room with the figurine Suguru got him. Satoru and you have cleaned up in complete silence, the awkward tension intensifying even more now that Koji isn’t here to mend that. There’s only the sound of the soft hum of the dishwasher as it runs. You wipe down the counter, your movements mechanical, each action making the silence stretch longer and longer between you. Satoru stands by the sink, wiping down the wet surface around it with a towel, his back to you. But you can feel his presence in the room like a weight pressing down on the air.
Neither of you says anything, the unspoken words piling up between you both. You can feel the tension crawling beneath your skin, just like before, but now there’s no Koji to distract you, no innocent question to break the silence. Just you and Satoru, both avoiding the inevitable conversation that looms in the background. Until he finally has the balls to do something. “He didn’t tell me he was getting you guys something.”
You pause, staring down at the clean surface. “Why would he have to tell you? It’s just a present.” Your hand moves again, moving onto the corner of the granite.
Satoru bites his tongue, willing himself not to snark back. He turns his body around, eyes digging holes into the back of your head. “I mean, it’s a little strange.”
“How?”
“Because Koji is my son, you’re my ex.”
“So that suddenly means I’m incapable of receiving presents from other men now?” You whirl around, hands on your hips. “What did you say again? Oh, right. ‘Stop getting mad at little things’.”
Satoru flinches, his jaw tightening at your words. For a moment, he’s caught off guard, not expecting you to snap back so quickly. But he doesn’t back down. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His voice is low, tight, as if he’s trying to keep his composure. “I just don’t like how...how weird that feels.”
You roll your eyes. “Right, weird, huh?”
“I’m not trying to argue, okay?”
“I’m not arguing either,” you quip back. “But you have no right to act like this is ‘weird’ when it’s not. You have no right to be even curious about who’s giving Koji and I gifts.”
“No right?” He huffs back at you, lip curling up. “I think I have all the right, Y/N. First off, he’s my son. Second off, we used to date. And third off, that’s my best friend. What kind of best friend—”
“Then maybe you should take that up with him.” You cut him off, chin tilting up. It’s getting harder by the second to keep things calm and composed. But Satoru shoving his fat nose into something that doesn’t involve him is testing every bit of patience you have. “I can get a gift from whoever I want, that’s none of your concern.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow as you speak, his grip on the towel tightening, the vein in his neck twitching with barely restrained frustration. “None of my concern, huh?” His voice lowers, the words coming out sharp. “That’s funny, because it seems like everything I do, say, or feel ends up being your concern, whether you want it to be or not.”
You step closer, your heart racing as the anger rises in your chest, pushing against the barriers you’ve built. “Satoru, I’m done pretending like everything we do is some sort of tangled mess that you have the right to control. You’re not my boyfriend anymore, and Koji isn’t the reason I have to explain every little thing to you.”
“I’m not saying you have to.”
“Then just shut the hell up about it already.”
Silence follows.
The room feels colder now, the weight of your words settling heavily in the space between you. Satoru doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenched tightly as he stares at you, his chest rising and falling as if he’s weighing the next words carefully. He’s frustrated, no doubt, but something else lingers beneath it—something deeper, something that neither of you has dared to address.
You stand there, both of you frozen, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and the quiet rhythm of your breathing. It feels as though time has stopped, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. Then, slowly, Satoru takes a breath and places the towel down on the counter, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice much softer now, but still tinged with frustration. “I get it. It’s not my place anymore.”
Your lips purse, feeling slightly caught off guard by his quick reluctance to further escalate things. But that’s a good thing, right? Swallowing down anything else, you nod stiffly. Eyes moving down to focus on anything else but him. Your hands awkwardly fiddle together.
But he never looks away from you. Mind reeling about what to say or do next, fearing that he did in fact make a big deal out of nothing. It’s just presents, that’s it. But the quiet voice in his head nags at him more and more. But why didn’t Suguru say anything? Isn’t it at least some common courtesy to tell your best friend you’re getting his son and ex a gift? Even a simple text would have sufficed.
But he didn’t do any of that. So Satoru’s brain feels like he tried to hide it—for a reason? He doesn’t know. Maybe he forgot? Still, he doesn’t like the knot that forms in his gut.
A calming breath is taken to reset his system, shaking his head. Not tonight, not tonight. His fingers reach into the pocket of his coat, feeling a small, square box. He waits for a few seconds, unsure if he should continue on. Nonetheless, he does. Pulling out the little thing, presenting it in front of him.
He clears his throat, you look back over at him. Head tilting slightly at the sight of the wrapped box with a tiny red bow. “…what is that?”
“My gift to you.” He murmurs out, holding it to you.
Your eyes widen, mouth parting. No words come out, feeling a multitude of varying emotions. It all ends with you reaching out for the box, shaking it a little. You hear a small clanking. Asking a stupid question like what is it will just keep your wary feelings alive. So, you carefully remove the light wrapping, slowly like you’re scared as to why you’ll see inside.
You’re not scared. Just more confused.
“A key?” You question, holding up the gold key in front of your face. It dangles as your vision focuses back on the man in front of you. “What is this for?”
Satoru watches you, his eyes a mix of uncertainty and something deeper, something more vulnerable. He shifts slightly, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense as if bracing himself for your reaction. “To your new place.”
Your heart skips a beat at his words. A new place? Your mind struggles to catch up, trying to make sense of the statement. “My new place?” you repeat, still not sure if you heard him correctly.
Satoru nods slowly, his eyes now focused on the key in your hand. “I’ve been looking for something for you. For Koji. A place where you both can be… comfortable. It’s. A nice neighborhood, enough room. There’s a school next by and there’s open spots left.” His voice is steady, but there’s a tinge of something vulnerable in the way he says it—like he’s giving you space to decide, but also hoping for something more.
A rush of conflicting emotions hits you. You look down at the key again, your fingers curling around it as you try to process what he’s saying. “You… got me a place?” You repeat, still in shock over the fact that he went out of his way to do so.
He shifts his weight, eyes still on the key. “Not just you. A place for you, Koji… and maybe even me, too. When I come to visit sometimes, there’s four bedrooms, one of them can be used as a spare.”
Your breath catches in your throat. Satoru has always been unpredictable, but this—this is different. It feels like he’s offering something more than just a space. It’s a possibility. A chance. But it also feels like an unspoken question, one that you’re not sure how to answer. “I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, looking at the key again. “Why now?”
Satoru steps closer, his expression softer than you’ve seen in a long time. “Because… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I know I’ve messed things up too for us, and I’m not asking for anything. Just… I thought it might be a good way to start fresh. For you and Koji. And you guys mean a lot to me, I want you to live in a nice space. Not…not somewhere like this. The people look shady.”
You stand there, the weight of his words sinking in. The offer is unexpected, yet strangely comforting. It’s not just about the apartment or the key—it’s about something deeper, something that might hold the possibility of fixing whatever things were broken.
But then, a quiet part of you wonders: Do I want this?
You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key tighter in your hand now. You bite the inside of your cheek, clutching the key in your hand now. The smooth, cold metal feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding all the unanswered questions and unresolved feelings between you and Satoru. You glance up at him, his expression open yet guarded, as though he’s trying to brace himself for any answer you might give.
“Satoru...” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugs, though there’s an uneasy tension in his posture. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just...I wanted to give you something. Something that’s yours.” His gaze flickers to the key in your hand. “No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe. If you don’t want it, I’ll still keep it around if you someday change your mind.”
The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within you, but it also makes your heart ache. You swallow hard, your emotions swirling. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?” you ask, your tone softer now, though still tinged with confusion.
“Because I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured or think it was about me trying to fix everything all at once. It’s not like that. I just... I care about you. And about Koji. And besides, it’s Christmas.” He ends with a small smile, his right dimple peeking out.
His words hang in the air, filling the silence between you. For a small instant, you don’t respond, your mind racing. This gesture—it’s thoughtful, maybe even selfless—but it’s also overwhelming. You hold the key closer, feeling its edges press into your palm, grounding you in the midst of the emotional storm. Finally, you exhale, your voice steady but quiet. “I need some time to think about this. It’s... a lot.”
Satoru nods, his blue eyes softening. “Take all the time you need. It’s yours, no matter what you decide.” He pauses, glancing toward the door. “Well, I should probably get going.”
Adjusting his coat, he takes one step out the kitchen before you stop him with a hand to his arm. A ring of fire burns up his arm and to his ears, slowly making its way to his cheeks when he looks back down at you. “I…I got you something…too.”
His eyebrows raise, not having expected you to give him something in return. Letting go of his arm, you walk to a small cupboard, reaching in and pulling out a square shaped gift. It’s wrapped in light blue wrapping with a red bow. You hand it to him and he takes it, feeling around. He already has an idea of what it is.
“Open it when you get back.” You mutter, rubbing the back of your neck.
He stares quietly for a small time, a hint of a smile almost making its way onto his face again. It’s cute how shy you look right now. Some things never change, do they? He nods, murmuring back. “Okay, thank you.”
With one final hum from you, he heads back to the door. His stomach feeling lighter. You hesitate, watching him turn toward the hallway. “Satoru.”
He stops, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.” Your words are sincere, even if you’re still unsure about everything. “For thinking about us.”
A faint grin tugs at his lips, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “Always,” he says softly before walking away, leaving you standing there with the key in your hand and your thoughts spinning.
You remain rooted in place, the key dangling lightly in your grip as the door clicks shut behind him. The silence that follows feels deafening. The warmth of the holiday lights around the room does little to ease the cold weight settling in your chest. You sit down at the edge of the couch, staring at the key, your mind replaying Satoru’s words. No strings, no expectations. Just a place where you and Koji can feel safe.
It’s a generous gift, undeniably thoughtful, but it feels complicated—like every other thing in your relationship with Satoru. You know he means well, but the history between you makes it impossible to separate the gesture from the lingering emotions that bind you both. Your gaze shifts to the Christmas tree, now surrounded by Koji’s new toys. You can still picture his bright smile, hear his laughter from earlier in the evening. The thought of giving him a stable home, something truly yours, tugs at your heart. But then there’s the nagging voice in your head, reminding you of the tension tonight—the unspoken conflicts, the unresolved feelings, and the fragile line you and Satoru walk every time you see each other.
You sigh, leaning back against the couch, the key resting in your palm. Your eyes drift to the small silver pendant Suguru gave you earlier. It still sits on the coffee table, catching the warm glow of the Christmas lights. Another kind gesture. Another layer to the mess.
The soft patter of small feet interrupts your thoughts. Koji appears in the hallway, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his Spider-Man toy clutched tightly in one hand.
“Mama?” he mumbles, his voice groggy. “Why are you still up?”
You quickly set the key on the table, forcing a smile. “Just cleaning up, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”
He nods, yawning as he climbs onto your lap, resting his head against your chest. “Yes.”
“Did you have a good Christmas?”
“The best Christmas ever.”
You hold him close, brushing his messy hair away from his forehead. “That’s all that matters,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head. But even as you say it, your thoughts drift back to the key—and everything it represents.
Satoru has been staring at the gift—stil wrapped—for about fifteen minutes now. He’s conflicted. Unsure if he wants to know what you got him, or if it’ll bring on something unwanted. The gift sits untouched on the table before him, the wrapping paper shimmering faintly under the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, one hand tangled in his hair as he stares at it. His jaw tightens, then relaxes, his thoughts spiraling in circles.
Fifteen minutes. That’s how long he’s been sitting here, debating whether to open it.
He knows it’s just a gift. A simple, kind gesture. But with everything that’s happened tonight—the tension, the unspoken words, the unresolved feelings—this small box feels heavier than it should. What if it’s something that reminds him of how things used to be? Or worse, what if it’s just a polite, distant gift, a reminder of how far apart you’ve drifted?
He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. “It’s just a damn gift, Satoru,” he mutters to himself. Yet he doesn’t move, his blue eyes fixed on the box as if it might spring to life and deliver answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask.
He huffs a reluctant laugh, his hand finally reaching for the gift. His fingers trace the edges of the paper before he carefully begins to unwrap it, the sound of tearing paper filling the quiet room. Beneath the wrapping is a small black box, simple and unassuming. He lifts the top up and it drops to the side.
His hands still in place, almost beginning to tremble. His breathing shallows, heart thumping quicker than before. Carefully—very carefully—he reaches in. Handling the object with utmost care, bringing it closer to his face.
Two faces stare back at him.
His son—undeniably younger, maybe around one year old. He’s being held in your lap, arms secure around his tiny stomach. He looks chubbier, cuter. Wearing a cute Christmas get up. Baby Santa. And when his eyes glaze over to you, he gulps.
You’re wearing an equally festive outfit. A bright red sweater adorned with little snowflakes and reindeer, a simple black skirt to go with it. Your face is glowing with a smile so genuine, it knocks the breath out of him. Your hair is a little messier, your cheeks flushed with warmth, probably from laughing too much. Koji’s tiny hand clutches at your sweater, and your other hand is raised in a peace sign as you lean closer to him for the photo.
Satoru’s fingers brush the surface of the photograph, his chest tightening as the memory pulls him under. It looks like a professional photo done, you must’ve gone all out that Christmas. Now, holding it in his hands, it feels like a physical snapshot of a life he had no chance of living in.
His thumb grazes the edge of the picture frame it’s nestled in. It’s a simple wooden frame, painted white, with the words Our First Christmas Together etched across the top in tiny gold letters.
He lets out a shaky exhale, his vision blurring slightly. He blinks rapidly, trying to push back the emotions clawing at his throat. It’s not just the photograph—it’s what it represents. A time when things were simpler. When the two of you were a family, before everything unraveled. When it was just you and Koji—no room for him.
The weight of the night presses on him again, harder this time. He feels foolish for hesitating to open the gift, for overthinking it, when you’d given him something so pure. Something so full of love. He pulls the frame in, swallowing hard as he leans back on the couch. He holds it close to his chest. His other hand runs through his hair, tugging slightly as he tries to steady himself. “Why’d you have to go and do this?” he whispers to no one, his voice breaking. He outwardly chuckles—bitter but affectionate. Warm tears sliding down his cheeks and resting atop the wooden frame. His lips press a small kiss to his baby son, and to you.
Because now, more than ever, he realizes how much he still misses you. And how much he regrets letting it all slip away when he was too young and stupid to think clearly.
That night when he heads to bed, he sleeps with the picture of his family next to him. Tucked in like it’s a physical being, and in a way, it is.
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sweet [part two]
paige bueckers x azzi fudd
a/n: wrote and posted this in a car and i’m about to throw up w nausea so tread lightly
word count: 1.6k
masterlist
Azzi doesn’t want to admit it, but Ella is lovely.
When she’d stepped into the bar and met her for the first time, she’d half hoped that she’d be a clingy asshole that she could justify hating. But Ella is beautiful, with curly dark hair and full lips and gold studded ears. And she’s sweet, her voice gentle, and she gushes about how pretty Azzi is. So she can only tack on a pained smile, compliment Ella on her outfit, and hug Paige and tell her she did good.
Now, after seeing Ella so many times, they could almost be called friends. Azzi didn’t have to ask Paige when she’d told her about their history - she could see it in the way Ella had become a little more distant, wary of the two of them together, but she was always sweet as ever. And Azzi couldn’t help but think about how perfect - how perfect for Paige - she was.
Lately she’d fallen in a routine: go to games, congratulate her teammates on their win, and head back to her apartment or hotel room to sulk about her life while they did pressers and celebrated. But now, Azzi is determined to erase all thoughts of her irritatingly hot best friend from her mind. She’s snuggled into her bedsheets, prepared to rewatch Frozen for the twentieth time when she hears a knock on the door. Expecting it to be another Ubereats driver that Paige has been sending more and more frequently, she’s more than a little surprised when she sees the devil herself standing at the door.
“Surprise,” Paige says dryly, holding up a bag of takeout before pushing past Azzi.
“Well, come on in,” Azzi says sarcastically. “Didn’t know you took up a side job.”
“If the only way to contact you is through delivering food, then yeah, I will.“ Paige sets the bag down on a counter a little harder than she needs to. Her hair is freshly wet and down around her shoulders, water still dripping down her hoodie. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and although her eyebrows are pinched together in annoyance, the sight of her still makes Azzi shudder with want.
“Tell me how we’re teammates, we live down the hall from each other, I see you at every practice and game, and yet it’s impossible for me to get you to talk to me.” Paige questions, a fiery look in her eyes.
Ignoring the older girl, Azzi starts ruffling through the bag. Paige sighs irritatedly, running a hand through her hair, and Azzi knows the older girl well enough to know that she’s close to her last straw. “What’re you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be doing press right now?” Azzi redirects.
Paige yanks her sweater off, causing her shirt to ride up and expose the soft skin of her abs. Azzi swallows and looks away. “They’ll be fine without me.”
“Maybe normally.” Azzi unwraps the foil on a taco. “But you just dropped a 30 piece and I’m pretty sure the reporters are dying to hear from their little star.”
“I couldn’t give less of a fuck about the reporters,” Paige shoots back bitterly.
“What about your girlfriend?”
Paige’s eyes narrow. “What about her?”
“You don’t wanna go and celebrate her? With our team?”
Paige shrugs.
Azzi scoffs. “You’re so full of bullshit.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“You dropped thirty points.”
“Yeah, you mentioned.”
“See, this is the fucking issue.” Azzi throws her hands up, exasperated. “Normally you’d be all up in my ass about it, gloating.”
“You’re mad I’m not an asshole who preens about her performance in front of someone that can’t even play?” Paige scratches her head, and Azzi almost laughs at how comedic the situation is.
“You’re missing the point!” Azzi’s voice rises, and she fights to keep it in control. “You should be out there getting drunk off your ass with our friends and your girlfriend, but you’re over here, trying to take care of me.” Azzi knows Paige loves celebrating after a win, especially after a performance like tonight’s. Her best friend thrives in the company of others. And although there’s a small part of her that softens at the fact that Paige clearly rushed here to be here after one of the best games of her life, the part of her that loves Paige more than anything in the world - the biggest part of her - is angry that the older girl felt the need to come here and join Azzi’s pity party, to act nonchalant about her performance when she deserves to be surrounded by praise.
“You’re mad at me for caring about you? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” When Azzi refuses to even look at her, Paige takes a step closer, reaching for her hand. “Can you just stop being so unselfish for once? Let me help you.”
“I don’t need you, Paige.” The wounded look in her best friend’s eyes makes Azzi correct herself. “I don’t need you to pity me.”
“You took care of me when I was injured last year! How is this any different?”
“God, you just don’t understand.”
Paige rests her hands on the counter. “I can’t do this. Not with you.“ She closes her eyes momentarily, and when she opens them Azzi expects her to storm out of the room. But instead, her eyes soften. “Can we just watch a movie or something? We don’t have to talk.”
Azzi falls silent.
“Do you want me to go? Because if you don’t want me here then I’ll leave.” Paige pauses. “But I want to be here. I want to be with you.”
“Okay,” Azzi relents. Paige bites back a smile, and Azzi rolls her eyes fondly.
Azzi lies down on the couch, curling herself into Paige’s side. The older girl’s hands slip under her shirt, moving across her back in a way that feels heavenly. Her eyes flutter shut, and she’s almost asleep when Paige’s phone rings and she slides out from beneath her, gently covering Azzi with the blanket before shutting herself in the other room.
She can barely make out the words, but she can hear from the softening of Paige’s tone and her giggling that she’s talking to Ella.
When Paige comes out, there’s hesitation before she walks over to Azzi on the couch. She hears the sound of Paige breathing heavily for a few moments before she feels a hand on her jaw, the brush of lips on her temple. “I love you,” she hears Paige murmur, so quiet she can barely catch it, before the door shuts and there’s silence.
••
“Azzi?”
Azzi picks up her cup of coffee. “Oh hey, Ella.”
Ella grins at her, the intensity of her smile a little disarming. “Thought that was you! Fancy running into you here.”
Azzi smiles politely.
“Well, hey, I know this is kind of an awkward time, but I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Ella fidgets with her fingers.
A band of discomfort spreads across Azzi’s chest. “Go for it,” Azzi says hesitantly.
“Well, O know you and Paige have been friends for a while.” Ella blushes. “I just, I can’t help but ask - there’s nothing going on between you two right?”
Azzi is a little relieved when she opens her mouth to speak but Ella raises a hand to cut her off. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve said anyways. “I don’t wanna be that girl. I know how important you are to Paige. But she just talks about you sometimes - or even just looks at you and - and I just can’t help but wonder?”
God. “Ella. You don’t have anything to worry about. Me and Paige are just friends. That’s-” Azzi forced a smile. “That’s all we’ll ever be. Okay?” She doesn’t say that if it were up to me, it’d be different. She doesn’t say that it’s unfair how this girl has Paige already wrapped around her finger when I’ve been in love with Paige since I was 16. But she doesn’t.
Ella nods, clearly relieved. She squeezes Azzi’s arm. Azzi wants to tell her to take it off. “If you don’t mind,” Ella continues. “I have another favor to ask.” She takes a furtive look around before stepping closer. “A little bit of space would be nice,” she says under her breath.
“Space?”
Ella nods. “You know how new relationships can be. They’re kind of rocky. And besides, Paige has been stressed with leading the team and the shit going on with her family.”
“I know that.” Azzi’s voice is cold now. She shifts Ella’s hand off her.
Ella smiles again, and this time it doesn’t seem as sweet. “Paige cares about you. A lot. But it’s taking kind of a mental toll on her, balancing all of these things and you at once.” Her eyes flick to Azzi’s crutches.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying you’re a burden. But I’m saying that Paige is always worrying about if you’ve eaten, how your knee is doing, and all that shit. Maybe giving Paige space would help her be, I don’t know, a little less stressed?”
When Azzi stares at her without a response, Ella steps back with a shrug. “I don’t mean any harm. I’m just looking out for my girlfriend.” Ella stresses the my, and Azzi doesn’t miss the way she eyes her as she says it.
She inhales slowly. “Okay.” And as much as she doesn’t want to believe Ella, how could she not? She sees how happy Paige is when she runs to her after games. Ella, as much as Azzi hates her now, gives Paige the support she needs. And she’s not wrong - this has been the most difficult season for the senior yet, having to lead a team of mostly injured players and underclassmen when no one believes in them. And the way Paige had left yesterday night, not even halfway through the movie….as much as Paige refused to admit it, she didn’t want to be tied down by Azzi. Fuck. Had I been hurting her this entire time?
“So…space?”
“I can do that.”
“Great! Thank you, Azzi. I knew you’d understand.” Ella flashes a smile before looking at the menu. “Do you think Paige prefers matcha or cold brew?”
Paige hates matcha. She thinks it tastes like grass.
“Definitely matcha.”
#paige bueckers#azzi fudd#uconnwbb#pazzi#paige x azzi#paige bueckers x azzi fudd#uconn wbb#fic#angst
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͙˚ ༘✶Big Bad Wolf | Werewolf Boyfriend? (Female Reader)
Smut Below
A/N: I really enjoyed writing this. It’s a little longer than I anticipated however I just adore it. I hope you all will enjoy it as well!
-🪐
He was known as the as the asshole of the college. Always picking fights and going after anyone who even dared breathe in his direction. He stood tall, muscular with scars that decorated his face and arms. His wolf ears standing at attention but not listening to anything that was around him. Everyone avoided him like the plague even you. However today had other plans.
You were sprinting down the hall, trying to get away from some asshole who couldn’t take no for an answer. When you ran face first into his broad chest. He was ready to say something to you until he saw the other man that trailed behind you. He grabbed you by the waist moving you to behind him before locking eyes with the other guy.
“Get lost” he said in annoyance. The other guys eyes looked over at you then back at him. Was he really willing to pick this fight?
“Dude Kyzer relax, just- just let me get my girl and we can forget any of this happened” the man said trying to grab for you.
Before you knew it he had the guys arm twisting it. “I said.” He growled. “Get lost”. His grip on his arm tightened nails digging in before pushing him away. The other man admitted defeat walking back with his tail between his legs.
Kyzer looked at you glaring down at your shaken body. “You good?” He asks surprising you even more. You don’t respond though, mind still in flight mode. He placed his hand under your chin lifting it up to look at him “hello? Are you good?” He said sternly.
You quickly nod snapping back to reality “yeah- yeah I’m good, sorry. Uhm- thank you.” You rambled out. You swear you saw a smile creep on his face but it was quickly gone.
He cleared his throat “if he tries anything again uhm?” He said hinting at you to tell him your name.
“Oh, uhm y/n” you said.
“If he tries anything again y/n, you come to me yeah? I’ll put his ass in the ground” he said with a twisted grin before walking off.
What was that? Was he actually nice? Or did you just catch him on a good day? No matter you went about your day. Going home and studying before getting the idea to bake him something to say thank you. Maybe he wasn’t so bad? Maybe this could be a way to get him to open up? But why did you want that? You scratched your brain, shit- did you like him? No, no that’s crazy. You still baked him something treats to take to him, hopefully he liked cookies.
The next day, you found him in his usual spot. Sitting at the tree while he ate his lunch. He looked peaceful as he ate, listing to some music and flipping through a book. You were so nervous to approach him but you did. Tapping him on the shoulder he turned his head quick. Ready to scream at whoever dared to disturb his peace. Until he noticed it was you, he tilted his head a bit like a puppy.
“Sorry for bothering you- I- uhm- made you these. As a thank you” you said sheepishly handing him the small container of cookies. He blinked, processing what you just said. No one’s ever really shown him much kindness. Even for doing something good like he had for you. So to say he was taken aback was an understatement.
“You made these for me?” He asked repeating your words.
You nod smiling at him shyly. “Yeah, if it wasn’t for you I- I don’t know what would have happened” you admit.
He felt his cold heart warm, pounding so loud he thought you could hear it. He looked over your face trying to read you. Fuck were you this cute yesterday? “Thank you” he said taking the container. He opened it right away the smell of the cookies making him sigh happily. “They smell delicious” he said smiling down at them.
He’s smiling? He’s smiling! Your heart skipped a beat seeing his pretty smile. Those sharp pearly whites of his made your body warm. Your face must have been red cause he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re cute” he said. It slipping past his lips before he could even stop himself. The compliment only making your face turn more red.
“I- uhm- thank you” you said feeling like you could puke at any second from the butterflies. “You’re not so bad yourself” you said with a smile.
His face started turning red, before he quickly turned away. “You uhm- you like movies?” He asked feeling stupid at his question. When you nodded his words came out fast “you wanna watch a movie later?” Fuck why’d he say that, his place was a wreck.
“Sure!” You said smiling like a dummy. “I just got a new system, we could watch it at my place?” You said.
“Cool, cool. What’s your number? So uhm- I can get your address” he said trying to play it cool. After exchanging numbers your alarm for your next class goes off making you jump. “I’m guessing no horror movies if you jump that bad from a phone” he teased.
You rolled your eyes “I’m gonna be late, I’ll text you my address. 7 sound alright?” You ask.
“Perfect” he said.
And you were off, sprinting to your next class.
His mind twirled with the thought of you. Fuck what did he get himself into? He doesn’t talk to many people nor has he ever had an actual relationship let alone a date. Sure he’s had his share of hook ups but that’s about as deep as it went. What the hell was he gonna do?
When the time came he stood outside your door taking a deep breath before knocking. When you answered his heart raced, here you were in sweats and a hoodie. How the hell did you look so good? When he walked in the smell of you overflowed him almost making him dizzy. You guided him into the living room where you had a bunch of blankets on your pool out. You were gonna be on a pull out bed. A bed. The two of you. His cock twitched in his pants at the mere thought of it.
“I’m sorry my place is a bit of a mess, but I got the couch all cozy. Oh and I have a bunch of snacks if you’re hungry” you said with a shy smile. He nodded following you to the pull out, when he sat down the scent of you was even stronger. Probably from all the covers you gathered from your bed. “Wanna watch a horror movie?” You asked flickering through the movies on the tv.
“Sounds goo- wait” he said looking at the screen. “You like that show?” He asked seeing a show you were watching earlier. It being one of your favorites.
“Uh yeah! It’s like one of my favorites I’m rewatching it since the new seasons gonna be coming out” you said smiling.
“No way! It’s one of my favorites, I’m super excited for the new season! I even have a poster of it in my room!” He rambled. It was cute seeing him all excited over something he liked. Seeing his cute smile light up.
“Maybe when the new season comes out we can have a watch party? I’ll make us some dinner and we can binge watch it” you said.
“Sounds perfect” he said back. It felt nice being able to talk to someone. To have something in common with you too.
You both decided on a movie, getting all covered up as it started. He was nervous to move closer to you but you were feeling a bit bold so you Scooted closer. Your shoulder touching now bodies close to one another. The scent of you driving him crazy more so now that he could feel your warmth. He moved his arm, to finally wrap around you “uhm- is this ok?” He said softly.
You nodded “aren’t horror movies the best ones to cuddle up too?” You said laying your head on him.
“Is that why you picked it” he said back in a teasing tone.
“Maybe”
“In that case why don’t we lay down in cuddle hmm? I mean we got this whole bed in all” he said with a smirk.
He was surprised that you instantly moved letting him lay behind you so you could both could watch the movie properly. He took his spot behind you wrapping his arms around you, pulling your body as close as he possibly could. His hand rested on your waist holding you tightly. His mind swirled with your scent god how was this happening to him?
A few minutes passed as you focused on the movie. Being painfully aware of the man behind you as he pressed himself against you. You could feel his girth cock pressing against your ass and you couldn’t help yourself. Grinding back against him, he let out a groan barely audible if it weren’t for him being so close. The sound of him turning you on way more than you thought it would. He didn’t stop you though, letting you rut yourself against him. Finally getting some friction.
His hand that was resting on your waist squeezed at every movement. You could hear faint ‘fucks’ coming from him only driving the want higher. The movement of you paired with the sweet smell of your dripping cunt was becoming too much for him. His hands hooked your at your pants “can I take these off?” He said softly.
You nodded letting him rid you of your sweats and your panties. He pushed his pants down after taking yours off. His big cock springing free finally. You could finally feel how big he truly was, fuck did you want him. His hands glided down your body moving your leg over his. His long fingers pressed against your needy nub making you whimper. His face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he licked up it.
His fingers lazy played with your clit before roaming further down. He couldn’t believe how wet you were, how wet you were for him. His fingers finally pushed into your dripping core curling ever so nicely. His movements were just as lazy, his thumb pressing against your clit once more. His mouth watered at the smell of you. He needed to taste you, and he needed to do it right now. With no warning he pulled himself from you quickly moving his body down yours.
He dived into your cunt, tongue quickly pushing into your folds. The moan you let out made his cock twitch. It was already leaking like a faucet ready to be buried inside you. “Fuck you taste even better than those cookies you made me” he said. His hands hooked around your legs pulling you closer to him as he ate you out like a starved animal. His tongue pushed deep inside you twirling around your tight walls. Your hands gripped at anything before gripping at his hair. You tugged on it softly making him groan “pull- ah- harder” he said. Of course you listened, tugging on his hair harshly pushing him somehow deeper into your cunt.
He felt like he was in heaven, fuck this must be heaven. Your cunt clenched around his tongue, knowing you were close he moved his hand to toy with your clit yet again. It didn’t take long after that for you to cum. Your body arched off the bed moans getting trapped in your throat only breathes making it past. He lapped up any of your sweet honey that dared to escape. Licking you clean before moving upwards to you. He kissed you messily. His cock head poking at your entrance.
Without any thoughts you moved yourself down letting his thick cock push into you. The stretch wasn’t bad, in fact the slight pain felt good. “Sh-shit” he moaned against your lips.
“Please- move” you whined out bucking your hips into him. His eyes met yours and what a sight to see. Your eyes were glazed over, cheeks flushed red. Fuck did you look so good. He blinked a second before everything sunk in. Your warm walls squeezing him so tightly. He started to move slowly before picking up speed.
His hands moved down pushing your shirt up. You quickly helped taking it off as he took his off too. He was delighted to see you didn’t even have a bra on either. His hands roamed your plush body, pinching at your perky nipples. He was quickly losing himself in you. His movements were becoming faster as his high was reaching near. “God you feel so fucking good, was this your plan all along huh? Get the big bad wolf all alone in your house to fuck you like a wild animal?” He teased.
“You- ah- you started it. You’re the one that was pressing there big dumb cock against me” you retorted.
“Can’t- can’t help it when you smell so good” he said back.
His movements were slowing down a bit making you whine. “Getting tired already? Need- ah need me to ride you?” You said with a grin. You felt his cock twitch at your words oh he definitely liked that idea. He wrapped his arms around you before lying flat on his back. Your legs straddled him the new position making him feel even deeper. His hands laid on your thighs those sharp nails digging into the soft skin.
As much as he wanted to show you how much of a big bad wolf he was he couldn’t help it. You were just too much for him, he was like some puppy dog that you had wrapped around your finger. When you finally got your feet in a proper spot you started moving. Bouncing up and down on his stupidly big cock. His knot forming as if his against your entrance. He watched as your tits bounced with every movement. His long tongue hung out of his mouth drool pooling with it.
“Fuck- just like that- ah” he moaned out. “Gonna let me knot you? Fuck please let me- need- need to breed you- ah- ah” he was such a mess under you. Your legs shook at the sight of him at his words. An orgasm washed over you without warning. Your body felt almost limp as it laid on top of him.
“I’m yours-“ you said in almost a whisper against his chest but he heard it. Oh boy did he hear it loud and clear. His hands gripped at your ass, fucking up into you with force.
“You’re mine? All mine?” He growled. “Good- all mine to- ah fuck- to breed- to claim- mine- mine” he kept repeating. Your hands that laid on his chest stared to dig in it his toned muscle. The slight pain Only driving him to fuck you harder. “Gonna take it all yeah? Gonna take everything I can give you- you’re mine. Mine.” He said.
“Yours. All yours.” You said softly against him. When those words finally left your lips that was it. He pushed up into you with one final thrust, his knot pushing past your entrance. The feeling alone bringing on another strong orgasm as you felt his balls empty inside you. His head that was nuzzled into your neck moved as he sunk his teeth deep into you. The pain the pleasure the everything of the situation had your mind floating. Your body shook harshly as you felt yourself squirting all over his cock and yourselves.
He let out a low growl holding your body tightly to him. He held you against him as you both came down from the intense orgasms. “You did so well” he almost purred into your ear.
A few minutes of silence mixed with heavy breathing filed the air before he spoke once more. “You really meant it right? That you’re all mine?” He asked sheepishly, afraid you’d take it back.
“I meant every word of it.” You said smiling. You kissed his cheek softly holding tightly to him.
You might have only known him as the asshole of the college but now. You were seeing him for who he truly was. He would let everyone believe he was still this big bad wolf that didn’t take anything from anyone. However when it came to you he was just a sweet overgrown puppy that would do anything for you.
#monster fucker#monster lover#monster fic#monster writing#monster x reader#terato#teratophillia#monster boyfriend#monster smut#monster#werewolf x reader#werewolf fic#werewolf smut#werewolf#werewolf fucker#werewolf imagine#werewolf nsft#werewolf partner
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cw — dry humping, making out, handjob, pet names ‘baby’ and ‘pretty girl’, best bf cheol (minors dni)
It’s a confession you make half-hoping Seungcheol doesn’t hear you: “you’re so hard. Let me jerk you off.”
You say it in the heat of the moment, utter it against his lips, reluctant partly because it’s perverted, it’s obscene, and it’s just utterly desperate of you, and partly also because you’re supposed to be taking it slow with him. You’ve had too many relationships go to shit when you fucked them right off the bat and found out after that you’d had nothing in common. Then you met Choi Seungcheol, who seemed a little too good to be true, and from the moment you’d told him you didn’t want to rush into any kind of intimacy just yet, he was more careful with your boundaries than you yourself.
For the last God-knows-how-long though, you’d sat in his lap, rutting yourself against him while he stole your breath with his lips, and fuck, he’s so hard against you that you think it must hurt, and he’s your boyfriend, so why wouldn’t you help him out?
When you say it, he tugs you away from him by your neck, not harsh or rough at all but rather in the way that everything he does has an air of dominance. He stares at you with hardened features, his attempt to appear stern betrayed only slightly by his kiss-swollen lips and cherry red cheeks, and yet you’re not afraid to persist.
“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret,” he says, so soft and low that he could lull you to sleep.
“It’s fine, Cheol. It won’t even count because you’re not putting it inside,” you say with a shrug and a grin.
Seungcheol has never felt so torn in his life. He wants to build up tension slowly with you until you trust him, until you’re certain that you’re ready to go all the way with him, to take the next step and bare yourself to him. Saying no to you is impossible though, especially when you make him want to give you the entire world. He’s also so, so hard, and his only options are to give in to you or jerk himself off in the bathroom alone.
His thumb traces over your bottom lip, his boner growing worse from the soft suppleness of it, from the batting of your lashes, from the carnal gleam in your eyes. Fuck it, he thinks. You’re the one who wanted it in the first place, anyway.
“Alright,” he says, and he already sounds out of breath, like the mere thought of your hand around him is enough to make him lose his mind. (It is.)
He starts to shift beneath you, simultaneously grasping your waist to reposition you ever so slightly as he pulls his sweats a few inches down his hips while your ardent fingers help him along. “But the second you wanna stop, we stop, okay?”
“Not gonna wanna stop,” you say, humming. Seungcheol pauses and stares at you, unamused. It makes you roll your eyes. “God, okay, I’ll tell you if I wanna stop. Now can I touch your dick, please?”
He narrows his eyes at you in faux doubt, only to wink at you and finally push his boxers down enough to let his cock spring free.
You feel your insides literally warm at the sight of it. It’s darkened pink, veiny, long, and girthier than anything you’ve ever seen. How can you not think about how it would feel inside you, stretching you out? Because God knows it would stretch you out. You’re pretty sure you’ll need several weeks of foreplay for him to fit.
“Cheol, you’re huge…” you say before you can stop yourself, growing suddenly timid.
“Good thing I’m not putting it inside then, hm?” says Seungcheol, chuckling a little.
He notices the shift in your eyes—it’s not hesitation, you’re just stunned. His hand soothes up and down your back, a silent reminder to take your time. For a split second his heart drops when he thinks maybe you’ve changed your mind about this, about him, and then your hand reaches for his length.
“Can I?” you ask. So polite, as if you’ve never done anything like this before. It makes Seungcheol want to smother you with kisses.
“Please,” he replies, only hoping it’s not too desperate.
The relief when your fingers finally grasp him makes Seungcheol’s shoulder sag, and he finds himself sinking further into the couch when your thumb swirls over his reddened cockhead. Beads of precum drool from his slit and you smear them all over his tip, smirking softly when Seungcheol’s breath hitches in his throat.
With your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from making an embarrassing noise, you start to pump his member slowly. You drool at the heaviness of it, at the way your fingers don’t touch as they wrap around him, at Seungcheol’s tiny noises as he inhales and exhales.
“Think you could spit on it for me?” he asks and his voice has dropped about three octaves now. He’s careful with his words, wanting nothing but for you to do things on your own accord.
He has to stop himself from cumming on the spot when you give a nod and a sweet smile before bending forward to let a dollop of spit drop from your pretty lips and land perfectly on his tip.
“Show me how you like it, Cheol,” you say. His heart skips several beats and he wishes he could record your words and listen to them again and again. Fuck, you’re perfect. He already knew that, knew it after about two weeks of knowing you, but you just keep affirming it for him and he wonders if you know your effect on him.
Seungcheol’s hand is warm as it engulfs yours. His grip is much tighter—painful even, you would think, but as he starts guiding your hand up and down with vigour, he throws his head back and moans, and you can’t help the way your pussy aches at the sound.
He shows you exactly how he likes it: tight, and with a flick of the wrist to swirl around his tip.
“God, fuck, baby, that’s it,” he grunts and bucks his hips into your hand.
Heat creeps up the back of your neck. There’s a dash of timidness you get from being this intimate with Seungcheol for the first time, although it’s not even you who’s exposed, and then there’s desire. Wild, burning lust. He’s the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on, and he’s falling apart in your hands.
“Your cock’s so pretty, Cheollie,” you say. His already dark eyes have grown impossibly darker, riddled with want as they flicker between your intertwined fingers around his cock, and your face. “Can’t wait to have it in my mouth.”
“F-fuck, didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth, pretty girl,” he moans, quickening your pace. His precum leaks all over your fingers, so wet that there’s an audible slick sound with every pump up and down.
“Only for you,” you say, and your gaze falls to his glistening lips, and you’re moving absentmindedly towards them until you’re kissing him. It’s even messier than before, more breathless, like neither of you are holding back your wanting anymore. Your tongue licks against his shamelessly. You’re hungry for him. He settles a hand at the nape of your neck, drawing you closer to him so that he can kiss you so hard your head starts to spin.
You’re not sure when you’d started grinding on him again, rutting your crotch over his hard thigh like a dog, but you can’t find it in yourself to feel ashamed of yourself when Seungcheol’s chest is starting to heave, his moans are growing more frequent, and his cock is throbbing against your hand.
“You’re twitching, Cheol. Are you gonna cum?” you tease, your cunt fluttering.
“Yeah, ’m close,” he says through gritted teeth.
And he’s certainly honest, because a few more strokes and he’s giving a deep, guttural groan and cumming in thick, milky white spurts all over his hoodie. His blissed out face is a sight to behold, although he doesn’t let you do so in favour of pulling you in for another kiss, one that’s soft and chaste this time.
Choi Seungcheol’s duality will kill you one day.
“Did so good for me, baby, thank you,” he says, giving you his sugary smile. “I’m gonna go… uh, change real quick and then I’ll return the favour, yeah?”
“Wh- return the favour? But- that- I wanted to help you out, though, so it’s fine!” you stutter, and he’s already plucked you off his lap like you’re weightless and stood up to his feet.
“Baby,” he says, taking your hand. “I felt you grinding all over my leg. Let me take care of you like you did for me.”
#svthub#thediamondlifenetwork#scoups x reader#scoups smut#choi seungcheol smut#choi seungcheol x reader#svt smut#seventeen smut#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt imagines#seventeen fanfic#svt fanfic#svt x you#[୨୧] — starring: seungcheol
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In the Lab…
Fic type-> NSFW + Drabble
Tags-> Sub Jayce, bottom jayce, degrading kink, kinda exhibitionism? both parties get off on getting caught, gn reader but they have smth to fuck him with whatever that might be lol, choking
Word count-> 705, about two pages of a book
AN-> I’m alive it’s a miracle! Anyways there’s not enough sub or bottom jayce fics just saying 🤷♀️. And as always, requests open!
AO3 | Masterlist
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It was Jayce’s idea. Not yours.
Honestly, blowing his back out in the lab wasn’t really what you had in mind when you said you wanted to try something new. It’s not like you hadn’t done it before- just this time it was in his lab, over his workbench, scarily close to the door. It didn’t help that Jayce didn’t know how to shut up during sex.
“Yes, yes- fuck!”
You apply more pressure against his wrists held behind his back, pressing him further into metal workbench- a silent warning.
“Jayce.” A hushed tone compared to his strained cries.
“‘m sorry, jus’ too good…”
You tug his trousers further down his ass since his loose belt buckle was clinking against the bench with every thrust.
You glance towards the door.
“Gah- god-“
You watch as his face distorts into one of pleasure as you’d just adjusted the angle of your movements.
“If you don’t know how to shut up-“
“Make me.”
His comment surprised you, he didn’t sound bratty when he said it. And no, he’s too good to disobey you. He sounded desperate for it. Like he needed you to keep him under control, even if he was perfectly capable of keeping quiet himself.
So you lean in, and let your breath caress his tanned shoulder blades.
“Oh, is that what this is all about then huh? Riling me up, teasing me?”
He hesitates before he answers,
“…no, please that’s… it’s not-“
You hook your hand over his mouth, only muffling his moans to your disappointment. He felt a jolt of electricity shoot down to his dick, smearing more pre against the underside of the workbench.
“This is what you wanted isn’t it? Getting me to slut you out in the lab in hopes of, what- getting caught?”
He could only moan into your hand as you pull him up so his head rests on your shoulder, his hair splaying out across it.
“You’re such a whore, who are you imagining walking through that door right now huh?”
You turn your head towards his ear letting your breath hit it, eyes flitting up briefly. You only grin.
“Is it Mel? Or perhaps Viktor?”
You let go of his mouth and instead opting for his neck to hold onto for leverage.
“Both-“
“Both? And what would they do if they saw you like this? Man Of Progress against his own workbench, taking dick like a bitch huh?”
Jayce can’t help but groan at the idea, someone so close to him walking in on such a scene.
“Come on, what would they do…”
You grip his hip harshly to re-adjust your position slightly, his mouth drops open and his now free hands flailing to try to bring you ever closer to him. You know you hit the spot with each thrust too when he stammers before he replies.
“I-I don’t know-“
“I think they’d like it, someone finally having the guts to fuck all that arrogance out of you.”
As you talk you sneak in kisses along his jawline and neck, even leaving one dark mark along the side of his neck.
He whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut, imagining Mel’s and Viktor’s sneering faces. Perhaps they’d be muttering between each other as they stare at him like he’s a common whore.
“Just- fuck- I’m gonna cum.”
“You gonna cum ‘round my cock and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“Please, please let me cum- I’ll be-“
“Good? You gonna be good if I let you cum?”
“Mmhmmm…”
“Well… go on, be a good boy and cum for me.”
Like the flick of a switch he arches his back into you and cums across the underside of his workbench, your final few thrusts making it smear all along his dick afterwards.
You feel him go fairly pliant against you as his heavy breathing gets gradually slower, his eyelids slip closed.
You simply smile as you hold his jaw and tilt it away from you. He lets it loll to the side like you want as he pries his eyes open.
Of course Mel and Viktor are standing in the doorway, and of course they both look rather flustered.
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#jayce talis#man of progress#arcane#arcane season 2#arcane season two#arcane season finale#arcane season one#sub jayce#sub jayce talis#bottom jayce#bottom jayce talis#taking requests#dom reader#top reader#bottom male character#gender neutral reader#gender neutral y/n#gender neutral mc#mel medarda#viktor arcane#arcane jayce#jayce x viktor#jayce league of legends#jayce lol#jayce x reader#mel x jayce#jayvik#meljayvik#melvik#kinda not really
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a stranger's advice
for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event 'Good Fortune'
using prompt 7: a single kind word can keep one warm for years + mouth + 48, 13, 46, 27, 31, 18
rated m | 1408 words | cw: implied sexual content kinda | tags: modern au, different first meeting, flirting, eventual famous corroded coffin, eventual rock star eddie munson, sound mixer steve harrington, strangers to lovers
🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️
Eddie’s giving up.
They’ve done all they can do.
Jeff’s dad is threatening to cut him off entirely if he doesn’t go to college and Gareth’s mom calls him crying twice a week, worried he’s gonna end up homeless or in rehab. Gareth’s never touched a drug or more than a single beer in his life and works harder than any of them, but he’s tired of telling her that. Frankie doesn’t have the same passion they have; He’s just there as the guy who answered an ad for a bassist.
No record label wants them, most larger venues don’t want to pay what it would cost for them to get there, and the smaller venues are getting less crowded as more people flock to arenas and stadiums to see big name bands. They aren’t as good as they thought they were and Eddie has to accept that.
He’s feeling sorry for himself in the hallway of this record company first, though.
The other guys already shook hands with everyone, patted Eddie on the shoulder, and left. He’s alone now, and he’ll be alone for the rest of his life.
“Waiting for a ride?” A man asks from in front of him.
Eddie looks up and sees someone he vaguely recognizes as the assistant who sat in on their unsuccessful meeting 18 whole minutes ago. He’s stunning in the way that someone way outside of Eddie’s league usually is, but damn if he doesn’t get stuck looking anyways.
The man raises a brow and crosses his arms.
“Uh, no. Sorry. I have one. Just needed a minute.”
The man nods and then uncrosses his arms, sighing.
“You want some advice?”
“Not sure if it’ll do me any good. My band’s done. I’m nothing without them,” Eddie lets himself sound as pitiful as he feels.
“A 13 track demo is too much. Most places aren’t listening to more than five songs at all, and that’s only if they’re impressed by the first two. You guys sound great, and clearly have passion, but it’s not heard by the people who need to hear it,” the man says despite Eddie’s warning.
Eddie is a bit distracted by the way his mouth forms words, like he’s trying to hide an accent. This is LA. A lot of transplants from the south and Midwest don’t like people to know.
“And you know this as the assistant?” Eddie asks and wishes he didn’t.
“I’m the sound mixer. The assistant is out and they asked me to fill in. But I’ve seen how this goes enough to see that you guys have everything right except the part you need,” he gives a small smile. “Cut down the tracks and you’ll be set. You’ve got an amazing voice. Don’t give up yet.”
The man walks away before Eddie can say thank you or ask any follow up questions like ‘do you want to come home with me?’ or ‘does your hair naturally swoop like that or is there product doing the job?’
Eddie decides to head out, waits nearly 31 minutes for an Uber, which is ridiculous when he’s staying in a hotel less than 10 minutes from the building. The guys are at the hotel bar when he arrives, sipping on sodas instead of mixed drinks like they deserve.
“Give me one more shot,” he begs.
They look at each other. They look back at him.
“One more,” Jeff agrees as they all nod.
~~~~~
“Can’t believe there’s 46,000 people here!” Eddie yells as he’s running off the stage.
There aren’t exactly 46,000 people watching them; That number is closer to 27,000. But there are 46,000 tickets sold for this particular event, which means that 46,000 people have seen Corroded Coffin’s name on a ticket stub or event guide. It’s more than he ever expected to know about them.
He’s so excited about the set they just played, he nearly runs right into a guy in nice jeans and a sweater. It’s too fucking hot for a sweater.
The guy grabs Eddie’s arms to steady both of them and Eddie looks up and his jaw drops.
“Holy shit, it’s you.”
“It’s me,” the man replies, smirking at Eddie’s surprise. “Had to see what our label missed out on in person.”
The other guys are rushing past him, probably to get to the green room for drinks and snacks. They never eat before a show, and when they’re done, they’re ravenous.
The man hasn’t let him go yet. He could. Eddie’s balance is fine, his initial adrenaline is crawling to a normal level, and he isn’t gonna suddenly run into anyone else.
“Your advice worked,” Eddie says.
The man nods, knowing smile on his face. “I’m glad you listened to me.”
“It wasn’t just your advice though,” Eddie admits. “I mean, it definitely helped! But you actually saw talent. We were feeling kinda down about how good we were and you made me realize that it’s probably not our talent that’s the problem. We’re good. We’ve been good. We just didn’t know how to show that to the right people.”
“There’s 48 bands here this weekend, you know?” The man asks, as if that’s a normal response to anything Eddie just said.
“Um, yeah. I know.”
“We represent 47 of them.”
Eddie’s brows practically leave his forehead. “But…”
“I insisted they get you guys on the lineup when I saw the options available. And I couldn’t pass up another opportunity to talk to you.”
Eddie feels like he might pass out, which could definitely be from dehydration or overheating, but could also be the very hot man in front of him kind of flirting with him?
“Sorry, I think I’m having a stroke. I don’t even remember your name. You’ve just been Hot Man in my head for four years,” Eddie manages to get out, feeling his cheeks heat up at the embarrassment of his outburst.
Hot Man laughs, throws his head back and everything, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“Steve. I’m Steve,” he says when he’s calmed down.
“Steve.” Eddie likes the way his name sounds coming from his own lips. “I’m Eddie.”
“I know,” he laughs again, quieter, more fondness sneaking in.
“Well, Steve, would you like to join me for a drink in the green room? I hear the lead singer of Corroded Coffin requested only the finest PBR,” Eddie gestures towards the steps leading off the stage. “Or perhaps you’d enjoy a vodka soda.”
“I’d love to,” Steve giggles. Eddie feels like he’s won something. “But I am technically working for a few more hours.”
“Oh,” Eddie swallows around the disappointment. “Right. Okay.”
“But I’m staying at the Marriott down the road. If you wanted to meet for dinner later?”
“Yeah, absolutely. Definitely. For sure.” Eddie groans at his awkward excitement, but Steve is giggling again. Hearing a hot man giggle like this just does something to his brain.
“Great. Here’s my number. Text me so I have yours,” Steve hands over a business card and Eddie ignores his dick twitching in his too-tight pants. “See you tonight.”
Eddie’s mouth feels dry as he nods.
Steve is already gone when he finally thinks of something to say, so he groans and makes his way to the green room, where the guys are all spread out across the couches placed haphazardly around.
“Where’d you go?” Gareth asks him before he takes a sip of his water. He’s still a one and done drinker and Eddie loves him for it.
“Got a date,” Eddie shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“A date?!” Frankie asks, nearly spilling his beer.
“Don’t act so surprised, man. I date!”
“You haven’t ‘dated’ anyone since high school.”
“Haven’t felt like I needed to. I was busy getting us famous,” Eddie smirks, finds a beer in the fridge, and settles on a chair. “It might just be one date anyway. He’s probably a busy guy and I’m not sure I’m really his type.”
“Yeah, right. If he’s here, you’re his type,” Jeff laughs.
Everyone moves on quickly, which is a blessing for Eddie because he gets lost in thoughts about Steve pretty much immediately.
In the years they spent trying to make it, only one person ever gave him helpful advice. Only one person spoke of his talent and made him feel like they could still make it.
And now he had a date with him.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#corroded coffin#corroded coffin fest#good fortune#modern au#different first meeting#rock star eddie munson#sound mixer steve harrington
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Cheater billie shows up at readers door begging for a second chance
a/n: i have an idea for a part 2 of this is anyone wants it🫶
i was so exhausted. i’d had the busiest day and had only just got home. best believe i was going to bed straight away. i immediately went to my bedroom, brushing my teeth before changing into pyjamas. i was practically falling asleep whilst i took my makeup off.
as soon as i turned my light out and laid down in bed, i let out the biggest sigh of relief. i didn’t even bother to check my phone as i put it on charge and just laid there. in silence. under all of my blankets. falling asleep. i was so relaxed until i heard my phone buzz a few times.
i obviously ignored it. nothing was interrupting my sleep. well that’s what i thought.. until there was a knock at my door. i was so tired that i just convinced myself that i didn’t hear it. but the knocking grew louder the more i ignored it.
i groaned and stood up out of bed, grabbing a blanket to wrap around me since i was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt. i dragged myself over to the door, my eyes drooping as i slowly opened it. my eyes weren’t closing for long since they shot open as soon as i saw who was stood outside my door.
billie? i was honestly too tired for this. i shook my head as i noticed her eyes looked slightly teary.
“what?” i asked.
i was not in the mood to be talking to her. she cheated on me months ago and i’ve refused to speak to her since. she kissed another girl at a party whilst we were together. after i’d broke up with her, she was constantly calling and messaging me begging to talk but i ignored her. she eventually gave up, so what was different about today? why did she suddenly come back into my life? again.
“can i just come in please? i wanna talk.”
i rolled my eyes and opened the door wider for her to come in. once i’d shut the door and turned around, i noticed she was just standing there awkwardly. she was acting as if she hadn’t been in my house before.
i sighed and told her to sit down. we sat on the sofa as i just stared at her, waiting to hear what she had to say. she looked down and started messing with the rings that were scattered over her fingers. something she only ever did when she was nervous.
“what is it billie? why did you come here?” i mumbled.
“i- well- uh.. i came to say sorry. i know that isn’t gonna fix anything, i know i fucked up, but i miss you so bad. life isn’t the same without you and i know that’s my own fault, i don’t know what i was thinking!! just.. please can i have a second chance. i want to prove that the kiss meant nothing to me. i want to prove that you’re the only girl i’ve ever been completely in love with. please.” the words rushed out of her mouth as tears threatened to fall from her eyes.
“billie. you cheated on me. you broke my heart. you hurt me so bad. i spent so long feeling like i was worthless and wondering what was wrong with me. you made me feel like i was unloveable, i tried so hard to be perfect for you and you kissed someone else. and now you think i’ll give you a second chance??” i spoke angrily as tears clouded my vision. i seriously could not believe what she’d said.
“i know. i understand that just coming here and saying sorry absolutely will not fix what i did. but please can you just consider it. i’ll do anything!! i’ve been so mad at myself for it. i miss waking up next to you. i miss being able to hold you and comfort you. i just miss you. i’ll make it up to you, no matter how long it takes. please.” she was practically sobbing at this point.
i just sighed and reached forwards, wiping the tears from her face, even though they continued to fall. she really did seem sorry. and she seemed so upset. i didn’t want to forgive her, i was still mad, but i couldn’t bare to see her so sad. it was her own fault, but maybe she could gain my trust again if she truly was sorry. if she really did care.
“please.” she whispered, looking into my eyes.
“i’m not saying no, but i’m not saying yes either. i mean, you cheated on me and how am i to know that you won’t do it again if i decide to trust you? how do i know that you won’t hurt me again? you just need to earn my trust back. okay? it’ll prove to me that you genuinely mean what you said.”
she nodded as i spoke, taking in every word and understanding what i meant. she sighed and dropped her head into her hands.
“i’m sorry that i fucked everything up. i promise i’m gonna make it up to you.” she mumbled.
“okay billie. thank you for apologising. now cmon, you need to go home because i’m exhausted.” we both stood up and walked over to the door.
“i’ll call you tomorrow?” she whispered.
“call me tomorrow bil.”
she nodded and i watched as she walked to her car, then she was gone.
i didn’t even know how to react. tears streamed down my face was i slowly made my way back to my bed. what if she hurt me again? why did i still care about how sad she was? my mind was racing as i just laid there, tears running across my face until i finally fell asleep.
#billie eilish#billie eilish fanfiction#billie eilish fic#fanfic#fanfiction#billie eilish x fem!reader#billie eilish x reader#wlw post#wlw blog#wlw
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no mercy 𝜗𝜚 • se-mi (player 380) x fem reader
wlw ────୨ৎ──── cw: rope bondage (reader receiving most of the time), strap usage, degradation kink, se-mi enjoys being called “noona” during sex, clit teasing, lazy 69ing, reader has attachment issues, se-mi could seem cold but she really does love you, reader is a bottom (send a request if you want me to make a fanfic where the reader is a top)
se-mi was tired of having the same type of sex every night with you. it was only you two either scissoring or fingering each other for hours and you two knew that y’all could do better than that.
“se-mi, where have you’ve been? i miss you”—
you hold your phone, close to your ear while calling se-mi. she hasn’t been home in many hours, it’s late at night and you began to get frustrated.
“i’ll be home soon but stop trying to call me all the time when i’m away from you, it’s annoying”—
call ends.
you didn’t get to say “goodbye” or “i love you” to her before she ended the call. it hurt you. you started pondering whether she might be cheating on you or just simply fed up with your guts. you didn’t want to cry or throw a tantrum over that inconvenience, so you got ready for bed and went to sleep alone, without her. you rolled around the empty bed, not being able to fall asleep.
just before you dozed off into an empty dream, you heard the apartment’s door unlock. your heart beat with joy and you immediately ran out of the room to go greet her. you were supposed to be mad at her but the look of her sweet face made you change your mind.
she gave you a quick kiss then walked away from you, setting down a plastic bag on the floor. you grab the bag but she pulls your hair back, making your hands lose hold of the bag. “i’ll show you what’s in this bag in our room,” se-mi let go of you and walked away from you.
she never acted like this before, nor ever tried to hurt you in any way. it’s not as if you didn’t like it, you just didn’t know how to feel about it. you make your way back into your room and find semi holding a long thin rope in her hands. she walked up to you and began kissing you, seeming desperate. “se-mi..” you broke the kiss with her. she looked at you, then she looked down at you and smiled.
both of you were now undressed, making out, the cold air from the ac made your nipples harden, as well as hers.
“i wanted to try something like this for so long with you, baby,” se-mi got out the long thin rope and started tying your hands behind your back, performing rope bondage on you.
the rope went in between your wet folds and up your ass, making you moan out. she slipped on her large black strap on and she spread open your legs, making the rope brush roughly against your pussy. she moved the rope aside and slipped her strap on inside.
you were only used to her finger fucking, but this was new. you never liked the idea of dick or anything to do with that but her strap on fucking made you change your mind.
“se-mi, why are you going so fast..? slow the fuck down..” se-mi interrupted you and slapped you across the face, “fucking bitch,” she continued fucking into your breeding hole showing no mercy.
you were fucking enjoying this, being tied up, getting fucked by her big black strap on, her showing her mean side to you for the first time.
her fucking made the rope split, releasing you. she didn’t care, she just continued fucking into you. your cervix was definitely going to be bruised after this but who is she to care anyway? she rubbed your bright red clit with one of her hands while the other was busy maintaining your legs open for her.
she accidentally pulled out, making her cock slide up against your clit making your pussy burst out with squirt. “noona..” you looked into her glossy eyes as you gasped out for air. her sharp gaze softened as she caressed your cheek and went in to kiss you.
you reached over and pulled down her strap. your brushed your fingers around her hole. her pussy twitching by the feeling of your cold fingers teasing her. as you were busy teasing her pussy, you felt her tongue slide around your pussy, causing you gasp out. se-mi grabbed your bottom and started to press her lips against your folds, darting her tongue into your pussy. you two were laying on your side, eating each other out like two starved animals. small whines escaping from both of your mouths, making the moment more arousing than your past sex sessions with her.
you got a glimpse of golden sunlight slowly lighting the room up as you were finishing eating her pussy. you couldn’t believe it, it was already morning.
your noona probably forgot to tell you that she was actually out for a long period of time because she was busy buying a strap on and a bondage rope from the local sex shop.
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“You should kiss me at midnight.”
Jake stilled, turning his head to stare at Rooster, well aware of the silence around them as the daggers stopped and stared at them. He thought of a dozen things to ask. Or say, as he leaned back in his chair and took in Rooster. His over shirt was long gone. Leaving him in clearly loved t-shirt with long faded words, a size or two small so it stretched across his chest and stopped above his bellybutton, a good few inches of tan skin bared. His hair was messy, alcohol and a long afternoon fading into night making his curls win the fight against whatever he used to keep them in place. He was sweaty, but they all were. The bar was sweltering, and Jake had long since unbuttoned his shirt, soaking up the attention in the form of eyes staring at his chest. Rooster looked good. He knew he did if the smirk on his face was any indication.
But Jake wasn’t ever gonna make things easy.
“What’s in it for me?” he asked, tilting his chin up, daring, commanding an answer worth his time.
Rooster didn’t back down. “I suck dick real well when motivated. And I love making out so it’s good motivation.”
Fanboy groaned, tilting against Payback as others around them gagged but Jake ignored them. “I wanna leave but I don’t, you know?” He hissed, trying to be quiet but too drunk.
Jake ignored him, and the eyerolls directed his way. “And?” He bent his elbow to prop his chin on his fist. “So, do I. You’re not special.”
“No?”
Jake grinned. “Nah. Try again.”
“Well, the fact that it’s not an instant no says a lot,” Rooster said, not moving, gaze locked with Jake’s, and it felt like the rest of the world fell away.
This was a moment that had always had the chance to be there. It never built. It simmered. Lingering under the surface for a long time and aside from one ill advised hook up had never gone anywhere. And Jake knew it never would because their career was the most important thing. They wouldn’t fuck that up. Not unless they were sure.
And it seemed like Rooster was finally taking that chance.
Jake hummed, watching Rooster for a long moment, the bar around him fading. “Buy me a drink.”
Rooster grinned, looking at the still full glass of beer. “You’ve got one.”
“Maybe I don’t like this one.”
“You’re a big boy. You can buy your own.”
Jake snorted. “Wow. Really selling it there.”
Rooster shrugged again, smirk firmly in place. Ever since the mission a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and Jake would be lying to himself if it didn’t want to draw him in. The second guessing was done, and all the ego Rooster pretended to have before had changed. He wasn’t pretending anymore, and Jake would be lying if it didn’t feel like catnip to him. He knew he had an ego, and more than one person he had been with had commented on how he could almost steamroll over everyone. But Rooster had never been one of those people. He had met Jake word for word. Comment for comment and had never backed down.
“I don’t need to sell it sweetheart. You’re just being an asshole because you can.”
Jake let out a bark of laughter at the, mostly, accurate statement. He was being an asshole just because he could. But he was also doing it because he had always loved it when Rooster fought back. “That so?”
Rooster raised his beer to his lips with a smile. “Yeah baby. It is.”
“Hmmm, well, doesn’t seem like you’re getting a kiss,” Jake said, leaning back and picking up his own drink to finish it off in a long swallow, not breaking the gaze.
Rooster tilted his head back, watching Jake as he stood. “Yeah I am.”
“Confident,” Jake said, knocking his knuckles against the table, breaking the spell. “And on that note, I’m gonna go get a drink.”
As if summons, one of the over worked waitresses appeared, handing Jake a drink with a jerk of her head toward Rooster before she disappeared again, the crowd beginning to surge as the minute warning started. Jake stared at the drink, and then back at Rooster who was grinning, proud of himself. He leaned back against the chair and crooked a finger toward Jake who was half staring at the drink wondering how the fuck Rooster had managed to do that. They weren’t at the Hard Deck, which would’ve made sense, but it was a random bar for the night, they all needed to get away from the Navy for one night.
Jake heard a round of groans as he shrugged, grabbed the drink and walked around the table and slid into Roosters lap, surprising the man if the raised eyebrows were any indication.
Shurgging, Jake wrapped an arm around Roosters neck and shifted forward, his legs spreading wide so he could get close and he felt a hand rest on his lower back, sliding under his shirt.
“Told you that you just needed to buy me a drink,” Jake said with a smirk, reaching back and setting the drink down.
Rooster snorted. “Was that it?”
Jake shook his head. “Nah, the competence.” He paused and leaned in closer as the countdown hit thirty. “There’s nothing better than a man who knows what he wants and goes for it.”
That made Rooster laugh, shaking his head. “Baby, trust me I’ve always known I’ve wanted you. I just had to fight some shit out.”
“And you have?”
The hand on his back slid lower into his back pocket as the countdown hit ten. “Yeah I have.”
Jake curled his hands around Rooster’s neck, thumbs stroking over his jaw as he pressed in closer, feeling fingers dig into his ass.
“Right answer,” he said just as the count hit zero and Jake kissed Bradley, feeling the other man surge up into the kiss as the crowd around them started to cheer as the New Year rolled in.
#hale-talks#hangster#jake hangman seresin#bradley rooster bradshaw#top gun maverick#movie: tgm#sereshaw#hale-writes#technically it’s the first where I am but since I live in the states I wanted to post this tonight#ending the new year with hangster and starting it as well#cheers to 2025 I’m gonna hope for the best
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I always find this conversation interesting as a demonolater who is mostly eclectic and not loyal to any traditional practice, especially as a devotee of Lucifer.
Lucifer has to be one of the most laid back deities ever. He is very okay (actually encourages) with me just chilling with him, not doing anything all that important or outright worshipping, just enjoying eachother’s company. If worship is a display of love, then connecting to him through my love language, quality time, is a display of worship, even if not literally.
But at the same time, Lucifer is still my Patron and authority. There is a line and he’s made me very aware of it. I might very very very jokingly call him an asshole or say fuck you, and in some contexts that might fly just fine. We tease each other, he calls me a gremblin and I call him a stalker. It doesn’t have to be so serious all the time.
But at other times, especially during serious settings like rituals or when we’re working with other spirits, oh absolutely not.
When I’m acting like a brat and tell him to fuck off, he is very quick to remind me who exactly I am talking to. I’m a human, I make mistakes, I express myself through my words, Lucifer knows that. And he isn’t super anal about me constantly treating him like royalty, but talking to him like he’s just another person and not my God is unacceptable. Lucifer is my friend, sure. But he’s also so much more than that.
I have a much more casual relationship with Lucifer than I do with Aphrodite, so I tend to use more formal language with her. But when I call Ishtar or Aphrodite “that bitch” she knows what I mean to say. She is that bitch. She slays the house down. She’s the all powerful Queen of Heaven, and she is that bitch.
It’s a term of endearment and reverence using language that is common in the queer community. She understands that, and she agrees, she is in fact, that bitch.
That is worlds different from me saying “ugh omg, you’re such a bitch”, even jokingly. To even imply that my Goddess is something negative or lesser than, even jokingly, is unacceptable. Remember that words themselves are energy, literally. The words you use when referring to your deity is in itself a type of offering. Don’t give shitty offerings.
There is no rule book on deity work or paganism in general. No one can definitely say “here’s a list of things you cannot call your deities” or “here’s a list of things you should call them”. Your deities will communicate that to you in whatever way they choose.
But for beginners who just might not know any better, consider how your teacher or employer would react if you randomly called them a bitch. A very stern conversation would probably be had. Even if you have a really friendly relationship with your favourite teacher, it’s still inappropriate to say “Ayo bitch, come over here and mark my paper”
If you just got hired at your new job, it would be very inappropriate to greet your new boss with “hey asshole!”
It really all boils down to basic common sense guys.
the gods are not your besties or your friends or your babygirls, they are GODS. their nature is transcendant and immaterial. they deserve love, reverence and worship. they are good, and pure, and just, but they are not your imaginary friends you can just chill or play games with.
#paganblr#paganism#helpol#demonolatry#lucifer devotee#theistic luciferianism#deity work#deity worship#deity witchcraft#pagan#lucifer deity#aphrodite devotion
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I’m telling you when I told her about this idea I was so giddy like AGHHHH
TW:// SMUT so MDNI, Dacryphilia, finger fucking, squirting, degradation, possessiveness, a slap to the clit and a gentle slap to reader’s (fem) face. But it’s really gentle. More like a tap. NOT PROOFREAD
For you, @felixsgreasylefteyelash143
Dirty Girl
“Baby!” you whine, sulking next to your boyfriend, who’s only laughing at your restlessness.
“What’s wrong?” He asks. He knows. Of course he knows, but he just likes hearing you say it.
“Need you…” your shamelessness evident, he only continues to laugh. “It’s not funny! When you’re needy I give it to you.” You retort. Having enough of it, you climb onto his lap quickly, straddling him. Heeseung places his controller down along with his headset, hands coming to rest at your thighs. You become more excited, hoping he’d give you what you want, no, what you need. You begin leaving sloppy open mouth kisses along his neckline, hips slowly rocking against his. Heeseung spreads his legs apart to gain more comfort, letting you work yourself up more. Desperation radiating off your hot skin, you speed up, slightly.
“Fuck, baby…needy for my cock, are you?” He asks, sounding unfazed even though you’re already shaking.
“Yeah..” that comes out whiny. But you don’t care. You don’t give a single fuck.
“Too bad. I need to do this quests. I’m sorry baby.” He grabs your hips, stopping you. Huffing and sulky, you begrudgingly lift off his lap, slightly embarrassed after your actions. You trot to his bed, thighs pressed together, too horny that it hurts. “Good girl. I’ll make you feel good after I’m done.” With that, Heeseung slides his headset back on, grabbing his controller again, resuming his game.
You lay on his bed, trying to collect yourself, but it’s downright impossible. You’ve been ignoring this nagging feeling for quite sometime, and any resolve to ignore it is out the window. You glance at Heeseung, noticing he’s way too invested in his game. He wouldn’t notice if you just gently rubbed your clit? It’s only to relieve a little discomfort. Yeah, only rubbing your clit. Just only, rub your fucking clit.
You glide your hand straight to your panties, no time to tease yourself. You shove your hand under. You tap your bundle of nerves ever so slightly, and you jolt. Fuck, your sensitive. But the feeling of this feels too good already. You begin rubbing, forming figure eights as you quickly work yourself up again, the thick wetness of your folds making it easier.
Like muscle memory though, your fingers run lower until they reach your hole. Surely he wouldn’t notice. By the time he’s ready to love on you, you would have long gone orgasmed, your vagina surely would tighten back up nicely. So with that thought of reassurance, you enter your middle finger first, sucking a breath in before adding a second. Scissoring the insides of yourself, you bring your other hand under your (heeseung’s) shirt, tweaking with your nipples to bring out more pleasure. Soon, you’re on a high road to a quick orgasm you so desperately need. Speeding up, remembering that Heeseung could catch you at any time. You glance at him, sighing in relief when he’s still concentrating on winning. Your fingers work quickly, as you stare at him, making sure he doesn’t catch you, while also imagining him doing whatever he wants to you. The thought of him finding you deeply and quickly is what brought you even closer to an orgasm. You’re eyes flutter closed, perhaps 3 seconds left to cum-
You feel a sharp slap to your thigh, rendering you out of that trance. You sit up, feeling ashamed even though shouldn’t really, sticky hands pulled out of both garments, crossing your legs as you feel like you’re in trouble.
“Baby.” Heeseung starts off. “What’s the one thing I ask of you?”
“Call you when I need to?” You answer, not trying to be bratty, but because you genuinely think that’s the answer. But, you do have to admit you find it amusing to see him turn his gears.
“Don’t get bratty with me. Why don’t I want you touching yourself without me?” He asks, his voice low. He sounds so soft, but also extremely dominant, only making you drop out of yourself even more, which you didn’t think was fucking possible.
“Heeseung, you weren’t giving me the attention I really needed! How am I supposed to wait for your quest when you’re not even close to finishing?!” You feel like you’re about to crash out. He’s not even being reasonable, forcing these rules in your face.
You instantly regret that though as Heeseung stares blankly at your face, towering over his bed, towering over you. “You’re gonna be like that today..” he mumbled.
“Like what…” you test the waters.
“Like a bratty slut who needs to be taught a fucking lesson. Lay down.” He retorted. You, ignoring the fact your cunt powerfully throbbed at his degrading, do as you’re told.
Heeseung’s hands go to your waist band, wrenching your shorts down quickly. You make work for yours (his) shirt off and unclip your bra, knowing that he’d want you naked quickly.
“Look at you, already behaving. Not that fucking hard is it?” You don’t respond, sending its rhetorical and he smirks.
Your hands reach to pull his basketball shirts off but he slaps your hands away. “No touchies. That’s only the half of punishment.”
“But your clothes-“
“No. Touchies.” His finger slides along your slit, groaning at how wet you’ve become. “A whole ocean.”
He grabs your arousal, taking it to your entrance that he slides his first finger in with ease. Your eyes open, a moan escaping from your throat. His finger already feels better then yours, bringing your orgasm back. Your hands scrunch his bed sheets, hips bucking.
“Keep your hips still or I’ll stop.” He threatens and you try your hardest to not move your hips. “Good.”
He speeds up with that singular finger, tightening the knot in your lower stomach. He swipes his thumb on your clit and the knot snaps. Large waves of pleasurable ecstasy wash through you, and you can’t help your thighs from trembling. You cannot believe you just came with one finger. Huffing, you look at him, staring confusedly into his sneaky eyes, that are disguised with lust. A whole lot of lust.
You wonder what he’s doing until all thoughts exit your brain, as he’s entered a second finger, stretching you out. You’re mouth lets a whiny moan out, still really sensitive from the orgasm you just had. But Heeseung, doesn’t care. Almost giving you no time to adjust, he begins working his fingers deep inside your pussy, and your hands, forgetting the rule, latch onto his wrist to stop him, but to no avail as he orders you to let go.
“Hear how wet you are? Hear the dirty sounds from your sopping cunt, squeezing so tight around my fingers. Needy little thing, aren’t you?”
Heeseung goes on to pull another, and then another orgasm out of you, until both his hands are all over your pussy. One is cruelly rubbing your clit quickly, while the other is deeply penetrating you, fingered reaching deeper places at fast, hard records.
“Mmh! Fuck, Hee! Please- sensitive.” Your beg only makes him laugh. Tears are streaming down your face from how good this feels. And can only coo at you for that too.
“This is what you fucking wanted, is it not?” At your lack of response, he lands a sharp smack on your clit. “Answer me.”
“Yes!”
“So fucking take it like the whoring slut you are.” Your knot again snaps at his words, but this orgasm feels more quick. More powerful, and you don’t realise what’s happening until it’s happening. You squirt, all over Heeseung, and all over his bed. “You dirty girl. Squirting all over me like a good girl. You’re my good girl, yeah? All for me?”
“yes. I’m all yours.” You heave out.
“Yeah. This fucking pussy is mine. It’s mine, got that?”
“yes. Your pussy. All yours.” You don’t know what you’re saying, too far gone. Your eyes aren’t even focused. You’re so fucking gone.
“Look at you, all fucked out and stupid on my fingers. Can’t even look at me.” His hand that was on your clit come up to your tear stained face, slapping your cheek gently to get your attention. “Eyes on me, yeah?” You have difficulty finding him, too brain dead to regain focus. Heeseung laughs. Hearing him laugh brings your attention. “There you are.” He says softly. You gaze as it handsome features, too happy that this is the man you got.
Your heartfelt moment comes to an end as Heeseung, with three fingers deep and wide inside you, performs one particular thrust and you squirt again. The same amount, more powerful than the last. He only laughs again.
“Fuck! You squirted again!” His fingers are like in autodrive, constant hard thrusts fucking you.
“Please- I’m your good girl. Pl-please slow down, you’ve already m-made me cum so much.” You try your hardest to say that, absolutely forgetting how to breathe.
“But, baby. I thought you wanted to cum. Are you saying I’m wrong?”
“N-no.”
“Good girl.”
#heeseung x you#enhypen imagines#enhypen smut#heeseung smut#lee heeseung#enhypen heeseung#heeseung x reader
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sweet [part three]
paige bueckers x azzi fudd
word count: 2k
masterlist
Paige has only ever fallen in love once.
She knows that it’s wrong, everything against her moral code, to have a girl in her bed while thinking of another one entirely. But in the middle of the night, when Ella is fast asleep and Paige shifts away to her side of the bed, her thoughts can’t help but wander to soft brown eyes and long tan legs. When Ella chooses a sweater from her closet to throw on, she can’t help but think of how Azzi wore it better.
But these are just remnants of feelings, Paige reminds herself. She’d gotten over Azzi long ago, when she’d realized there was no chance her best friend could ever reciprocate the same feelings. Azzi was always the first one to slip out after sex, talking about having to study or do something important. More often than not, Paige woke up to an empty bed. Azzi was the one who always changed the subject whenever Paige brought up their situationship, clearly not wanting to take things further. Azzi was the one who had met Ella enthusiastically, patting Paige on the back.
In other words, Azzi Fudd was very much not in love with Paige Bueckers.
So Paige knows that it’s a good thing that Azzi seems to be distancing herself, that it would probably help snap whatever was going on them completely in half. A clean break from a universe where she’s not completely and utterly in love with the one person she can’t have. But Paige also knows that she’s going absolutely batshit crazy without her, which is how she finds herself outside of Azzi’s apartment in the middle of the night for the second time in two weeks.
As soon as the doors opens, Paige blurts out, “Did she say something to you?”
Azzi stares bleary eyed and dazed at her. Paige almost blushes at how cute Azzi looks in her little pajama shorts, the cloth riding up to show the smoothness of her thighs. Blushes. She needs to get ahold of herself.
“What?” Azzi’s sure she’s half hallucinating.
“If she said some shit to you, you can tell me. You know I don’t fuck with anyone who doesn’t fuck with you.”
“No, Paige.” Azzi rubs her temples. It’s always three steps forward and four steps back with them.
“Then what’s the problem?” Paige says, frustrated. “You‘ve barely been responding to any of my texts and you keep cancelling our plans.”
“The problem is that you’re willing to break up with your girlfriend for me!”
Paige’s expression turns sour. “That’s not what I said. I’m saying that you’re my best friend. And I care about what you think.”
“We’re not normal best friends, and you know it,” Azzi accuses. “Ella doesn’t deserve this. I know what it feels like, constantly worrying about another girl. It’s not fair of you to treat her like that.”
“You’re calling me a bad girlfriend?” Paige scoffs and looks away, a dirty taste in her mouth. “You don’t exactly have expertise in this area.”
Azzi’s lips tremble. “I can’t do this anymore, Paige.”
“Wait.” Paige reaches for her, flinching when Azzi pulls away. “I’m sorry, Az. I didn’t mean that.”
“I think we should-” Azzi exhales, gathering her thoughts. “We should take some space.”
“Space?” Paige wrinkles her nose. “We’re not even dating and you’re fucking breaking up with me?”
“It’s not like anything will change from the last few weeks.” Azzi folds her arms, looking like she’d rather be anywhere than here. “We barely even talk anymore and when we do, we’re fighting. This isn’t healthy. And - and Ella is good for you. She’s safe.”
“I don’t want space,” Paige says. “I can’t do space.” Her voice cracks, and Azzi only realizes now how bloodshot her eyes are, the bags underneath dark and pronounced. “Not from you.”
Azzi wipes her cheek with her sleeve. “I’m sorry.” She opens her mouth to say something, then cuts herself off by looking away, and Paige is well versed in everything Azzi - her body language, her habits, her tells - enough to know that the younger girl is hiding something from her.
“Say it.”
“Paige, stop.”
“Tell me!”
Azzi bites her bottom lip, worrying the skin with her teeth. “I was just gonna say…” she hesitates. “I was just gonna say that I’m seeing someone else too. So space would be good. For both of us. For me.”
“You’re seeing someone else?”
Azzi ducks her head. “It’s not any of your business, but yeah.”
“Who?”
“It’s really new. We’re not even dating yet.”
Paige’s heart drops. “Is it a girl?”
“Yeah.” Paige’s heart plummets all the way to the floor. A guy, maybe she could handle. A girl? There’s something so much more intimate about being with a woman, and she doesn’t know if she can handle even just thinking about Azzi lying in bed with another girl, touching another girl, loving another girl.
“Can I meet her?”
“I’m introducing her to the team next week. You can come if you want.”
Paige nods to herself, still trying to comprehend the fact that Azzi is with a woman - a woman that’s not her.
“I’m sorry.” Azzi repeats quietly. Then she turns her back, heading back to her room. “Lock the door on your way out.”
“Azzi.” It’s a last plea, a cry for help.
The younger girl halts, but she doesn’t turn around.
“We’re gonna be okay, right?” Paige’s voice is trembling.
“Of course we are.” But Azzi doesn’t sound so sure of herself.
Paige approaches her slowly from behind, putting her hands on her waist, hesitantly at first. When Azzi doesn’t move away, instead subconsciously leaning back into her touch, she rests her forehead on the younger girl’s shoulder, breathing in her scent, breathing in her. They stay like that for a few moments, breaths ragged, cheeks wet. Then Azzi’s covering her hands with her own, squeezing them gently before moving them away, stepping away, walking away, closing the door, and she’s gone.
Paige has only ever fallen in love once. Now, she thinks her heart has broken once too.
••
“I don’t like her.”
Ella brushes mascara over her lashes, dabbing at a dark blotch that had accidentally streaked her eyelid. “You haven’t even met her.”
“Well, I can already tell she’s a bitch.” Page grumbles, pacing the room for the fiftieth time that night.
“Don’t be insufferable,” Ella fixes Paige with a scrutinizing glare. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.” She grabs Paige’s hand, and Paige grimaces. Ella’s palms are always so clammy.
Much to Paige’s chagrin, her best friend isn’t even at her own apartment when they show up. The rest of the team is about to start the movie, so she sits in the corner with Ella as the lights dim. She can’t even eat the popcorn her girlfriend offers her, too busy thinking about what Azzi’s girl looks like.
Halfway through the movie, the door opens suddenly, and Azzi and the other girl fall in, giggling over something stupid. They freeze once they realize everyone’s eyes on them, but Azzi quickly straightens up and grabs her hand. “Everyone,” she says shyly. “This is Micaela.”
The entire team stands up at once, going to greet her with open arms, but Paige stays fixed to her seat, staring stubbornly at the movie. “Come on,” Ella gripes, nudging at her shoulder. “Don’t be rude.”
“Movie’s not done yet.” Paige finally reaches for the popcorn, steadfastly chewing the kernels without giving Micaela another glance.
Ella gives up, leaning back and folding her arms as she tosses another glare to the blonde. It’s only when Nika clears her throat that Paige looks up and realizes that everyone is staring at them expectantly.
Paige is resolved in her refusal to get up, but then she finally looks at Azzi. And Azzi is staring at her, with so much hurt and hope in her eyes, screaming you’re still my best friend, that Paige’s own chest hurts and she forces herself to stand up. “Hey,” she says gruffly, making her way over to Micaela and sticking out a reluctant hand. “Paige.”
“Paige! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan!” Micaela gushes.
Paige arches an eyebrow at Nika, trying to hold back a laugh, but the brunette gives her a warning glare. Coughing away her laugh, Paige nods. “That’s cool. It’s nice to meet you too.” She glances over to Azzi, making sure she did okay. Azzi’s shoulders relax, her smile becoming a little brighter, and Paige’s eyes soften.
Everyone gathers on the couches to finish watching the movie, but all Paige can hear is the low tones coming from the kitchen, where Azzi and Micaela had stayed to make food. But when she enters, Micaela is gone, and Azzi is alone.
“Bathroom,” Azzi responds to Paige’s lifted eyebrow. Paige nods, opening up the cabinet and rummaging through the snacks, feeling the weight of Azzi’s stare on her back.
“We don’t have anymore Chex mix.”
Cursing under her breath, Paige closes the cabinet.
“Your girlfriend’s wearing my hoodie, by the way.”
Paige’s head snaps up. “What?”
“Her hoodie. It’s mine.” Azzi tilts her head, studying Paige carefully.
Paige’s face warms. “Sorry. I didn’t notice. She just took it off my bed.” Her blush intensifies when she realizes the mistake she’s accidentally just admitted, and from the tense look on Azzi’s face, she’d caught it too. But instead of addressing it, Azzi turns away, busying herself with making her sandwich.
Paige waits a little longer, hoping the younger girl will say something else, but she doesn’t. So when she returns and KK’s pouring out shots, she takes more than a few.
“Okay, y’all. We playing truth or dare,” KK announces after everyone’s had a few drinks in their system.
Ignoring the complaints, KK gathers everyone in a circle. “I’ll go first,” she declares.
With the shots she’d taken earlier, Paige feels a little loose, a nice warmth in her tummy. She’s almost relaxed when KK says, “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”
As if on instinct, Paige’s eyes flick to Azzi. It’s brief, and she only hesitates for a second, but it’s enough. Ella shifts uncomfortably beside her. KK is smirking, not even trying to hide the look on her face. And Paige swears she sees a hint of a smile on Azzi’s lips before she looks away.
“Come here,” she says softly, pulling Ella in and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
“On the cheek is crazy,” she hears someone mutter. Jana elbows KK, who rolls her eyes.
KK goes around, insisting on a new version of truth or dare where she gets to ask everyone the question. Having grown accustomed to KK’s antics, no one even bothers to protest against her system.
“Azzi,” KK says. “Who was your New Year’s kiss?”
The whole team oohs. Last year, they’d been in a hotel for a game on the first day of January. Everyone had gathered in the lobby to watch the ball drop, but Paige had convinced Azzi to sneak off with her, saying that it just wouldn’t be right to start a new year without a kiss. Luckily, no one had put two and two together, but they’d all noticed Azzi returning with a goofy smile. Despite their pestering, Azzi had refused to tell them. Paige had thought it was to keep their situationship on the down low, but she realizes now that maybe it was because Azzi was embarrased of her. Her chest constricts.
“I can’t remember.”
Paige’s grip on her shot cup tightens. Azzi refuses to meet her eyes.
“Must’ve been pretty bad if you can’t remember,” Ice snickers. Paige swears she’s seeing red.
“Yeah.” Azzi pours herself another shot and drains it. “Must have.”
••
“I suck at a lot of things, but kissing isn’t one of them,” Paige says, her words slurring together.
“What did you want me to say? Both of our girlfriends were just sitting in there.” Azzi argues, just as buzzed as Paige is. The two of them glare at each other, the alcohol coursing through their bodies making them hotheaded. I wanted you to say that you kissed me. I wanted you to say that you liked kissing me. I wanted you to say that kissing you makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else can. I wanted you to feel the same. Paige’s chest heaves.
Micaela walks in, instantly picking up on the tension in the room. “Everything okay, babe?” Her hands circle Azzi’s waist as she eyes the blonde warily.
“Everything’s fine,” Paige says shortly. “We’re in the middle of something here. You can go.”
“I didn’t recall asking you.” Micaela snaps with a fire Paige didn’t know she had inside of her. “Are you good?” she directs the question at Azzi, drawing her closer.
“I’m fine.”
“Is she bothering you?”
Paige expects Azzi to open her mouth and tell Micaela off, like she always does whenever someone tries to pit the two of them against each other. Paige expects Azzi to laugh at the sheer thought of having to be saved from her best friend. But Azzi doesn’t do any of those things. She says, “Yeah, she is.” And she lets Micaela lead her away.
Is it possible to get your heart broken twice?
#paige bueckers#azzi fudd#uconnwbb#pazzi#wcbb#uconn wbb#paige x azzi#paige bueckers x azzi fudd#angst#fic
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from the dirt we rise, ch. 3
pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n
word count: 2.1k
cw: mentions of blood, vague body shaming (not john)
synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue
ch. 1
when you got upstairs soap had already set your bags in a spare room, though you noticed that they hadn’t been snooped in, probably ghost’s doing.
nathan was sitting on the bed huffing loudly, having thrown his luggage on the floor in exhaustion after going up the stairs. he didn’t say anything, just gave you a glaring side eye and went back to his huffing and puffing. the room was.. nice? like genuinely nice.
it seriously could be a picture on some teenage girl’s cottage core bedroom inspo pinterest board. which is not something you thought you’d ever say about an adult man’s decorating style. he had delicate flower print bedsheet, sheer curtains with lace trim, an antique dresser, and cream colored wallpaper.
“this room is nice, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence.
nathan just glanced at you, “it’s creepy. and this bed is too hard.” you just rolled your eyes when he turned back to go through his luggage to grab his phone.
“right, well, i’m going to head downstairs, help them get dinner ready. you can stay up here, if you want.”
nathan just grumbled an affirmative, his eyes glued to his screen. you made your way down the creaking stairs, now quite sure that you
couldn’t get a drink of water in the middle of the night without alerting the whole house.
“how’s the room for you? need anything?” john asked, hearing you coming around the bend to the kitchen.
“it’s beautiful, actually,” you said, a grin on your face.
soap laughed, “didnae peg the big guy to be an interior decorator then?”
you shook your head, “no, actually, i didn’t.”
john just waved johnny off, “i’m not an interior decorator, i just had some stuff laying around the house, you know?” when he turned around to grab a towel off the counter, johnny gave you a pointed look as if to signal that he was only telling a half-truth.
you giggled slightly, then muffled it behind your hand when john turned back around. he eyed both of you apprehensively but returned to the stove.
“what are we making for dinner?” you asked.
“i was thinking potato soup, if that’s alright with you?” john asked, pulling a sack of potatoes from beside the door and hefting them onto the counter.
“is there anything i can do to help?” you asked.
“och, no, cannae make a lady such as yerself get her hands dirty” soap said, making you laugh again, blushing slightly.
“you can help peel the potatoes?” john offered. you nodded, taking a knife from him, then picking up a potato, you started peeling along with price and soap.
“where’s simon, by the way?” you asked, suddenly wondering where the masked behemoth of a man had gone. it’s strange how well he was able to disappear since he was such a big man, seems like it’d be the opposite. though, you suppose, that was his job for however many years, hard to break the habit of being stealthy.
“he’s checking on the animals for me” john answered. he and johnny were going noticeably faster than you, and you tried to pick up the pace.
“animals? you mean you have some here at the farm?” you asked. “some chickens, a few pigs, and a couple cows”
he answered, “if you’d like, i can show you around tomorrow morning?”
“that’d be wonderful! tha- shit!” you cried out as your knife slipped and you sliced deep into your hand.
“oh fuck, oh fuck, i’m so sorry” you said, cradling your hand to your stomach, watching helplessly as blood rushed to the surface of the cut.
“hey, hey, it’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for” john said, rushing to your side with a towel, taking your hand in his and pressing the towel onto your hurt hand.
“i’m gonna get the first aid kit” johnny said hurriedly as he rushed off into the other room.
the room spun slightly, and you wobbled into john while trying to keep yourself steady, “sorry” you muttered.
“it’s okay, stop apologizing” he said gruffly, leading you to the couch. you sat down and he maneuvered your other hand on top of where his was a second ago, “keep pressure on this, alright?” you just nodded, deciding to focus on holding the towel rather than the faint ringing in your ears. you closed your eyes, willing the nausea to go away.
after a while of keeping pressure on your wound, john found it okay to take it off as the bleeding had ceased. johnny brought over the kit, which was a metal box with a red cross symbol on it, and a bottle of whisky.
you furrowed your eyebrows, “what’s that for? cleaning the wound?”
johnny laughed and shook his head, “it’s for yer courage, lass, dinnae wanna waste a good whisky on yer hand.”
he fished a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out of the metal box and showed it to you, “this is for cleaning the wound, aye?”
you just looked to john who nodded, “he’s right. the cut is big enough that we’ll probably have to stitch it up, and i find that it’s better when your senses are a bit dulled.”
he grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet and walked back over to pour the whisky. he offered it to you, “i’m not gonna force you to take it, but i think it might do you some good.”
you hesitated for a moment and then grabbed the drink from him. you paused for a moment and then threw it back, the alcohol hitting the back of your throat. you coughed at the sensation, making both men laugh.
“good, ain’t it?” johnny said with a toothy grin.
you grimaced but nodded, “strong” was all you could get out.
“now’s the hard part, you just tell me if you need to take a break, okay?” john said, sinking to your level, his dark brown eyes had softened as they looked in yours.
you swallowed thickly but nodded, “yes, sir.” he smiled softly and started opening the bottle of peroxide.
“ye want to hold onto my hand, bonnie?” you looked to johnny, who had sat beside you on the couch with an outstretched hand. wordlessly, you took his hand with your unharmed one and squeezed it appreciatively.
soap maybe regretted his offer after john poured the peroxide onto your hand, finding the tips of his fingers had gone bloodless from you squeezing the life out of him. he seemed to be having a worse time of it than you, he was barely holding back numerous curse words from spilling out.
“see? all done” john said as he gently dabbed at the wound. you nodded weakly.
“you’re doing so good,” he said in a softer voice, brushing your hair behind your ear. it was actually embarrassing how quickly that made you flush.
“stitches next, alright? you need to take a break or anything?” he asked. he looked so earnest, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time nathan had ever looked at you like that, maybe never.
“i.. i’m fine, you can keep going, thank you” you said, hurriedly.
he nodded and got to work, moving quickly with the needle like he had done this many times before. he probably had, now that you were thinking about it, ended up in some desolate place with just the stuff on his back and some kind of bullet wound. and here you were, complaining and whining about getting stitches in a nice, warm house after you accidentally cut yourself while peeling potatoes.
“sorry, i didn’t mean to make this into such a big deal,” you said as he finished.
the scot breathed a sigh of relief when you let go of his hand, shaking it about to get the blood flowing again. “och, nonsense lass, nothing to be sorry for. it was a nasty cut, think that any one of us might’ve reacted worse than you, aye?” johnny comforted you.
“johnny’s right, no sense in apologizing for things you ought not be sorry for.”
“so-“ you stopped yourself before you apologized again.
“alright, thank you, then.” both men’s faces brightened.
“ah, anytime, bonnie.” “of course.”
after john finished wrapping it in gauze you heard the creak of the stairs. you looked over to see nathan coming down the steps, seeming like he had gotten over his temper tantrum. his eyebrows furrowed when he looked over at you three,
“what the hell happened?”
“i.. cut myself when i was peeling potatoes.”
“god, well, here, let me see” he said, walking up to you and grabbing your injured hand. he twisted it back and forth sharply trying to see the injury through the gauze, making you cry out in pain. “hey! be gentle with her, i don’t want you to rip her stitches.” john said, quickly rising to his feet.
“i was just trying to look at it, i didn’t hurt you, right baby?” nathan asked you. you looked between the two men and could only stammer out an incomprehensible response.
“speak up” nathan said.
john stepped closer to him, “don’t talk to her like that.”
johnny quickly stepped between the two, sensing that this argument was going to just get worse and end with someone in the hospital. “let’s just calm down, don’t wanna do anything we’ll regret, aye?” he looked pointedly at nathan.
just that moment, simon walked in the door, peeling off his muddy boots before he looked over at the spectacle in the living room.
“what the hell is going on here?” he asked, immediately straightening up, his eyes narrowing. if nathan thought that he could maybe take on john, or johnny, he was sure he couldn’t take on simon, so he withered under simon’s unabashed glare.
“it was just a misunderstanding” johnny explained, which nathan nodded along vigorously to. seeming satisfied, simon just huffed and continued stripping off his muddied outerwear.
ghost, soap, and john all finished peeling the potatoes, though they made you swear you’d never go near a knife again. something that you agreed to readily, you needed a break from sharp things, for at least a little while.
you couldn’t imagine how things would have gone if you were by yourself when it happened. or even if nathan was there, he didn’t seem much help and he even ended up gripping your hand a bit too hard later, something that got another silencing glare from simon.
once john had finished the soup, he ladled it out into bowls and set them onto the delicately decorated table. you bit back another comment on him being an interior decorator, guessing he had been teased enough by johnny and simon.
“it looks delicious, thank you” you said, picking up your spoon.
“i wouldn’t thank me until you’ve tried it” he said, taking his place at the table.
“dinnae be putting yerself down cap’n, besides, not easy to mess up this soup.”
“well, soap, i’m sure price can do anything he puts his mind to” ghost said, his eyes crinkling with a smile, he had taken his mask off to eat, revealing a face that was ruggedly handsome, especially because it was covered in scars, a particularly large one slashed through his lips.
john just shook his head at them and started eating, you followed suit. it was delicious, almost worth stabbing your hand for, really.
nathan hardly touched the stuff, however, claiming that he wanted to stay in shape, and nothing so fattening as potatoes and cheese. he gave you a pointed look as you finished your bowl, making the food settle like a stone at the bottom of your stomach.
john stood up from the table suddenly, the chair scraping on the floor harshly, “alright, that’s enough of that. i’ve tolerated your comments and actions long enough but that’s the final fucking straw. you’re in my house now, and in my house we are kind and respectful to women,” john said, pointing an accusatory finger at nathan, whose face turned a bright shade of red.
“i don’t care if it’s your fucking house, that’s my fucking girl that you’ve been basically flirting with all day, and you know what? i’m done with it. i’m done with it all. i won’t take this disrespect anymore. get up, we’re leaving. i’ll call my dad to come pick us up,” nathan said, pulling up at your arm.
you stayed put, looking around the table, simon raised his eyebrows to you, as if silently asking for the signal to take care of him. you looked from nathan’s angry face to john’s stern expression back to simon and shook your head.
standing up, you turned to nathan, who looked mildly relieved that you had listened to him. “nathan, i have something to tell you.”
he rolled his eyes, exasperated, “can it wait?”
you forced down a scream, “no, it can’t.”
he sighed, “okay, spit it out then.”
“i’m breaking up with you.”
a/n: thank you so much for your support on the past two chapters!!! i’m sorry this took so long and was so rushed, i’ve just been so busy w exams and holidays and work and i just forced myself to sit down and finally write this part. so here it is!
side note: i honestly hc that john watches hgtv or some variation bc one time it was the only thing palatable on tv. he denies ever watching anything of the sort but best believe he can outdo martha stewart.
taglist:
@the-disaster-in-waiting
@night-girl-301
@darkangel4121
@valeissocute
@dneicjefx
@liidiaaag
@lilynotdilly
@sleep101
@yellow-cat
@snailss
@nellabear
@eternallyvenus
@bookishthoughtss
@lunerbitch
@horny-bish
@sunna-fangirls
@nexthyperfix
@princeofnonsense
@supernova2205
@beebeechaos
@appl3-0rchard
@shadowwolf8002
@mismatchsposts
@dragonbe-writing
#john price x reader#john price#captain price x reader#price x reader#captain price#john price x f!reader#cod x reader#price x f!reader#cod fics#cod fanfic#fluff#fluff?#soap mactavish#ghost simon riley
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Hellooooooooo
Ok first off I LOVE YOUR WORK THERE SO GOOD AND SO WELL WRITTEN THAT I WANNA EAT THEM TO GAIN POWER
Second I wanna submit a request if that’s ok
An x reader with Vi where the reader is touch repulsed but at the same time touch staved?? How would Vi react to that and how would they as a couple get through it and make reader comfortable with being touched in an affectionate way ?
I have no clue if this makes sense
This is me self reflecting and it shows I’m sorry
If you don’t want to write it I completely get it you don’t have to if you don’t want too.
Thank you
aah thank you so much, lovely!! YOU'RE TOO KIND!!! and this was such an interesting prompt to get, thank you for sending it!! hope you enjoy!
vi notices that you don't like being touched.
she sees how you shy away from her hands, how you can only last in a hug for a second before you need to escape.
it confuses vi in the beginning, makes her wonder if it's her fault somehow. maybe she's too rough, too heavy-handed. maybe you can only tolerate her from a distance; only allowing her to get close for a moment before it's too much.
it hurts; it fucking does.
and it leads to an argument that has both of you screaming at the top of your lungs. she's furious and confused, and you're furious and crying. it doesn’t end until you're storming out of your shared home, disappearing for hours.
you don't come home until it's midnight, and by that point, vi's called everyone that she knows if they've seen you. she's about to go out herself when the front door suddenly opens, revealing a puffy-eyed and sniffling you. you stare at each other for a moment before vi's reaching for you, her own expression crumpling with the weight of her tears.
you allow her to draw you in, only this time you don't pull away. this time, you withstand it until vi's had her fill. until vi's sure that you're alright and safe and home.
one am finds you both on the couch, facing each other as you fidget with your hands. vi watches you carefully, sees how you struggle to form words before you sigh.
"it isn't you," you begin. "it's never been you. it's just something i've struggled with since i was young." you stay quiet for a second. "being touched freaks me out. i don't like being held for too long because it feels like i can't escape. makes me feel vulnerable..." you close your eyes. "that happened once and i just don't want it to happen again."
vi's heart shatters in her chest, millions of pieces raining down on the pit of her stomach. she feels sick; she feels like she wants to throw up. she wants to punch something, scream, hunt down the very bastard who dared laid their hands on you in such a way.
you who is the sweetest, kindest person she's ever known. subjected to be trapped against your will.
vi swallows, feeling tears well up behind her eyes.
"i'm so sorry," she murmurs softly, and you aim a weak smile her way. "i didn't think that—"
you shake your head. "you couldn't have known," you say. "the sad thing is that i love it when you touch me. when you hold my hand or curl your arm around my waist. when you pull me in for a hug...i love all of it." you then pull in a shaky breath. "but my body can't seem to recognise your touch as safe, and it hurt so much because i want to—" your voice chokes up around a sob and vi's flying across the couch, sitting close to comfort but not close enough to startle.
"hey," she soothes. "i love you so much, y'know that? and love goes beyond touching. it's about how we feel towards each other, and that goes above anything else." she takes a gentle hold of your finger, ensuring you can let go if you wish to. "do i love touching you? yes. but do i love you? more than fucking anything. so don't worry about this, okay? whatever you want to do, we'll do it and go at your pace."
at this point, you're freely sobbing now, tears rolling down your cheeks as you take in shuddering breaths. you use your free hand to wipe at your tears, giving a wobbly smile as you say, "how did i get so lucky with you?"
vi huffs a laugh, eyes soft as she squeezes your finger.
"i ask myself that question about you every single day."
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❤︎ ࿐ divider creds : cafekitsune .
❤︎ ࿐ + — stanford!art, suggestive, neck kissing, not mentioned but patashi is cannon in this little drabble,
art donaldson is too much of a certified lover to ever hate fuck. When tensions are high what he does is love fuck.
He doesn’t use harsh language when he has you underneath him, all vulnerable with years filling your lash line. He’s looking back at you with a just as soft look while he hook one of your legs on his waist.
“i was a idiot baby.” his lips kissing on your neck and getting a obvious reaction from you with how you whimpered at the feeling of his lips on your neck, you were still upset just focused on how good his lips on your skin felt.
“really, i was. You should’ve heard how tashi absolutely chewed my ass out when i told her about our argument.”
that made a small giggle come from your mouth. You didn’t doubt his words, knowing tashi she probably had a word or two about what she heard from you.
“good, because you were so mean, really hurt my feelings, Art..” saying that with a soft tone and upturned eyebrows and pouted lips.
Art felt your words and wiped the tears that was close to sliding down your cheek. “i know, and i’m gonna make sure you never feel that way today. You deserve to be treated like a princess, better than how i treated you earlier today.”
he only momentarily removed your leg off his waist so he could slide your shorts and panties off and fling them onto his dorm floor. Once that was out of the way for him he had both your legs around his naked waist this time.
starting off with a kiss on your lips then the slow push of his dick inside you because that’s what a good boyfriend should do.
#art x reader#art donalson x reader#art donaldson#art x you#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x you#art donaldson x female reader#challengers x reader
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