#but this season has already been a gift
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I am obsessed with Tula. The last five minutes of tonight's episode just cemented for me that everything about her comes down to the fact she never got to mourn Geoffrey.
Even if she did bust a cap in him. Even if he did have it coming. She never was allowed to let him go.
She went from being annoyed and concerned about her husband's dangerous behavior regarding the Blue and monsters to becoming a single mother of two children and living entirely for them--
--just as her sister meets and marries a man who is a lot like Geoffrey.
It's so clear that Tula wants Thorn to be nothing like Geoffrey for Viola. Hearing that he completely supports Viola's ambitions has to just eat her up with jealousy and grief.
This family is so fucking good at saying things without saying them and Viola does not want to be trapped the way she thinks Tula is trapped.
And her mom is trying to get her to marry again? Every male stoat Ava points out to Tula is just another pale image of Geoffrey. Even Bennett. Especially Bennett.
Of course Tula fundamentally lies to her children. It's constant. Everything is so focused on making sure they are physically and emotionally safe.
So what's going to happen when Lila can finally see that the mother she trusts so much is hiding something fundamental? And will she forgive her?
#burrow's end#burrow's end spoilers#dimension 20#dimension 20 spoilers#this is how i meta#also I've been thinking this for three episodes now#the hardest thing about writing thoughts for ttrps#is knowing that everything can change so quickly#it's beautifully unpredictable#but this season has already been a gift#i am excite for every stoat#and god i have feels about sybil#i love her so much
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i love christmas yet i'm dreading it bc i can never stop spending soo much money i do not have on little gifts for my friends and family 🥲
#in march i bought a baby bear onesie for my friend who just had a baby but it was too big for him then it got too warm#so he didn't get to wear it before he outgrew it#THEN i bought him a new one in october in his new size but it was already super tight on him somehow when it arrived#so i just bought it again in the next two sizes 😭#this baby WILL get a whole season out of baby near onesie 😤#but i can't even wait for christmas to give her the new ones bc they'll probably both be too small by then for all i know#so it's not even a christmas present im gonna give them to her immediately when they arrive in three days#then i need to get her a separate christmas present#and that's just one of my friends#ugh#i want to mix up little hot chocolate mixes in mason jars for everyone but I'll have to customize each one#bc half my friends are allergic to dairy and each prefers a different non dairy milk substitute#idek which of those come in powdered form 🤨#anyway#maybe i can leave the dairy out all together and make them dark chocolate hot chocolate mixes and they can use whatever milk they want#idkkk#but i ordered jars and they were enormous so now i need to order new jars and cocoa powder is expensive actually#that's just my friends nevermind my family lol#and im only working like 2 days a week for $14/hr currently#so not super great#alas#i do love christmas but i NEED to curb my gifting enthusiasm this year bc i can not afford it lol#this has been a shitpost#i can't help it i love giving people presents 😭
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I am not immune to holiday alt Prof. Sycamore pokemas 😔🫵💖💖💖
/don't hmu on how my pulls are going I'm going through it rn SDKFSDKFSDNFS
#fluff speaks !!!#all I wanted was this silly french man in his snazzy new winter coat and bam 11k gems gone SDFSKJDFNSDJFSDNS#y'all help me manifest him to come home for christmas I might actually explode otherwise /lh /lh#he was so sillyyyyyyy in the new holiday event it was so cuteeeee#god he's no joke a core memory for me when it comes to pokemonSDKJFSNDFSN IT'S SO FUNNY LIKE#quick storytime I got gifted Pokemon X back when it first came out (along with a special XY 3DSXL which is one of my fave possessions hehe)#and when I first saw this dude pop up on the intro screen I honestly didn't think much of it - I was like yeah sure another prof but french#BUT THEN fast forward a bit and I'm browsing between channels WHEN I SPOT HIM in the XY anipoke at the time playing on cartoon network#(not XYZ this was before that skdjfnsdfs and it was already english dubbed hence it being on ctn)#and I was like oh wait yeah I know this guy I recognize him#AND IT WAS - AN EPISODE FOCUSING ON HIM A LOT? I DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE BUT IT WAS EARLY IN THE SEASON I THINK#but oh my god I got such a huge crush on him specifically because of that anime appearanceSDKJFHSDHFSNDFS#NOT EVEN BECAUSE OF THE ACTUAL GAME BECAUSE BACK THEN I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY POKEMON (REAL)#but yeah that was just something silly to share#pokemas bringing me back to those years fr#I still think it's really funny how pokemon has always been sprinkled throughout my life but it's only now that I really get into it skjdfs#pokemon#pokemon masters#pokemon masters ex#pmex#professor sycamore#sycamore pokemon#pokemon xy#augustine sycamore#doodle
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how dare stores not sell the exact kind of products I'm looking for
#soooo as i have little to do these days i've started organising various places in my apartment#started with the bathroom cabinets. then the wardrobe#for the past days i've been organising this in-built closet in my bedroom#which i've used to store off-season clothes but also just all sorts of crap (lots of it is different kinds of papers)#however i've been wanting to make it just a closet for off-season clothes (and suitcases etc.)#because i fear all the paper i've been keeping there have been making the air in the closet sort of...musty ugh#but as i've taken out all the random crap and left just the off-season clothes i realise most of the stuff i've been keeping there...#...was all the random crap 🙃 which i have no place to put now 🙃#i mean i have one large cupboard in the kitchen above the fridge that's mostly empty but like that's not very convenient is it lol#some of this stuff i want to keep at hand so i managed to cram something into the tv stand drawers in the living room#but there's still soooooo much stuff that would require a whole another fucking closet#which i don't have!! and while i do have the space for one i want to keep my apartment kinda spacey#so i thought of buying a bench to put in the bedroom and store something in nice-looking boxes under it#and i could put idk a casual throw on the bench to hide the boxes under it and to make it look like a bit more ✨interior design✨ u know lol#but i just absolutely can't find a bench that's 1) the right colour & style 2) has one shelf underneath so the boxes won't be on the floor#i've been so close to having a sexy little meltdown about all this numerous times btw but i've been brave!! believe it or not#sooooooo i don't know what to doooooooooooo i have too much crap with no place to put them in#(and mind you I already got rid of SO MUCH crap)#also does anyone have any tips on where to store rolls of gift wrapping paper 🥱 length 70 cm#the only places out of sight where they fit are this off-season closet and the wardrobe but i don't!! want to!! put them there!!#but i also absolutely do want them out of sight as i use them about 1-3 times a year#i hate owning stuff so much ugh
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If Arsenal cannot win PL this season, they all should retire. Yes, the entire club should retire.
#premier league#almost all other teams are not at their peak level or have well made squad#they already gifted the title to man city#2 years in a row#do I like arsenal? no. but in these conditions and when we consider it has been truly ages since they won it#they can win this season. it’s up to them. no one and nothing else.
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in 1.5h it will be christmas day but i am. Im. There is dread
#theres. idk how to say it i just. i didnt have the money for gifts really and one hasnt arrived#and i feel like im failing christmas but thats not.#the dread is. theres.#i have been feeling an intense loneliness as of late that i think is just a product of living w 3 people who#are all in a relationship w each other so they all talk all the time and hang all the time and#just never really talk or hang w me anymore the way we used to#and theres a. i could barely afford anything for them and one of them i was told not to get anything for#and now its. im.#theres a pretty big pile of presents under the tree and it looks festive and cute but its. theres.#its a little discouraging to see a Large Pile and not a single one having my name on it#and its bc one of them has told me already that the package they ordered for me was delayed#its just. idk the season is only adding more to the way I've been feeling for a Whilr#but i dont have. theres not really#i dont have any other friends. and i know the family time tomorrow will be. not very good for me#and its just very. im dreading it.#and then next week theres a day where my flatmates having her birthday party and ive got work the next day#so i have to wake up at 4am so i just know its gonna suck#bc the partys probably still gonna be going kinda hard long past when i need to go to bed#i am just. i have not been feeling good lately and i am trying to dive into tumblr and my hyperfixations#in an attempt to compensate but its. its not really working#i wish the store was open tomorrow so i could just work and not have to deal w the holiday lmao#negative cw
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SANTA BABY ━━ wnba!paige bueckers x reader
𝜗𝜚 ━ summary: during your christmas trip to NYC, you have a surprise waiting for paige back at the hotel.
𝜗𝜚 ━ word count: 4.9K
𝜗𝜚 ━ warnings: sexual content (munch p, scissoring)
𝜗𝜚 ━ links: my masterlist
𝜗𝜚 ━ author’s note: my christmas eve gift to y’all …. it was almost taken away tho because of that usc game ask the gc man i was crashing out
THE CITY is buzzing even at this hour, cold wind cutting through the streets as Paige makes her way back to the hotel. She tugs her coat tighter around herself, her hands jammed into her pockets to ward off the sting of the December chill. New York City is magical this time of year, but it’s also freezing, and she can’t wait to get back to the suite, where it’s warm—and more importantly, where you are.
This trip has been a mix of business and pleasure. She had a couple of sponsorship obligations to knock out and a media appearance scheduled for tomorrow, but mostly, it’s just an excuse to spend a few uninterrupted days with you. Both of your schedules have been so hectic lately—hers with the grind of off-season and the stress of Unrivaled about to start, and yours with work—and carving out this time feels like a luxury. It’s the last weekend before Christmas, and since you’re both gonna be spending the holiday with your families together, this is your time to celebrate just the two of you.
Paige hurries into the hotel, rubbing her hands together as she steps into the elevator. She flexes her fingers, still stiff from gripping a basketball for hours during her workout with Stewie and Sabrina. She promised you that she wouldn’t let it run late, and, as she glances at her phone to see the time, she’s satisfied that she fulfilled it.
Her sneakers hit the polished floor with soft thuds as she unlocks the door to the suite. The space is lavish, the kind of indulgence she spent because one, it’s the holidays, and two, she wanted this weekend to be perfect for the two of you. The warmth of the suite embraces her immediately, the city’s chill feeling miles away here. She shrugs off her coat, tossing it over the couch, and kicks off her sneakers.
“Baby, I’m back!” she calls, her voice echoing faintly in the spacious suite. When she came in, she assumed that you’d be in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket and whatever Netflix show you’ve been binge-watching. But the living room is empty, the TV off.
Her brows furrow as she looks around, scanning for signs of you. “You in the bedroom?” she calls out, though there’s still no answer. Her pulse picks up, not in worry, but in curiosity. She hums, wondering where you’re hiding.
The hallway feels quiet as she moves down it, pushing open the door to the bedroom. The sight that greets her makes her stop dead in her tracks, feet planted in the doorway.
The lights are dim, the warm glow casting a soft, golden hue across the room. A bottle of wine sits on the nightstand, one glass already poured and in your hand. But it’s you that holds her attention, that makes her brain short-circuit entirely.
You’re sprawled out on the bed, leaning back against the pillows with a smirk that could stop traffic. And you’re wearing—Paige feels her throat go dry—this tiny, ridiculously sexy Christmas lingerie set. The red satin clings to you in all the right places, barely covering what it’s meant to, and the white fur trim is so playful, so sinful, she doesn’t know whether to laugh or groan. The ribbon on the front of your bra is tied in a neat little bow, teasingly undone just enough to look like you’d barely bothered. The matching panties sit high on your hips, connected to sheer thigh-high stockings by the tiniest garters she’s ever seen.
She doesn’t even realize she’s standing completely still until you grin at her, your voice playful and sweet as you say, “Hi, baby.”
Paige blinks, her brain struggling to catch up as she stares at you. Her heart is pounding, adrenaline giving way to something much more visceral. The way you’re looking at her, the way the light catches the curve of your body—it’s like she’s seeing you for the first time all over again. She lets out a low, shaky breath, her hand running through her hair as her eyes continue to rove over your figure. Her stomach constricts, her whole body coiled so tight she’s not sure if she wants to drop to her knees or throw herself at you. Maybe both.
“Fuck, ma,” she finally manages, her voice low and husky as she steps forward. Her hands flex instinctively, wanting to touch you, needing to touch you. “You tryna kill me?”
You giggle, the sound light and sweet, but the glint in your eyes is anything but innocent. “No,” you say, tilting your head slightly as you take a slow sip from your wine glass. Your smirk widens, and Paige swears her knees almost buckle.
She exhales sharply, inching closer to the bed. “You look…” Her voice trails off, her gaze roaming over you like she’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. “Jesus, baby, you look insane.”
You’re still grinning as she reaches the edge of the bed, her hands resting on the mattress as she leans down slightly, bringing her face level with yours. Her pulse races, her body buzzing with anticipation as her eyes lock with yours. “You did this for me?” she asks softly, though she already knows the answer.
“Who else?” you ask, grinning, your voice a teasing lilt that makes Paige’s chest tighten. You set your wine glass down on the nightstand, your eyes never leaving hers.
Paige is already leaning forward, her hands sliding to your thighs, the warmth of your skin and the delicate fabric of your lingerie making her head spin. “You’re gon’ be the death of me,” she murmurs, shaking her head a little as her lips brush against yours lightly, hands tightening on your legs. And God, if this is how she goes, she’ll thank you for it.
Her lips finally lock onto yours, slow at first, like she’s savoring the moment. The kiss is soft, tender, but there’s an edge to it—like she’s holding herself back, barely. Her hands tighten on your thighs, sliding higher, the heat of your skin burning through the thin satin, and she swears she feels you shiver beneath her touch.
You kiss her back, your arms looping around her neck to pull her closer, and that’s all the invitation Paige needs. She shifts, climbing onto the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress as she presses herself against you. The warmth of your body sends a rush of heat through her, and she deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours as she loses herself in the taste of you.
“You’re fuckin’ unreal,” she murmurs against your mouth, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with meaning. Her lips leave yours only to trail down your jaw, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.
Her hands roam as her mouth works. One slides up to cup the back of your neck, her thumb brushing over your jaw to tilt your head just the way she likes. The other settles firmly on your hip, her grip strong enough to keep you exactly where she wants you, though her fingers twitch like she’s desperate to touch you everywhere at once.
The scent of you—the faint lotion you always wear, mixed with the wine you’ve been drinking—fills her senses, and Paige feels drunk on it, drunk on you. Her lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and when she hears the soft, breathy sound you make in response, it sends a jolt of electricity straight through her.
“Damn,” she mutters, her teeth grazing your skin lightly before she soothes the spot with her tongue.
Your hands tug at the hem of her long-sleeve shirt, and she sits back just enough to let you pull it over her head. You toss it somewhere behind her, leaving her in her sports bra. Her abs flex slightly in the cool air, but the way your eyes roam over her makes her feel anything but cold. She watches you, her chest heaving, her pupils blown wide as you reach out to touch her, your hands sliding over her shoulders and down her torso, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
And then she’s diving back in, her kisses lower now, lips finding the delicate line of your collarbone, pressing open-mouthed kisses there like she’s starving for you—which, she is. Her tongue darts out to taste your skin, her teeth scraping against you enough to leave you shivering. She feels your fingers tangle in her hair, undoing her ponytail as you pull her closer. Her breath quickens slightly, chest heaving with just how much she wants you.
Her fingers find the ribbon on your bra, tugging at it gently as her lips brush over the swell of your cleavage. “This,” she mutters, her voice muffled against your skin, “is fucking killin’ me.” She pulls back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing over the satin. “You tied it so pretty for me, huh? Knowing I’d lose my damn mind?”
You laugh softly, breathily, fingers tangling further in her hair. “Maybe.”
“Slut,” Paige mutters, grinning as she tugs the bow loose with one sharp pull, letting the fabric fall open, your perky tits popping out of it. Her breath catches as she sees you fully now, blue eyes darkening with something heavy, something primal.
“Goddamn, mama,” she breathes, her hands sliding along your sides, thumbs brushing over your ribs. She leans down again, her lips brushing against the curve of your breast. “You’re so beautiful, so sexy, so perfect, baby. It ain’t even fair.”
And then her mouth closes around your nipple, her tongue swirling over the sensitive skin as she sucks gently, and the sound you make in response sends a jolt straight through her. She groans softly, her free hand sliding up to cup your other breast. She alternates between kisses and soft bites, her lips tugging gently at your nipple before soothing the spot with her tongue. Her breath is hot against your skin, and she presses closer, hips grinding against yours just a little as her mouth moves.
“Such perfect tits,” she murmurs against your cleavage, her teeth grazing you again as she switches to your other breast.
She licks a slow, careful path across your skin, savoring every inch of you as she begins to lower once more. Her mouth leaves a wet trail down your stomach, her tongue occasionally flicking out to taste the faint salt on your skin. Her hands slide down from your chest, settling on your waist. She grips the skin hard, pinching slightly. Her lips brush over the curve of your belly, then down to the soft plane just above your hips, like she’s mapping every part of you with her tongue.
She pauses for a moment, just long enough to lift her head and admire the way the red lace hugs your skin. The fabric is delicate, so inviting, it’s like it was made to drive her insane. The sheer material leaves almost nothing to her imagination, and the sight of it—of you and your perfect pussy—sends a rush of wetness to her own core.
She just shakes her head a little, as if in disbelief, before lowering again, her lips grazing the edge of the lace as her fingers grip your hips tighter. She can feel the heat radiating from you, the way your body tenses slightly beneath her, the way you say her name, and it makes her head spin.
Her tongue flicks out, tracing the edge of the fabric, teasing. She presses a kiss just below your navel, then another, breath warm. “You got any idea what you’re doin’ to me, baby?” she asks slowly.
You don’t even get the opportunity to answer before her teeth catch the edge of your panties lightly, tugging just enough to make you gasp. And then she lets it snap back into place with a soft, playful grin. She glances up at you, eyes dark and blazing, blonde hair falling into her face as she leans closer again. The way you look back at her—pupils wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed—spurs her on.
Her lips hover just above the lace, and she kisses you there, slow and careful, her mouth pressing over the thin barrier like she can’t stand not to be closer. “So pretty,” she murmurs against you, her fingers brushing over the lace now, testing the material as her tongue flicks out once more, tasting you even through the fabric.
Her big hands slide from your waist to your thighs, spreading them just enough to give her room to work. Her teeth catch the edge of the waistband, tugging gently, and she groans low in her throat as the fabric gives way slightly under her pull.
“Fuck,” Paige mutters, and it’s muffled as she grips the lace between her teeth. She pauses just long enough for you to whimper, “Paige,” before she tugs again, this time pulling the panties down your hips with deliberate slowness.
She moves inch by inch, her teeth grading the lace lower, and she’s completely transfixed. The garters make her work for it, the straps pulling taut against the tension, but she doesn’t mind—if anything, it drives her wilder. Her lips slide along your skin as she works, kissing the sensitive spots where the panties leave a faint imprint.
As she reaches your thighs, Paige shifts, letting the fabric slide past her lips and catching it with her fingers instead. She tugs it the rest of the way down with her teeth again, dragging it along the curve of your legs, her mouth brushing your inner thighs as she goes.
When the panties finally slip off completely, Paige lets them drop from her teeth to the floor, her breath shallow as she grips your thighs, holding them apart. Her eyes rake over every inch of you—the way your face has gone bright pink in a flush, the way your tits peek from the opened lingerie top, the way your cunt is absolutely glistening for her.
She licks her lips slowly, the corner of her mouth curving into a smirk as her gaze flicks back up to your face. “Shit, mama,” she says lowly. “Look at you. Fuckin’ dripping for me.”
Paige doesn’t waste any more time. She slides down on her elbows, lowering herself between your legs, her mouth attaching to your clit with an intensity that makes you cry out. She sucks and licks with fervor, her tongue working you over with a skill that leaves both of your lungs aching, Paige’s face buried so deep in your folds she has to fight for air. The sensation is overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and desperation that has you writhing beneath her, hips bucking.
“Babe… mmm, shit,” you whimper, voice trembling as you reach down to grasp at the sheets, knuckles white with the effort to hold on. You can barely keep your eyes open, pleasure so intense it’s nearly blinding. “Please, fuck, don’t stop.”
Paige has no intentions of stopping. She moans softly against your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you in place firmly as she devours you like a woman starved. Her tongue moves expertly, flicking and swirling across your clit before laying it flat, shaking her head from side to side messily, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
“Fuck, ma, you taste so good,” Paige groans, pulling away just long enough to let a glob of her spit land on your cunt. She leans back in, lapping it up, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Could eat you out all night, baby…”
Your back arches off the bed at Paige’s words, causing the lingerie top to slide down your shoulders a little more. Your hips buck involuntarily as you chase the pleasure Paige gives you, one of your hands coming up to knead your own tit, mouth dropping open at the way Paige’s tongue slides along your wetness effortlessly. You’re desperate, every nerve ending in your body tingling with need. “Paige, baby, ‘M so close,” you choke out.
Paige only intensifies her efforts, her tongue flicking against your clit faster, her mouth working you over with an urgency that has you teetering on the edge. She’s relentless, giving you exactly what you need, pushing you closer and closer until you’re trembling, your thighs quivering around her head.
Just when you think you can’t take anymore, Paige pulls back slightly, her mouth leaving your clit. You let out a desperate whine at the loss, body screaming for more, but Paige is already moving. She slides two fingers inside you without warning, thrusting them in deep, hard, and fast. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, hands flying to Paige’s shoulders as you cling to her, body trembling with the force of Paige’s thrusts.
“Mmm, mama,” the blonde breathes out lowly as she pumps her fingers into your cunt with a brutal pace, the slick sound of her digits moving in and out echoing in the otherwise quiet hotel room. “So fucking tight, so wet for me. Shit, baby.”
She glances up, gaze on you as your head falls back against the pillows, your eyes squeezing shut as you let out a strangled moan, hips moving to meet Paige’s thrusts. She feels a rush of wetness flood her own boxers and picks up the pace even more, the pleasure becoming overwhelming for you, a white-hot fire that consumes you from the inside you. “Paige, oh my God… holy shit…”
Paige leans in close, biting lightly at your inner thigh as she whispers, “Think you can take three, baby?”
She watches as your eyes fly open at the question, brows furrowing as you nod frantically. “Yes. Yeah, do it,” you force out breathlessly. “Please, P.”
Paige smirks at your reaction, but doesn’t need to be told twice. She pulls her fingers out briefly, adding a third finger before thrusting back inside, her movements deliberate and rough, stretching you out. Your hips buck up to meet Paige hand, chasing the pleasure. Paige scissors her fingers inside you, making you choke a little on your own whimper, nails digging into her skin, gripping the strap of her sports bra.
“Such a—God, you’re such a fuckin’ slut,” Paige groans, eyes locked onto your face, watching every single expression of pleasure that crosses your features. “Wearing that lingerie, knowing I’d lose my goddamn mind. Shit.”
Your entire body is one fire, senses overwhelmed by the combination of the relentless pace of Paige’s thrusts and the dirtiness that coats her words. You can feel every inch of Paige’s fingers inside you, can feel the way they stretch you, the way they hit that perfect spongy spot deep inside that makes you see stars. “Baby, you’re gonna make me cum. God, I’m—” You cut yourself off with a loud moan.
Paige leans forward, her mouth finding your clit again, tongue swirling slick circles over the sensitive nub as she continues to thrust her long fingers in and out, faster and harder, pushing you to the brink. “Shit, ma, do it,” she urges roughly, humming against you as she laps at your pussy. “Cum for me. Cum all fucking over me, mama.”
That’s all you need to hear. With a strangled cry, your entire body tenses, back arching off the bed as you come hard, walls clenching around Paige’s fingers, gushing against her face. The pleasure is blinding, overwhelming, and you can’t do anything but ride it out, body trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.
Paige keeps thrusting her fingers, lapping at your wetness lazily, riding out your orgasm with you. She prolongs the pleasure until you’re nothing but a quivering, panting mess beneath her. When your body finally goes limp, Paige slowly withdraws her fingers, leaning down to press a kiss to your trembling thighs.
And then she starts crawling back up your body, her lips trailing over the lingering marks she’d left along her descent. Your eyes meet, a shared intensity overtaking the laziness you were just feeling, Paige’s lips finding you’re once more in a searing, desperate kiss. It’s messy and heated, tongues tangling, hands grasping and pulling at each other. You can taste yourself on Paige’s lips and it only makes you kiss her harder.
You let Paige flip your positions with her strength, your thighs now straddling Paige’s waist. She groans a little against your mouth as her hands find your bare ass, fingers digging into the skin and kneading it, your bodies pressing together.
“Ma,” Paige breathes out when you pull away slightly, sliding her sports bra up and over her head. Her hands reach down for her sweatpants and you help her yank them—and her boxers beneath—down in one swift motion. Paige’s hips lift off the bed, and the two of you finally rid of the barrier. You toss the clothing aside without a second thought.
Paige’s lips curl into a smirk as her eyes lock with yours again, pulling you closer with her hands on your ass, bodies flush against each other. “C’mon,” she murmurs thickly.
Your breath hitches at the feel of Paige’s hands on your hips, guiding you to align your cunts together. The sensation is sinful, and you can’t suppress the moan that escapes your lips as you feel the heat and slickness of Paige’s wetness against your own.
“That’s it, mama,” the blonde encourages, sending a shiver down your spine. “Ride me, grind on me. Lemme feel you.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You start moving your hips in slow, careful circles, your slick pussy sliding against Paige’s with every movement. The sensation is overwhelming, and your head falls back as you let yourself get lost in the pleasure, hands gripping Paige’s shoulders for support.
Paige’s eyes are glued to you, tracking every move, every expression. She’s mesmerized by the way your face contorts with pleasure, your mouth falling open slightly as your hips move with increasing urgency. Paige’s hands tighten on your hips, helping to guide your movements, pushing you down harder against her own aching cunt.
“Shit,” Paige groans, blue eyes flitting between your flushed face, the way your tits bounce slightly with every thrust of your hips, and where your pussy grinds against hers. “You look so fuckin’ hot riding me like this.”
You whimper at Paige’s words, pace quickening as the heat between you builds to an almost unbearable level. The friction of your clits rubbing together is enough to make you lose control, unable to hold back the desperate sounds that escape your lips.
“You like that, baby?” Paige rasps, voice dripping with lust as she watches you lose yourself in the pleasure. “You like grinding that pretty pussy against me, yeah?”
Your only response is a choked moan, body trembling as you lean forward, hands sliding up to grip the headboard for support. The new angle allows you to press down even harder against Paige, and it sends shockwaves through both of your bodies.
Paige’s eyes roll back in her head at the increased pressure, her own hips bucking up to meet the roll of yours. She’s completely entranced by the sight of you riding her, chest heaving as she helps you, gripping your ass and pulling you quicker against her.
“Feels so fucking good,” she groans roughly.
You whimper at her words, body moving faster, more desperate, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. You’re both so close, bodies trembling with the effort to keep going, to chase the high that you both desperately need.
“Paige,” you gasp, breathless and needy. “I’m almost there.”
Paige’s grip on your ass tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as she urges you on. “That’s it,” she encourages, your folds so slick against hers. “Cum for me again. Need it right fuckin’ now.”
You cry out, your entire body tensing as you reach your peak, hips grinding down hard against Paige as you finish with a shuddering moan. The pleasure washes over you in waves, leaving you trembling and breathless as you ride out your orgasm.
Paige isn’t far behind, the sight of you coming undone above her enough to push her over the edge. Her own orgasm hits her hard, her hips jerking up as she lets out a low, guttural moan, her fingers digging into your ass and hips as she rides it out.
You collapse onto her, your body melting into hers, every muscle in you soft and spent. Her skin is warm beneath yours, slick with the same thin sheen of sweat that glistens on your back. Paige’s chest rises and falls erratically under your cheek, her breath heavy and labored, matching your own. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat pounds faintly against your ear, grounding you.
Her arms come around you almost instinctively, wrapping you in a hold that’s firm yet gentle, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other lazily circling between your shoulder blades. Her fingers drag lightly over your skin, soothing and possessive at once, as though she’s trying to memorize every inch of you. She shifts slightly beneath you, her body fitting against yours with an intimacy that feels effortless, as though this is where you’re meant to be.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside and the soft, uneven breaths you’re both still trying to catch. Paige’s head tilts back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut as she lets the tension drain from her body, your weight on top of her a comfort she never realized she needed so much.
And then, with a low, raspy chuckle that vibrates through her chest, Paige breaks the silence. “Damn.”
The single word, said with so much raw awe and disbelief, makes you laugh. The sound is quiet, breathy, but it shakes through you, your shoulders trembling lightly against her. Paige feels the warmth of your laugh against her neck, and a lazy smile spreads across her face, her lips curving up in a way that makes her look soft, completely undone.
Her hand moves from your back, trailing slowly upward, the tips of her fingers grazing your spine before they find your jaw. She cradles it gently, guiding your face upward so your eyes meet hers. There’s something so special in the way she looks at you—like you’re the only thing that exists in her world right now. Her thumb brushes over your cheek, and then she’s leaning in, her lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and lingering, deep and unhurried.
She hums softly into it, the sound vibrating against your mouth, and when she pulls back just enough to speak, her voice is low and rough. “Did so perfect for me,” she murmurs, her eyes scanning your face as if committing it to memory.
Your lips curve into a small, sleepy smile, and you let your head rest against her shoulder once more. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure.
Paige’s arms tighten around you in response, her fingers brushing lightly over the curve of your shoulder. She doesn’t say it back immediately, but the way she holds you—the way her lips press a gentle kiss to your temple—says it louder than words ever could.
The two of you stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the moment settling around you like a warm, comforting blanket. Paige’s breathing steadies, her chest rising and falling beneath you in a rhythm that feels calming, almost hypnotic. When she finally moves, it’s only to reach for the nightstand, her fingers curling around the bottle of wine that’s been sitting there, untouched until now.
She pours herself a glass first, then grabs yours, her hand steady as she offers it. “Here,” she says softly, her voice still husky.
You take the glass from her with a small smile, your fingers brushing hers, and Paige feels that familiar spark, that electric current that always seems to buzz between you. She watches you as you take a sip, the way your lips curl around the rim of the glass, the way your eyes meet hers over the edge of it.
After a few minutes, Paige sets her empty glass aside and leans over the edge of the bed, her hand brushing against the discarded lingerie top. She picks it up, holding it up in the dim light, letting it dangle from her fingers as she turns back to you with a lazy grin. “This,” she says, her tone playful but still thick with awe, “was crazy.”
You smile at her, wide and teasing, your head tilting slightly as you reply, “You loved it.”
Paige laughs softly, shaking her head as she leans down to kiss you again, her lips lingering against yours as she murmurs, “Course I did.” Her voice is warm, sincere, and when she pulls back, the grin on her face is so full of love it makes your chest tighten.
The two of you settle back into the bed, the wine forgotten on the nightstand as Paige tucks you against her side, her arm draped over your waist. The city hums softly in the background, but all Paige can hear is the quiet sound of your breathing, the steady rhythm of your heart against hers. And in this moment, with you curled against her, Paige thinks there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.
#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#paige bueckers fic#uconn huskies#wcbb#uconn#wbb#paige bueckers x oc#paige bueckers fluff#paige bueckers smut#paige bueckers x reader#wcbb x reader#wnba#wlw#wlw smut#lgbtq#christmas fic
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SPOILED BRAT 🫧🥂
SUGARDADDY!CONNIE! X SPOILED!BLACKFEM!READER
SUMMARY!!! connie tells yn no
WARNINGS!!! overstimulation, oral (f receiving), daddy kink, implied ‘age gap’, mentions of drug dealing, sex 18+!!
you’d been together with connie for a 6 years at this point. the two do you did everything together. he always made sure you were straight no matter what.
you’re his woman. his pride and joy. his headache.
just today: he’d taken you to brunch to help recover for your god awful hangover acquired by spending the night before taking shots of don julio with your friends. he took you to the hair store, buying you new bundles for the season change, then payed for the install. taking you to lunch after your hair was done. deciding you were getting tired of walking, you requested one last lap around the mall, which ultimately ended with connie wanting to see your nails a different color and a new set of lashes.
you’ve been gifted birkins, 24 karat bracelets, trips out of country just because, and even receiving a maybach for getting through your first year of college. everything you ever wanted, he made sure you got. no if, ands, or buts.
bouncing on the tippy toes of your pretty pink chanel slippers. the fresh white pedicure compliments the white lettering on your shoes. your eyes glaze over the stores extensive amount of new products. you wonder in awe as connie walked behind you, carrying your bags while his face is buried in his phone.
“oo! they have the two piece i’ve been wanting!” only hearing the paddling of your shoes, connie barely has time to look up before you and a PINK store associate were talking about the newly released thong set.
“you want it?” he asks simply, hand caressing the small of your exposed back.
“no i already have too much!” you shake your head, your fresh set of lashes batting against your face as you eyed the clothing. connie’s hand flags down the worker from earlier.
“can we get all if the color for this set, medium.” he places a few hundreds in the woman’s hands before she scurries off to fulfill the purchase.
“thank you, baby.” you giggle , giving him a small kiss on the cheek. the strawberry scented lipgloss leaves a transparent pink path on his face. which stays there. before you could bring up the fact that you were eyeing one more thing in the store, connie’s ringtone went off. he peers down before gazing back at you. placing a quick kiss to your lips, he slides away.
“give me one second, baby.”
he basically stormed out of the store, face twisted up.
from your view through the glass it looked like someone fucked something up. connie’s tattooed had runs across his head, sighing into the phone before shaking his head a final time, hanging up.
once he returned, the worker rushes a few bags over and the left over money from the exchange.
“keep it. ♡︎, let’s go.” he takes the bags carefully before heading for the exit. his tone was firm but still gentle enough that you didn’t feel offended.
-
finally back home, washing every piece of clothing you got today, you noticed your fiance was a little quieter than usual.
changing into something a little more comfortable, you walk out into the large penthouse living room.
“what’s wrong?” you quiz. his head shoots up from its resting position on his hand to shake his head.
“nothing princess. just some stuff i have to go handle in a few, you good?” he asked concerned.
“yeah you’ve just been like.. preoccupied away from me all day today! i just want some attention. can i come with?” the long red fur lined robe moved swiftly against your exposed brown skin as you did your little begging dance.
“whatchu’ mean i’ve been ignoring you? and not this time, princess. it’s something real important and i can’t risk some shit happening to you. we not finna do this.”
your motion stops as you stare a little dumbfounded. no? no?? jokingly sticking your acrylic inside your ear, wiggling it, pulling your finger back out to check. he got used to the dramatics years ago.
“what do you mean not this time, connie?” you only used his government when you were mad at him.
connie leans back in the leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he watches you from across the room. he’s always been the one to say yes, to pull strings, to make things happen. you’ve always reveled in that—his power, his ability to hand you everything you could ever want, no questions asked. but this time, the look on his face is different.
“not. this. time.♡︎.” he says, his tone firm, his jaw tight.
“you’re joking?” you say, voice sharp, tinged with indignation. a small flabbergasted smile making its way into your face slowly.
he shakes his head, slow and deliberate.
“i’m serious, ♡︎. i can’t do this. not this time.”
for a moment, you’re stunned, the words hanging in the air between you like a challenge. then, like a flame catching kindling, the fury ignites.
“can’t ?” you spit, laughing abruptly, your voice rising. “or won’t?”
he doesn’t flinch. that only makes it worse.
“you’ll do everything else-” you continue, pacing now, your anger spilling out unchecked.
“-you’ll risk everything for everyone else, but the one time i ask for something that matters to me, suddenly it’s a problem?”
“♡︎, it’s not like that.” his voice is calm, measured, and it infuriates you more.
“then what is it like, connie? hm? you basically ignore me all day and now you wanna leave me here?” you shout, spinning to face him.
“because to me, it looks like you’re picking and choosing when i matter.”
he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. you know he hates this side of you, the part that lashes out when things don’t go your way, but right now, you don’t care.
“im saying no because it’s not safe. you don’t see the bigger picture.” he says, his voice hardening slightly.
“don’t give me that fucking bullshit!” you scoff, crossing your arms.
“you think i don’t know what you’re wrapped up in? you think i don’t know how you make all this happen?” you gesture around, the designer bags, the jewelry, the life he’s built for you.
his silence speaks volumes, and it only fuels your rage.
“yn. im being polite with you. please don’t start this shit. and watch your fucking mouth, mama. im being calm.” his eyes growing more irritated and narrow. laughing in his face, you turn on your heels, walking back to the bedroom. disappearing down the lengthy hallway. you could hear the slow pads of connie’s feet following after you.
“fine! fuck you! didn’t wanna fucking go anyways.” you huff under your breath, slamming the tall room door behind you.
the man immediately flings the door back open, pointing to the bed.
“sit down. im not fucking asking you.” his jaw clenched tight.
finding yourself crawling onto the white king sized bed, sitting on your knees. the lacey black lingerie set underneath the red fur peeking through.
“what in the hell is wrong with you today, princess?” his voice is growing agitated and upset.
avoiding his gaze, you can only play with the hem of your clothing, ignoring him fully.
“yea we not about to do this shit.”
before you had a chance to react, he was on the bed, pushing your body backwards, and hovering above you.
“why you actin like this, baby, hm?” you couldn’t help but to melt looking at his eyes. everything about how close he is to you is just turning you on. ignoring him again, he’s starting to get fed up.
“im gonna ask you one more time and after, i don’t wanna hear about it.” his right hand held both your hands in front of you and his left was on the outside of your thigh. you could feel his warmth.
“just want attention, daddy.” you mumble, face whipping to the side. his hand shoots up to fix your chin back his direction.
“uhn uhn, speak up.” gently shaking your head side to side, he’s looking at you gently still.
“i want attention. why are you being such a fucking bitch con?”
immediately regretting your choice of words, the man rears up off your body, fixing his shirt and pants. you rush to sit upright, closing the robe, watching as the man put his shoes on.
“baby, you know i didn’t me-“ you start. he just laughs, walking through the open door. chasing behind him, anxiety creeping up your neck.
“baby, im sorry.” your voice barely above a whisper, watching as he grabs his cars keys, then he’s out the door.
-
“just calm down, im sure he’s fine.” mikasa chats on the other end of the phone call. you’re using your other phone to repeatedly dial connie’s number, all chances failing.
“what if he’s not though? he wont even answer!” the salivas getting caught in your throat to think he’s upset with you but who else to blame?
“drink a glass of wine and relax! i just talked to him, he’s fine.” you hear onyankopon on the other side of the line.
“what? how? what did he say?” you couldn’t help but to shove all the questions down his throat.
“chill chill. he’s fine, he said he’s heading back home now. go relax, ♡︎.” the man said on the other end of the line.
“okay thank you, i’ll see you guys later.” the phone beeps off.
making your way to the kitchen, you grab a wine glass. hand skimming over the wall collection you and connie built over the years, you pull out a red wine from italy you got last summer. pouring a generous amount, you decide to just bring the bottle to the living room. waiting for the man to walk through your doors.
cuddled underneath a large white blanket, halfway through a movie, you make it more than halfway through the bottle, unfortunately still slightly sober from anxiety.
until the sound of keys being turned broke you from staring off into space.
he slides in, immediately kicking his shoes off and placing them on the rack. he removes his jacket, hand wiping off some lint from the inside off his shirt. your body jerks into a standing position, blanket laying at your feet.
“baby-“ you start.
“room. now.” he doesn’t even look up at you, he just begins to walk down the hallway. shuffling confused and worried behind him, he turns on a single lamp on his side of the bed.
“lay down.”
crossing your arms, standing firmly.
“not until you tell me where you went and why i couldn’t go!” your lips pull into a line and your eyebrows furrowed.
“lay the hell down. if i have to say it again i swear to god you’ll hate me afterwards.”
still standing firm, you’re unmoved and unwilling. fed up, he walks over to you, his height towers you, throwing you over his shoulder. he tosses you onto the bed, yanking off your robe in the process.
“you want attention? strip.” he begins “and if i have to repeat myself this time, ♡︎, you won’t leave this bed tomorrow.” his jaw gripped tight, words spoken through gritted teeth, he was 100% serious.
without hesitation, you pull the set off with ease. he smiles before digging in his nightstand. pulling out two pairs of fuzzy pink handcuffs and your sleep mask. plopping everything down beside you, you feel his strong hands pick up up from under your arms, pressing your back against the cold bedframe. he reaches behind him, grabbing the supplies. cuffing both your arms to the posts, he gives you a small kiss before covering your eyes.
“connie why are you doing this?” voice unable to hold water, you were a mix of turned on and scared. you knew how he could treat you when he was this angry.
his hand goes back into the nightstand, all you can hear is him place it down beside you. the rattling from his belt being undone causes a reflex in your lower region, clamping your legs closed to gain some kind of traction. you can hear the laugh come from your fiance.
“don’t worry baby, you’re about to get all the attention you wanted.” the sound of his belt buckle hitting the ground followed by the sound of him removing his pants.
before you could try to listen for anything else, all you feel is his lips pressed against your pussy and his hands keeping your knees spread. his tongue licks long strides up and down, from your entrance to the throbbing, swollen bud. his lips pucker around your clit, giving it a few gentle tugs and licks. his hands move close to your core, squeezing every inch of your thighs, humming into your warmth.
“oh- shit con.” moaning, you start to feel a little vibration start to happen. “what’s that-“
he put the vibrator flush against your clit, using his tongue to pump slowly in and out of your clenching hole. flailing against the restraints, you can’t help but to cry out for him.
“please- please daddy, fuck me. im sorry i swear, please.” you feel him pinch the inside of your thigh, causing you to flinch a little.
“don’t tell me what the fuck to do. im gone take you how i want you.” he goes back to abusing your pussy, face covered in your slick and his spit. he’s always been obsessed with eating you. removing one of his hands from your leg, he begins to use his long slender fingers inside while he took turns sucking your clit and then replacing it with the vibrator.
you can’t see anything but little stars floating across the darkness of your eye covering. the intense feeling in your abdomen building up. his fingers slide in and out agonizingly slow, tongue writing love spells on your swollen bud.
“shit connie im gonna- oh fuck!” your body begins to shake as you release. that doesn’t stop him. he continues, his mouth attached to you, unable to pull away.
“that’s my girl. give me some more of that shit, come on baby. this what you wanted right?” his mouth forms an o-shape, licking at the swollen bud while humming. you try to force your knees together, only for him to pin you down into a middle spilt. every inch of you was being sucked, licked, and bitten.
he pulls the vibrator back out, hooking his fingers into you, teasing your g-spot while his other hand switched modes on the wand.
“pretty ass pussy baby. she so wet for me, didn’ even have to do much. yeah, i feel it. make a mess, cum all over my fingers baby.”
the mix of the vibrations, connie’s fingers slowly fucking your hole, and the way he talked to you, you came undone. again. body shriveling up in overstimulation, you can only feel him turn the vibrations off, hoping to be done with this whole thing. you’re already fucked out and a mess.
“fuck baby, youre so filthy for me. but i don’t think im satisfied, ma.” you shake your head a little, knowing that you fucked up. repositioning a pillow under your butt, the man reattaches his lips, going slower than he ever had. mouth frozen in an o shape, you couldn’t help but to cry out.
“it’s too much daddy, be nice!” you cry, eyes brimming with tears, feeling as his warm, wet tongue slowly circles your swollen clit.
“mm- mm.” he offers in a hum, extending his arms up to play with your nipples, tugging gently at them. it seemed like his tongue never stopped moving, sometimes slipping into your clenching hole to collect more of your wetness. the burn in your stomach was intense. you could barely breathe, only pushing out large exhales of air, moans strangled in there alone the string of ‘please’s and ‘fuck’s.
he was eating you like it was a competition and he wanted that fucking gold.
“again, again, connie oh- fuuck.” you’re now full blown crying. the orgasm shaking your body beyond control. the man gently pulls away, softly running his hands around your body. his hands remove your blindfold, wiping some of the fallen tears. the readjustment to light wasn’t too bad but once you saw his face, he just gives you a look.
“im- fine.” you choke out, tears still rolling. he laughs a little, wiping your face before standing and using his should to wipe his.
“im giving you two minutes.”
you swore those two minutes went by quicker than a hellcat in atlanta traffic.
he was now pinning your knees to your ears, dropping his throbbing cock inside you slowly, bottoming out. you let you a cry, in pure bliss. he pulls out quickly, slamming back into you. the sound of sex filled the room.
“pussy so fucking good. taking that shit so good.” he throws his head back, mercilessly pounding into you. he pulls out of you slowly, before pushing back into you. your hands grip at the chains of the handcuffs, bracing yourself for the man’s abuse on your hole. the veins of his cock rubbing the inside of your gummy walls. without warning , you’re squirting all over his dick, making a mess of the bed in the process.
“daddy! i’m sorry!”
“it’s too late for that shit now. let me take these off you.” he reaches up, undoing the cuffs swiftly before tossing them to the side. thinking youre free, you try to roll off the bed, only to be caught by him.
he tosses you over onto all fours, grabbing your arms from your side so your face down into the mattress.
“you know i love you right?” he asks, gripping both your wrists firmly behind your back.
“yes baby i know.” you say, head tilted to the side.
“good cause im about to treat you like i dont.”
slamming into you, he’s relentless. the tip of his cock abusing your poor cervix, digging completely into you. large hands grab hold of your breast, chest stuck in a heavy breathing pattern.
pounding into you, not letting up, you know he’s pissed. trying your hardest to pull away to give yourself so slack, he yanks you back into his length by the wrist.
“nah whatchu’ running for? this what you wanted right? you wanted me to fuck you like this, huh? you gone take this dick.”
he could feel you clenching around him, the slick dripping from your abused hole to to your ass. he could feel how close you were.
“ooo shit, let that shit go baby. imma fucking cum.”
your hands dig into his arms instinctively, eyes rolled to the back of your head, saliva spilling from the sides of your mouth in euphoria. it was so much yet you never wanted it to end. babbling nonsense and hitting connie with the palms of your hand, you release over him, again.
he delivers a few more thrusts, violating your cunt, sopping up every second of being inside you until he’s filling you up.
pulling away from his position, your body lay unmoving.
“was that enough attention for you?” climbing to your side, his large arms pulls you on-top of him. placing gentle kisses to your head, he rubs his hand along your back, giving you a small massage.
“im sorry.”
“shh, it’s all fine now baby.”
connie cleaned the both of you up, tossed the sheets in the wash, replaced them with new sheets he bought while out, and even prepared a small dinner. sitting on the couch, both heads in a silk bonnet, watching love island.
© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.
inspo pics
#aot x black reader#connie springer#connie x black reader#connie aot#aot connie#connie x reader smut#connie x black y/n#connie x reader#aot x black y/n#aot smut#aot x reader#eren aot#armin aot#aot#connie x you#attack on titan x reader#attack on titan#attack on titan characters#aot fanfiction#connie smut#connie springer smut#anime x black!reader#anime x reader#anime smut#anime#sugardaddy#sugarbaby#black reader#black fem reader#fem reader
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never changing [ five hargreeves x reader ]
a/n: hi y’all! it’s been a hot minute since i’ve been on here, but after the absolute shit show that season 4 was, some sparks ignited in me to write up anything to take my mind off it 🙌
its not anything crazy, just fluff and banter since i haven’t written anything in years so it may be as poorly redacted as this season lmao
summary: five and y/n attend their niece birthday party together, yet separate
“Happy birthday, little Gracie!” You smiled widely, trying not to drop the wrapped present box as the six year old girl jumped into your arms, “Oh my gosh, look at you! You’re just getting prettier by day, aren’t you?”
You had just got off work in a hurry to make your appearance at the little girl’s birthday party at a decent time, in spite of the amount of paperwork you managed to bury yourself in lately. You knew how much it would have meant for the celebrated one to show up and you couldn’t bear to let her down, especially on her birthday.
After spending most of your life working for the Commission, and then a decent amount of time exhausting yourself in trying to stop multiple Apocalypses, your last six years have been pretty quiet as a lawyer. You really wanted to get out of the whole assassin thing, but at the same time couldn’t exactly move on from the thrill of the work field. Your career as a lawyer took off really well these past years, but inevitably it came along with the cost of always being stuck at work, so whenever your niece got the chance to see you, she was truly enthusiastic.
“Auntie Y/N!” She wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, engulfing you into a tight hug, “You are here!”
Nonetheless, these six years have been truly and undeniably the most peaceful time of your life for as long as you could remember.
“You literally saw each other the other day,” Five raised a brow, watching you and the celebrated one act as if you hadn’t seen each other in years.
You and the little girl shared a look, before rolling your eyes and turning to glare at the man next to you. Ever since Grace learned how to talk, you and her would gang up on her uncle for your amusement, especially since he was so keen on entertaining the banter.
These past six year have gone by in the blink of an eye, yet at the same time at a slow and steady pace. You spent most of your time working anyway, but still kept in touch with the seven siblings you’d grown to love.
Some in different ways than others.
“Uncle Five, you’re always more excited than me to see Aunt Y/N,” Gracie waved him off, making you burst out laughing, “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you anyway.”
“What is a good look on him anyway?” You smirked, making the little girl laugh, as Five swept her into his arms;
“Okay, munchkin, it’s your birthday today, but tomorrow I’m going back to bullying you,” He joked, causing you both to laugh, before the two shared a hug before you, “You’re lucky your gift has no return policy.”
The party had already started by the time you made it there. The playground was huddled by other kids around Grace’s age, along with their parents. The music was playing loudly over the laughter of children and you were pretty sure that most of the family had already arrived. It was not the most ideal gathering, but you tried your best to keep in touch with most of the family to your best capabilities.
“Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it!” Luther smiled, appearing from the crowd of guests, immediately giving you a big hug as his niece was still wrapped around Five, “Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving!”
“Big shot lawyer doesn’t always have the time to stay in touch with family, huh?” Diego teased you, following suit, as you rolled your eyes, dropping off his daughter’s gift in his hands.
“Big shot delivery driver doesn’t know the phone works both ways, huh?” You smirked, putting your hands on your hips.
Diego laughed out loud as he gave you a hug, always in the mood for a back and forth short banter with you. After all, you truly were family, even if you didn’t always have the time to be present in the Hargreeves’ day to day lives. You may have met them in the original timeline in 2019, when you accidentally time traveled with your former partner at the Commission, Five, but after all you’ve been through, you didn’t need to have grown up together or be blood related to be considered that. And you truly were grateful for each and every single one of them, in spite of the many differences over the years.
After everything that’s happened six years ago at Hotel Oblivion, everyone went their separate ways. Allison was back with her daughter while trying to further her acting career and also help Klaus stay on the sober line, Viktor had moved to Canada where he opened a bar, Diego and Lila had three kids, Luther was “professionally dancing”, Ben had some run-ins with the law and Five, ironically enough, was working for the CIA.
“Well, you two are as annoying as always,” Ben told you and his brother, making Diego roll his eyes as he walked towards the gift table to set down your present.
��Please try to stay out of prison at least for the remainder of the year,” You joked with the man, making him roll his eyes as he hugged you loosely, “There’s only so much favors I could owe the DA.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben groaned, “I don’t even know why they let you work at the law firm since you still look like a prepubescent with no boobs. Even Five got a growth spurt.”
“I sized up to B recently, thank you very much,” You nudged his shoulder, before placing your hands on your chest in an offended manner.
“Okay, Gracie, not a conversation you’d wanna hear,” Five spoke up, putting his niece down, “Your aunt needs to learn some etiquette on how to act around children.”
“Funny coming from you,” You couldn’t help but wave him off.
You didn’t come in with Five at the party, but as fate had it, you did run into him as you were parking your car. He had just gone out to his brother’s dusty van to bring inside some more cookies for the guests. You kept in touch with him as well, but not as often as you would have liked. It’s not all that serious, but given the fact that you were a lawyer still climbing your way to the top and him being a top notch CIA agent, you didn’t exactly have the time to hang out.
At least, not as much as you’d have liked.
Five was watching you with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and his hands in his pockets. He had the same look on his face as always when watching you. He had the same smile when he saw you in combat for the first time during your first mission for the Commission together, the same look in his eyes when you appeared for the first time in 2019 alongside him in your teen bodies. The same posture he had when he met you again in 1963 after months of not seeing each other.
He wore the same love on his face while looking at you when you and the siblings split up after the events at Oblivion.
And never once did you notice that.
Not once in these past six years you let your feelings surface.
“You know Grace is my niece too, right?” He couldn’t drop the small smile even if he wanted to.
“Since when are you such a family man?” You raised a brow, trying to keep a confident composure.
“Oh, something changed in me between the first and third time I traded the world for my siblings,” He lightly shrugged his shoulders, making you roll your eyes at the sarcastic remark.
You two never changed.
“Please, I was there for the twins birth,” You waved him off.
You rarely see Five, and even when you do you always try to act normal, as you do around the rest of the Hargreeves. Everyone tried to get you two together at first, since the apocalypse was over and there was no reason for you to not get together, right?
You really wished it was that easy. In hindsight, maybe it was. But you couldn’t take any chances in losing Five forever if something were to go wrong. Maybe some would see it as something stupid, or as if you wasted so many years, but to you- mentally, you were almost seventy, while physically nineteen. You had so much time ahead of you now, all that mattered was to get a stable career first.
Five let a chuckle escape, shaking his head in disbelief, as he looked at the floor for a couple of seconds. When he looked back at you, you tried to keep your composure. You couldn’t help but feel pathetic that after all these years, your heart still skipped a beat whenever he’d look at you.
“You’re doing that thing again where you forget that some other people are still around, guys,” Luther raised his hand, grabbing your attention once again.
“I got bored of watching seventy year old virgins,” Ben shrugged his shoulders, “I’m gonna go get shitfaced.”
“Always a delight seeing you, Benjamin,” Five said, as Luther followed the ex-tentacle boy suit to make re he was not about to actually get drunk;
“This is a six year old’s birthday party!”
You giggled, watching the two brothers speed away while arguing amongst the kids in the crowd. When your eyes laid back on Five, who was intently watching you, you couldn’t help but feel a small blush creep its way in your cheeks.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Spit it out, Hargreeves.”
“I said it’s nothing!”
“Fuck you.”
“Why?”
You watched him dumbfounded for a couple of seconds because of the only answer he could come up with, before walking away, hoping he would follow you.
When he did try to keep up with you, you looked away to hide the proud smile. Even after all these years, things were still the same with him. He was still so eager to spend time with you, he was still smiling at you and entertaining your conversation.
“Aunt Y/N, Uncle Five, come play in the ball pit!” Gracie ushered you from afar, already tucked in the plastic colorful balls.
“You heard the birthday girl!” You smiled, grabbing his hand to drag Five after you.
Even after all these years he would instantly lock his fingers with yours.
#the umbrella academy#the umbrella academy x reader#five hargreeves#five hargreeves imagines#five hargreeves x reader#five hargreeves imagine#tua x reader#tua season 4#the umbrella academy imagines#the umbrella academy season 4
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This is probably me reading waaayyy to much into things BUT I'm presently being haunted by Thoughts™ of that last scene with Olrox and Mizrak.
Like Mizrak spends the season doubting his standing with God and trying to atone for the role he played in realizing the abbot's plans. He's wracked with guilt and knows that hell is waiting for him.
And then we have Olrox who knows this, knows what he's done, knows how he feels about it. We see him physically hold Mizrak back and force him to stop and look at what he has wrought. Yet every time Mizrak dismisses him, Olrox returns to basically yell, "I know! I know, and I still love you!" He's extending the grace Mizrak is certain he does not deserve in the eyes of his God.
One of the more crucial myths about Quetzalcoatl is a story in which humanity has been killed off as punishment for vice and greed, or even just as collateral in a spat between deities—but Quetzalcoatl believed in humanity so much that he went to the underworld to retrieve everyone's bones, and, through the sacrifice of his blood, gave humanity the gift of life again.
And I keep thinking about the line, "the devil is easy to cheat".
Of course, the mesoamerican pantheon doesn't have a 'devil' per se, but it does have Mictlantecutli, who is the ruler of their underworld. And a key part of this myth is that when Quetzalcoatl went to the underworld for everyone's bones, he didn't want to give them back. Quetzalcoatl had to use trickery to steal the bones and escape with them.
So I keep thinking about this shot in particular:
To me, it echoes this one from season 1:
I've already written about the symbolism of Olrox's introductory scene at some length, so I won't repeat myself here, but I liken this shot of Julia to a sacrifice. So, you know... by proxy I'm now likening Olrox in this last scene to a sacrifice.
But this time the roles are effectively reversed. Julia, a human sacrificed to a god, and Olrox a god (or at least an avatar of one) sacrificing himself for a human, for someone he believes to be deserving of life.
Like I look at this scene and I think about these things and this shot of Olrox seems to say, "drink of my blood, feast upon my flesh". To say, "your God won't save you, but I will." To promise, "if the devil tries to take you, I will venture into hell to steal you back. I will offer myself to grant you life again."
Of course, the life Olrox is giving Mizrak here is a dark and twisted thing, but it's also an achingly beautiful expression of a god's unconditional love.
#is this... anything...?#castlevania#castlevania nocturne#Olrox#Mizrak#mizrox#Castlevania Nocturne spoilers
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home for the holidays || ls18
☆ summary: lance and his partner start a new chapter now that the season is over and take their relationship to the next level
☆ pairing: lance stroll x nonfamous!reader
☆ fc & warnings: none
☆ requested: nope! just a short one bc i don’t see enough lance fics so wanted to write one!!
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
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ynuser: and just like that - the 2024 season has come to an end. this was a tough one but no matter what i am proud of the team and proud of lance. see all you beautiful people again in march 🤍
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astonmartinf1: see you soon y/n/n! we love you ❤️
ynuser: 🤍 you more admin
user1: you are so real for posting the vegas pics of lance
lance_stroll: i love you 😘
ynuser: and i love you 🥹
user4: mama y papa
user2: i’m going to miss this silly season and seeing you practically every weekend smh
francisca.cgomes: see you sooner than march please😭
ynuser: you know i can’t go more than a couple weeks without you 😔
user44: can lance fight?
scottyjames1: no
user44: SCREMING
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user1: most canadian thing i’ve ever seen
lance_stroll: missed this and missed you darling
ynuser: i missed you more lance. i’m overjoyed to be back 🤍
yourbff: i’m so glad you and lancey are finally home
ynuser: me too! this season was a long one 😩
yourbff: you both are stronger than i
ynuser: i’m not sure how we made it honestly! but it’s time for new beginnings and rest 🫶🏻
user2: time for some much deserved relaxation
user6: just saw the f1 secret santa and can’t stop thinking about how good of gift giver lance is and how he probably got you the best gifts ever
fernandoalo_official: happy holidays mi amiga
ynuser: gracias nando! i hope you have the best break with all of those you love most 🤍
user3: i hope you have the best break y/n
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yourbff: i can’t wait to visit you in your new home!!!
ynuser: i can’t wait for you to visit!! one of the spare bedrooms has your name on it bestie
user11: ahhh congrats y/n!!!
carmenmundt: congrats on your and lances new home!! looking forward to visiting 😘
ynuser: thank you carmen! i miss you sm already. please come visit soon 🤍
user14: so so happy for you and lance. end game fr
lance_stroll: remind me why i thought moving right after the season ended was a good idea
ynuser: you said, and i quote, “i want to be home for the holidays and host all the people i love in our home.”
lance_stroll: well when you put it like that….
cholestroll: yayyayayay!!!!! can’t wait to see it in a few days
ynuser: can’t wait to see you and scotty and the lovely little bug soon. it’s been too long
astonmartinf1: cheers to new beginnings ✨
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chloestroll: the tree is so cuteeeeee oh i love it
lance_stroll: it is ! y/n is very excited for the holidays
chloestroll: as she should be!! do you have everything set?
lance_stroll: everything should be set up according to plan! im beyond nervous though
chloestroll: don’t be!! it’s going to alllll be ok
user3: y/n is so cute
scottyjames31: glad she’s getting you into the holiday spirit
lance_stroll: between y/n and chloe there’s more than enough holiday spirit! we’ve got hanukah and christmas covered over here
user4: pookie christmas lets goooo
ynuser: i am having the most fun decorating our new house 🫶🏻
lance_stroll: me too my love. building this life with you is everything i could ask for and more ❤️
user5: i’m glad you’re getting the time to relax lancey. you deserve it after this season
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user2: holy crap this is beautiful?????? and she managed this right after you two moved in???? get this girl an award
fernandoalo_official: looks beautiful! can’t wait to hear about how your evening goes
lance_stroll: you’ll be one of the first to know ❤️
user6: this called me broke in about 800 different languages
pierregasly: WOW! can i hire y/n to decorate my house?
lance_stroll: for a hefty price 😉
user9: you better marry this girl i s2g
ynuser: thank you 🥹 🤍😘🎄
lance_stroll: no thank YOU gorgeous! i am so thankful to have you help me host the holidays ❤️
ynuser: 😭 i love being a part of your family lance
lance_stroll: we all love you so very much ❤️
ynuser: you’re going to make me cry 🥹
chloestroll: eeeeek!!!!!! today is THE day 🤍🤍🤍🤍
lance_stroll: she doesn’t suspect a thing 😍
user12: her outfit is everything ??? literal angel
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ynuser: tonight may have been the best night of my life. wishing you the happiest of holidays from the future mr and mrs stroll ❤️
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user18: this is so important to me you have no idea
chloestroll: welcome to the family sis 😘
ynuser: sis 😭 oh i love you chloe
georgerussell63: 🥹 congrats! you two make the perfect couple
ynuser: thank you georgie ❤️
fernandoalo_official: felicidades mis amigos
ynuser: gracias por todo nando 🫶🏻
user32: my mom and dad are getting married im overjoyed
lance_stroll: i can’t wait to make you my wife
ynuser: and i can’t wait for you to be my husband 😘
user23: you look so good in white
astonmartinf1: best news we’ve seen all day
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated.
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction
© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform
#f1 fandom#formula 1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 smau#f1 social media au#f1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#lance stroll#lance stroll x reader#lance stroll x you#lance stroll x y/n#lance stroll smau#lance stroll fic#lance stroll fanfic#ls18 x reader#ls18#ls18 x you#lance stroll imagine#lance stroll social media au
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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader
w.c: 12.4k
warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’
sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!
You’re back home for the summer.
Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.
The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .
“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.
“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.
“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.
“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”
She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.
The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.
“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.
Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”
In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.
Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.
It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.
Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.
His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.
And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.
“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”
“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”
The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.
“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”
“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.
“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.
But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.
And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.
“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?
“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.
“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.
“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.
“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?
There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.
He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.
“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.
Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.
He’s fucked.
From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.
Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.
Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass
bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.
You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.
Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.
You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”
“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.
“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”
You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.
His heart could almost burst.
“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.
And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.
But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”
There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.
“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.
“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.
“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”
Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.
They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.
Yep. He’s fucked.
You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.
It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.
“I think you got it.”
“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”
A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.
It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.
Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—
You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.
He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”
“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.
Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.
“I can see that.”
Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.
There’s always something in your mouth.
Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”
“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.
“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”
A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.
“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.
“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.
Shouta’s eyes narrow.
“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”
Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”
Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.
“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”
Shouta is avoiding you.
You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.
And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.
Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.
So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.
It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.
“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.
Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.
It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.
“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.
So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.
“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”
And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.
Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.
“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.
There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.
You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.
It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.
There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.
Hmph.
“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”
“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.
Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.
“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”
His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”
You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”
“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”
Oh.
You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”
“You’re, what, twenty-five—“
“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.
“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”
“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”
“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.
It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel
like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.
Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.
“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.
Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.
“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.
“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.
That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.
“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.
“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.
“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.
“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.
“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”
“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”
He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”
“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”
“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.
“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”
The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.
If only it were his cock.
Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.
“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”
“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”
Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”
“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”
Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.
“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”
“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.
“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“
“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”
Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.
“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”
The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.
The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.
Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.
“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.
Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”
“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.
He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.
You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.
You were holding hands.
It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.
And that isn’t even it.
He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—
He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.
His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.
“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.
Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.
“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.
Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.
“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”
“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.
He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”
He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.
“What else would I say?”
“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”
The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”
“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”
“Show me.”
“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.
He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.
You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.
“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.
You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.
It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”
And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.
Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.
You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”
Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.
“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.
Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.
Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”
It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.
But it does.
“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.
“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.
Delayed gratification.
Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.
“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.
“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”
You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”
“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”
Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”
It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?
“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.
Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”
“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”
His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—
He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”
He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—
Oh.
“Sweet.”
You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.
“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.
“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”
“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.
“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.
“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.
“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.
“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.
He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.
“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.
“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .
You’re Shouta’s boy.
Summer is coming to an end.
There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”
“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”
Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”
“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”
And that’s all you need to hear.
#₊˚⊹♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒#mgonna be outta commission for 18-20 business weeks#kiddin.#shota aizawa x reader#aizawa shota x reader#shouta aizawa imagine#aizawa headcanons#shouta aizawa x reader#aizawa imagine#aizawa smut#aizawa x reader#anime x male reader#x male reader smut#bnha x male reader#x male reader#x bottom male reader#bottom male reader#x sub male reader#aizawa x y/n#shouta x you#shouta x reader#mha x male reader#mha x trans reader#mha x y/n#mha x reader#mha x you#aizawa x you#aizawa x male reader
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The thing that always hits me about season 5 is like... Buffy is just so fucking tired.
It comes on gradually, and of course season 6 is widely known for Buffy's depression arc, but the seeds are well and truly planted in the season before it because I think season 5 is when it truly starts to hit her that... she was never supposed to live this long.
Because throughout history, Slayers have been incredibly short-lived. They make it to adulthood if they're very lucky, and at the age of 23 Buffy is officially the longest-lived Slayer in history. At 20, she had already well surpassed the average, and she's really starting to feel it. It's no coincidence that this is the season when she starts giving up on the life of the normal girl she'd been so doggedly clinging to, refusing to give up just because she's the Slayer, since season 1. She drops out of college, her mom dies, Riley leaves (and she didn't even love him but he was something normal and good and she couldn't help but cling to him even when she knew she shouldn't and no thanks to Xander's terrible fucking advice but ANYWAY), she has nothing but being the Slayer and taking care of her sister--who isn't truly her sister but finding that out doesn't matter because she is in all the ways that count.
And she's tired. Because she's just one girl, one woman, with the weight of the world on her shoulders--and every other Slayer in history was eventually crushed by it, killed by the very darkness they were destined to fight (and die fighting), most of them never even making it this far. So she's standing there, hearing Dawn tell her that she has to let her go, to let her sacrifice herself to save the world because it's what she was created for, it's the only way- and she remembers.
Death is your gift.
And on the face of it, yeah, her death is the gift she gives to her sister to ensure she lives, and to her friends and the world to ensure they are not consumed. But also? Death is her gift. And it's not just realization dawning on her face in the rising sun--it's relief.
Because finally, finally, she can just let go.
She doesn't have to fight anymore. She doesn't have to suffer, or lose anyone else, or lose more pieces of herself. She can just stop. She can just rest.
Because the universe calls for one single champion, one teenage girl in all the world to fight all the powers of darkness and evil. And at the end of it all, the world offers her nothing in return except this--true and final peace. Death is her gift, and she rushes to meet it and she thinks finally, finally, she can just stop fighting. Stop everything. The world will be ok without her, there's always someone else to take up the mantle. She doesn't have to be the one everyone else is counting on. And she's so exhausted and so ready.
And then she wakes up in her own coffin. And all that suffering she thought she'd finally been allowed to escape crashes down on her a hundred fold, and of course she would stagger under its weight. But I think deep down some part of her blamed herself even for that. Because she'd been so ready to give up, stop fighting, end her own torment and then... her friends needed her back so badly that they ripped her from the only sliver of true peace she'd known since her Calling, and how could she say they were wrong for it when she feels so very wrong to her core for being so ready to let go in the first place?
Idk where I'm going with this, just feeling a lot of emotions about Buffy Fucking Summers today I guess.
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Ghoap x reader. Autistic reader. Christmas angst. Allusions to Ghost’s backstory. Salacious use of ribbon. Soap being inappropriate. NSFW.
Soap fidgets on the train the whole way over to the light show. You don’t notice, of course, your earplugs are in, but Ghost, hypervigilant for the season, cocks an eyebrow.
“Itches like mad,” Soap grouses. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, a ghastly thing in fuzzy green, red, and gold, with LED bulbs embroidered down the front.
Ghost scowls at him. Soap purses his lips, not chastened. You sit between them, oblivious, fingering the zipper of your purse.
There’s enough cheer on the train to make up for their collective lack. More than one person wears a dumb Santa hat, and at least every other has on something colorful and festive. It seems like everyone feels some sort of Christmas spirit but Ghost, and it makes his hackles tense up.
Your hand slips into his then, smooth like silk settling over his palm. He looks at you; your gaze is fixed steadily ahead, unfocused. He’s not sure whether you reached for him to find comfort or offer it, but he closes his fingers around yours anyway.
He looks over—Soap has your other hand. Reaching to find, then. He squeezes.
The three of you wait until the very last moment to disembark when you arrive, letting the crowd out first. Ghost’s choice. The absolute last thing he wants is to lose either you or Soap in the stream of people flowing from the train—Soap will get distracted, and you hate it when strangers crowd you. This is going to be a trial as it is.
Ghost has to admit—once they reach the grounds, the displays are something to see. Together, you walk through a tunnel of lights leading you to the beginning of the walk, rings of warm white gently shining overhead, and Ghost, despite himself, can’t help but admire how it makes both of his partners look like they’re glowing.
Then Soap tugs at his sweater again, and Ghost bites down a growl.
“Oh, hot chocolate,” you say at the end of the tunnel, looking over at a cart laden with a few big steel samovars. “I’m going to get some, either of you want any?”
“Cider,” Ghost says, softening the curtness of his tone with the tenner he hands you. “If they’ve got any.”
“Coffee for me, hen, if you don’t mind,” Soap adds with a smile. You nod, and scurry toward the drinks.
Soap eyes him. Ghost knows what he sees—his back has been ramrod straight since the bloody month started. He holds his shoulders the same way he might if he had his rifle across his chest. His jaw has been hard as a cinder block any time the market clerk tossed “happy holidays” at him when he did his best to get away as fast as he could.
“Don’t,” Ghost says.
Soap says nothing.
This is not their first Christmas together, but it is their first with you. The sergeant already knows how Ghost feels about the holiday; you do not, and Ghost wants to keep it that way for a little while longer.
Divining your feelings about anything takes a little longer than it might with anyone else, but he’s pretty sure you’re excited, in your way. Soap, for whom pine trees and glitter and the smell of snow in the air seem to activate a sleeper agent in his brain that orgasms at the mere sight of tinsel, already has a Wellington resting in their shared fridge, and artfully wrapped presents crammed under their pre-lit tree. The two of you together have flooded the flat with lights, candy-cane frippery, crocheted snowflake doilies, and ski-lodge scented candles.
Ghost, for his part, has scrolled various travel websites to figure out if assassinating Santa Claus is something actually feasible. Maybe if he defeats the final boss of Christmas he can actually sleep through the night at least once this month.
It isn’t that he hates it, exactly. It’s just that Christmas, to him, began as a hazy game of roulette, wondering if the wild animal of his father would appear to ruin the exchange of charity-shop gifts wrapped in reused paper, and then solidified as an image reflected in pools of spreading blood.
The last happy Christmas, he had to burn down. That’s no reason that he has to ruin it for everyone else, though.
You return with three paper cups held awkwardly in your two hands, and Ghost and Soap relieve you of your burden. Your cup has a peppermint stick jutting up out of it, and you use it to stir your steaming drink periodically as the three of you proceed.
The path leads through an army of glowing snowmen in mismatched sizes, life-size gingerbread houses, past multicolor balls tossed across the top of a frozen pond. Trees banded with so many strings they look like branches of lightning reaching up from the earth. Electric snowflakes dangling above your heads from netting stretched between lampposts.
Ghost keeps clenching and unclenching his fist. His cider goes rapidly cold in his other hand, untouched. He probably can’t get his money back for it, but he’s agitated enough to start a fight and try.
Meanwhile—it’s obvious, you’re enjoying yourself immensely. You don’t say much as you flit between installations, running a hand over the glowing bulbs, tilting your head this way and that like a curious little bird. You take your phone out more than once to open your camera, and Ghost knows you’re saving pictures to put together a slideshow later on.
More than once, you look back at him and Soap, and grin wide at some novelty or another. Ghost manages to nod his head at you—go on, little birdie, keep having fun.
“Jesus,” Soap mutters, trying to scratch at a spot on his back for the third time.
“Fuck’s sake, Soap, just take the fucking thing off,” Ghost snaps.
“Canna,” Soap says.
“Why the fuck not?”
Soap’s mouth slants sideways. He looks around for spectators, and, finding none within eyeshot, lifts the bottom of the sweater.
Bright, shiny, very red ribbon runs in two lines along the naked cut of his obliques—down past the waistband of his trousers.
Ghost tosses the cider out of his cup and grips Soap by the back of the neck, throws, “OY! Duckie! Bathroom!” at you, and drags his boyfriend to the nearby public loo.
It’s empty, thank god, so Ghost wastes no time yanking the closure of Soap’s trousers open. The ribbon continues downward, downward, the V narrowing and narrowing until—
It converges in a (somewhat lopsided) bow tied right around the base of Soap’s dick.
“Soap, what the fuck,” Ghost says.
The sergeant backs up, and pulls the sweater fully off. It reveals a latticework of satiny red crisscrossing his chiseled torso: lines of ribbon accenting the curves of his pectorals, his toned abdomen, highlighting the small indent of his trim waist.
Soap’s cheeks flush pink.
“Goes further down,” he mutters, not meeting Ghost’s eye.
“What the fuck,” Ghost repeats.
“Was gonna do a big reveal when we got home,” Soap says. “Start stripping when we got the door closed. That rubbish.”
Ghost, incredulously, snorts, and Soap smiles at him.
“First time you’ve laughed this month,” he says quietly. “S’ why I did it.”
Ghost steps up to him and takes Soap’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “You fucking idiot,” he says, and kisses him.
The bathroom door opens, letting in a gust of wind, and Ghost and Soap jump back from each other momentarily, before relaxing when your voice reaches them.
“There better not be a handjob happening in here without me—oh,” you say, stopping short.
Shoving the waist of his pants down further, Soap turns around to show off to you the full extent of what he’s done. It gives Ghost a good look at the pretty intersections happening overtop of the muscles of Soap’s back, and the dip of the ribbon down between the two perfect globes of Soap’s arse.
You blink several times. “There isn’t a lock on this door, Soap. If I get down to suck you off, someone is going to come in.”
Impossibly, Ghost snorts again, and then laughs for real, a full-belly guffaw that comes out a little more harsh than it should. But you grin at him, and the line of Soap’s shoulders, which Ghost suddenly realizes has been as tense as his this whole time, relaxes.
He pecks the bare swell of Soap’s bicep, and then the crown of your head as he passes you by.
“I’ll hold it closed, duckie,” he says. “Do whatever you want.”
He only leaves the door once when he hears you shriek suddenly with laughter—to find that Soap has decorated his cock with a peppermint-loop of red lipstick, all the way to the tip.
“Fucking idiot,” Ghost repeats, and cancels his trip to the North Pole then and there.
#ghoap x reader#ghoap x you#ghost x soap#ghost x reader#soap x reader#soap x ghost#ghostsoap#mwritesghoap#madi writes#unedited be gentle#merry Christmas etc
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Let Them See (LH44)
a/n: writing angst wasn't helping my depressed ass at all so here's a smutty thought :)
summary: in which lewis has a controversially young girlfriend, who he suddenly isn't afraid of showing around
warnings: suggestive content, dirty talk, age gap, kind of sick, friends-to-lovers, secret relationship
WC: 1.9k
Everyone knew your relationship with Lewis was byword impulsive and complicated—not because you wanted it to be, but because of the circumstances you were in.
The 16-year age gap between you and Lewis didn’t sit well with everyone, making discretion your only option. You hid away together, sneaking around like teenagers, leaning on each other in any four-walled space. You lost count of how many times you and Lewis went to the rented villa on Lake Como, being able to take bites off each other everywhere possible.
You’d lost track of how many times you’d escaped to the rented villa on Lake Como, stealing moments to lose yourselves in each other.
And you liked it that way. The secrecy, the privacy—you’d been the one to insist on it.
You first met Lewis when you were 22, and he was 38. It was 2023, and your connection had been instant. You became best friends, growing closer with each passing day. On your 23rd birthday, he’d gifted you 23 of your favorite books, each one holding a handwritten note.
Now, at 24, with him at 40, the age gap felt striking, unavoidable. Yet, there was something about it that thrilled you, made your pulse race, your mind whirl, and your body ache with a want you couldn’t quite explain.
Now, it was all speculation for the fans and entertainment for the other drivers, who relished watching you and Lewis attempt to keep your composure in front of the cameras. Every stolen glance and lingering touch fed the rumors, the intrigue, the tension.
But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, you couldn’t care less about the cameras or what anyone thought.
It was December 7th, 2025—the night of the final race of the season. The night Lewis cemented his legacy, securing his eighth world championship and becoming the most decorated driver in Formula 1 history. The long-awaited eighth had finally arrived, and the weight of it, the joy of it, was almost too much to contain.
Everyone was at the afterparty—everyone except Charles, who had been Lewis’s fiercest competitor throughout the season. They’d gone head-to-head in countless races, but Charles ultimately finished third in the championship, with Lando getting closer and closer to the so-dreamed-of championship.
But in the end, only one person could take it home. And there happens to be only one GOAT. It had been Lewis’ from the very start.
The room was filled with those who weren’t envious but proud, celebrating his historic achievement. It was a night of laughter, toasts, and admiration for the man who had just become an eight-time world champion.
Lewis sat on a couch in the VIP section of the Abu Dhabi club, slowly breathing in the air of victory and sipping on the glass of champagne in his hand, its price not even a thought in his mind.
The air of victory didn’t reek of the podium’s champagne or the faint musk of the club, though. It smelled just like your Dior perfume, your vanilla soap and your vanilla shampoo.
Victory looked like the pretty girl sat on his thigh, bobbing her head to the sound of the all-too-loud music, sipping off her own glass of golden bubbly beverage.
“I think I’m getting too old for this,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing against your ear, his lips so close you could feel every word.
You chuckled, throwing your head back in that carefree way that always made him smile—it was one of the little things he thought was the cutest about you.
“Wanna leave already, Sir? We’re barely started partying,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping an octave, his words vibrating against your chest. “I’ve got far more interesting things waiting at home, Y/N. And trust me, we can party all night there too.”
The weight of his tone sends a shiver down your spine, warmth blooming low in your belly as the meaning behind his words settled in, making your pulse quicken.
Suddenly, you are too aware of how short your dress is and how his hand palms your thigh. You swallow hard, the music and chatter of the club fading into the background. His dark eyes are locked on yours, and the teasing curve of his lips only deepen your anticipation.
“Is that so?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, though you knew he could hear the challenge laced in your tone.
Lewis’s fingers traced idle circles on your thigh, his touch light yet deliberate. “You know it is,” he said, his grin growing darker, more possessive. “I’d even dare say… you like that idea, don’t you?”
“Outrageous!” you replied, flashing a mischievous smile, your teeth catching your bottom lip in a playful bite.
The warmth pooling in your belly grew as his hand slid up a fraction more, reaching the hem of your dress. His fingers toyed with the sequins, sending tiny sparks of sensation through your skin.
“Lewis…” you murmured, your tone caught between playful and cautious, though your smile faltered under his gaze. “We’re in public.”
His laughter rumbled low and deep, a sound that sent a shiver straight through you. “Then you’d better behave, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. His eyes never left yours, and his grin turned wicked as he added, “Because if you keep looking at me like that…” He let the words linger, charged and heavy with intent. “I might just have to take you right here.”
Your breath hitched, a mix of anticipation and adrenaline coursing through you as his words sank in. His hand lingered at the hem of your dress, just enough to tease, to test your resolve.
“Bold of you to assume I’d let you,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly, betraying your feigned confidence.
Lewis’s smirk deepened, his gaze never breaking from yours. “Oh, love,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapping around you, “you’d not only let, you’d beg me to do so.”
Heat flushed through you, and you struggled to keep your composure under his piercing gaze. The music around you seemed to blur into white noise, the club melting away until it felt like it was just the two of you, locked in a silent battle of wills.
“Right… Then what if I told you I would absolutely love you to take me right here?” you said, batting your eyelashes as you looked into his soul through his eyes.
Lewis could feel his pants getting too tight around his crotch as you kept looking at him.
Lewis’s smirk grew even darker, the intensity in his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. “Shit, love…” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rich and velvety, making a mess on your panties. “I have to remind you just how dangerous it is to play games you can’t win.”
The heat between you was palpable, a private flame burning brighter with every second. The noise of the club, the thrumming bass, the distant laughter—they all faded into oblivion. It was just him, just you, and the tension crackling like electricity in the air.
“Well, I’m not afraid of losing,” you whispered, leaning closer, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Maybe I want to see just how far you’d go, Lewis.”
His grip on your thigh tightened, and his dark eyes dropped briefly to your lips, before returning to yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He was holding on by a thread, and you could tell he was teetering between self-control and giving in.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his tone a warning laced with hunger.
You tilted your head, your confidence unwavering as you batted your lashes again. “Oh, except I do,” you replied softly, your voice dripping with challenge.
Lewis shifted in his seat, the tightness in his pants making his restraint all the more difficult. His jaw clenched briefly, his free hand resting on the back of your neck, his thumb grazing your skin in a way that sent a jolt through you.
“You’re going to regret saying that,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear, his words a promise and a threat all at once.
But regret was the last thing on your mind. You leaned in, your breath warm against his cheek as you whispered, “Prove it.”
The heat between you was undeniable now, a private storm building despite the crowd around you. The world didn’t matter—the cameras, the whispers, the flashing lights. It was just him, just you, and the pull that neither of you could resist.
And as his lips brushed the shell of your ear again, he whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
He gently nudged you off his lap, rising to his feet. Taking your hand in his, he led you toward the exit. But just as you reached the door, a sudden burst of cheers echoed from the VIP bar.
Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, and Alex Albon were all staring at you two, grinning like they’d just caught wind of the hottest gossip in the room.
You smile, your cheeks flushing slightly, and bury your face in Lewis’ chest, hiding your laughter. He chuckles softly, his arms tightening around you for a moment before you pull back. As you step away, you look up to find him casually flipping off his co-workers with a playful grin.
A mischievous spark ignites within you, and without missing a beat, you mirror his action, flipping them off with a smirk of your own.
Lewis catches your move, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he watches you mirror him. His eyes gleam with approval, his playful side clearly taking over.
“That’s my baby,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he steps closer, his arm brushing against your shoulders, wrapping around your neck possessively.
The group of drivers, now aware of your shared gesture, laughs and shakes their heads, but their amusement only fuels your defiance. The tension between you and Lewis grows electric even when you two stop flipping the guys off, the playful challenge still lingering in the air.
You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the flashing lights, the cameras capturing every second of your interaction. The bright flashes momentarily blind you, but it's the weight of their gaze on both of you that makes your pulse race. It’s as if the entire world is watching, amplifying everything—the chemistry, the defiance, the thrill of the moment.
“Lewis…” you murmur, your voice low and laced with a mix of desire and curiosity.
Lewis doesn’t flinch at the attention, his smirk only deepening as he locks eyes with you. “Let them see. Let them gossip,” he murmurs, his thumb slowly tracing circles on your skin. “We’ve got this.”
Your heart pounds faster, the electricity between you undeniable. You hold his gaze, a playful yet daring smile curling on your lips.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he says, his voice a quiet promise, a declaration of everything you both are, everything you’ve been in that moment.
And as the flashes of the cameras continue, you both walk hand in hand toward the door, leaving the noise, the chaos, the spotlight behind. All that matters now is the intoxicating pull between you two, and the freedom of knowing that whatever the world says, you’ve got each other.
The night belongs to you. And that’s more than enough.
#formula 1#f1#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis#hamilton#lh44 imagine#lh44 x reader#team lh44#lh44#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton smut#f1 grid x reader
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𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈'𝓈 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝜗𝜚 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒!
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This Christmas special was inspired by Valentine's Special [2nd Love Interest] by @fantasia-kitt (the creator!)
For this Christmas, I decided to write this fanfic while running errands with family for the holidays, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes.
I was thinking about writing something for New Year’s Eve, like a party fic, but I feel like this Christmas special is enough for now while I take a short break and catch up on some upcoming projects (three of them with deep plotlines!). Also, this ties in with Tkatb’s 1st anniversary, which was yesterday, the 23rd! I’m super proud of how far this little game has come.
And yes, I saw the update on the plans and progress. It looks like I might start working on some of my other favorite fandoms since the game will be on hold until the major update! I’ll still be keeping an eye on the progress as a Soulmate on Patreon, and you can always ask for a fanfic if you’d like! I’ll be responding to the messages in my ask box soon!
Anyway, happy reading! Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season!
The crisp, cool December air wrapped around you like a familiar embrace, the kind that reminded you of winter's quiet power. You stepped out of the lecture hall, your final class a fading echo behind you.
The world, for a moment, felt as if it had been held in stasis: college was finally behind you, and relief surged through your veins like a slow, satisfying exhale.
You almost burst out laughing at the thought. Thank God that's fucking over. It totally drained you, and ate away at your insides until you felt there was nothing left but pure exhaustion. But then, as it all started to sink in, this weird emptiness crept up, like that quiet moment right before a storm hit.
The goodbyes, those last waves, and parting words were still stuck in your chest, kinda just out of reach, weighing on you like you were still tied to something that wasn’t done.
Then your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked down at the screen and spotted Brittney’s name.
— Brittney: REMINDER! Gift exchange on Christmas Eve, my place at 7! Don’t be late, or you’ll owe me extra cookies.
You scoffed and let out a soft chuckle. Brittney had this incredible thing for making demands with a level of authority that was, somehow, oddly charming. As much as you rolled your eyes at her, you couldn’t deny that her quirks always brought a smile to your face. Still, as your gaze flicked back to the message, a groan bubbled up in your chest. You scrolled back through her earlier messages to confirm what you already knew.
"Great," you muttered under your breath. Brittney had really gone all out this year, assigning everyone a specific person to shop for, and, of course, you ended up with Crowe.
You exhaled, frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him—he was one of your closest friends—but trying to find a gift for someone who had everything felt like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. You could almost hear his voice in your head, teasing, cutting through whatever you picked out: “Really? This is what you think of me?” Of course, he’d never say anything like that—but what if he didn’t like it? What if he hated whatever you got him? The thought twisted uncomfortably in your chest.
You shook your head and continued walking toward the bus stop, the weight of the decision hanging over you. Simple wouldn’t cut it, but anything too over the top would make him throw a sarcastic comment at it. You had to find something that hit that sweet spot—the kind of gift that felt thoughtful without making him retreat into one of his jokes.
As if your thoughts weren’t already tangled enough, your phone buzzed again. You hesitated, almost instinctively glancing down.
— Hyugo: Hey, what are you doing Christmas Eve? Sol and I are planning to check out the lights walk at the park. You should come!
A smile tugged at your lips. Typical Hyugo—direct, unfiltered, full of energy. His message was as breezy as his personality. And then there was Sol’s name, and that grin only deepened. The two of them together were a comedy show on legs—Sol’s quiet balance countering Hyugo’s endless whirlwind of ideas and antics.
You stood still, fingers hovering over the screen. Christmas Eve.
Oh no… For a moment, the thought of walking through the park with them, bathed in twinkling lights, was tempting. It would be the perfect kind of distraction, a night filled with laughter, just as you’d imagine. You pictured Hyugo pulling you and Sol into whatever wild antics he’d planned, Sol trying (and failing) to keep everything in check with his usual, resigned eye rolls.
But then, as your thumb hovered over the screen, your thoughts drifted back to Crowe.
Last week, in the group chat, Crowe had mentioned something cryptic about "making big plans" for the holiday. He’d shrugged it off when Brittney pressed for details, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he had something in mind that involved the whole group. You felt the weight of his words in your mind. Would it be weird to bail on him now?
You sighed, tucking your phone into your pocket as the bus stop loomed closer.
"Why is it never simple with these friend groups?" you muttered under your breath.
Now, you had two conflicting decisions on your hands: find the perfect gift for Crowe, and decide whether you were spending Christmas Eve with him and his friends or tagging along with Hyugo and Sol on their sparkling adventure.
Your mind raced with the uncertainty, and the thought of making the "right" choice felt more elusive than ever.
The mall was buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy only the holiday season could bring—families weaving in and out of stores, the sound of Christmas music drifting from every corner, and glittering displays of tinsel and fairy lights winking at you from every window.
You hadn’t stepped foot in a mall in ages—mostly sticking to the convenience of online shopping and the hunts of thrift stores—but here you were, begrudgingly dragging Brittney along in your quest for the perfect gift for Crowe.
“I still don’t get why you’re this stressed about it,” Brittney said, effortlessly balancing a caramel macchiato in one hand while gesturing with the other as she walked beside you. “It’s Jericho. He’ll probably be smiling no matter what you give him. Honestly, wrap up a rock, and he’ll love it anyway.”
You let out a long, drawn-out groan, clutching your coat tighter as you passed yet another store that screamed not Crowe enough. “That’s exactly why it’s stressful! If I give him something random, he’ll think I didn’t put any thought into it. And if it’s too thoughtful—well, you know how he gets.”
Brittney raised an eyebrow, her heels clicking against the tile floor like the beat of a very judgmental drum. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. But fine, we’ll find him something perfect.” She paused dramatically, then grinned like the cat who’d just caught the canary. “Right after we fix this.”
She motioned toward you like you were a mannequin in need of serious intervention.
“What are you talking about?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, already dreading whatever plan she was about to hatch.
“Oh, come on,” she said, practically yanking your arm as she steered you toward a clothing store. “You cannot show up to my place tomorrow night wearing your same old flare jeans-and-sweater combo in dull colors. It’s festive! It’s Christmas! You need to bring your A-game.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a small get-together,” you protested, resisting her tug.
“It is. Small but fabulous. Which is why I, as your friend, am going to make sure you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed.” She pulled a sequined dress from a nearby rack with the kind of flourish reserved for Broadway stars. “What do we think? Too much?”
You stared at the dress in horror. It was so sparkly it could probably be seen from space. You shot her a flat look. “If I wear that, Crowe will definitely never let me live it down.”
“Fine, fine,” Brittney said, laughing and tossing the dress back on the rack with the grace of a fashionista throwing a tantrum. “But you’ve got to admit, you’d turn heads.”
“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as she tossed another, more reasonable outfit your way.
After what felt like an eternity—and after Brittney vetoed every “boring” outfit you tried to pick—finally, you emerged from the dressing room with a pretty outfit, you both agreed with.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Brittney said, clapping her hands in approval. “Chic, confident, and just a little bit mysterious. You’re welcome.”
You glanced at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head. “I guess it’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” she repeated, feigning offense. “Please, you look amazing. Crowe is going to have his jaw on the floor.”
You shot her a look, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “Why are you bringing him into this?”
Brittney smirked knowingly. “Oh, please. Like you don’t know.”
You rolled your eyes, but her grin was infectious, and you couldn’t suppress the smallest of smiles.
After leaving the clothing store—with Brittney carrying your new outfit like it was her triumph—you wandered into a cozy little shop filled with knick-knacks and handcrafted items. It had that eclectic, artsy vibe that immediately made you think of Crowe.
Brittney was busy examining a shelf of scented candles when she asked casually, “So, do you ever think about dating?” You froze, nearly dropping the ceramic figurine you were holding. “Excuse me? Where did that come from?”
“I mean, it’s the holidays,” she said, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Romance is in the air. And you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with a certain pair of guys.”
Your stomach flipped. “Brittney...”
“Come on,” she pressed, leaning against the shelf with a teasing grin. “It’s Jericho, isn’t it? Or wait—maybe that dude with the green streaks in his hair?” She paused, thinking, “What’s his name again…?” She asked. You rolled your eyes, “Sol.”
“Right, the quiet one that likes to draw…” She mentioned, “So? The prince or the artist?”
You hesitated, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
Sol, with his warm, easy-going nature, always made you feel like you could be yourself. But Crowe... Crowe had a way of drawing you in, his sharp wit and creativity sparking something you couldn’t quite name.
“I... I don’t know,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
Brittney’s expression softened, her teasing giving way to genuine curiosity. “Hey, no pressure. I just think... whoever you pick, they’re lucky to have you.”
As you walked through the mall, still thinking about her words, you stumbled upon something that made you stop in your tracks.
It was a gorgeous, handcrafted music box, intricately carved with a winter scene. You’d seen it before on display, months ago, and fallen in love with it. But the price tag had always kept it just out of reach. You’d told yourself it wasn’t practical—your money had to go toward rent, groceries, and textbooks, not something so frivolous.
Yet here it was, glimmering in the soft light as if waiting for you.
“What’s that?” Brittney asked, peeking over your shoulder.
You swallowed hard. “It’s... something I’ve wanted for a while. But it’s too expensive.”
She raised an eyebrow, glancing at you, then back at the music box. “Maybe it’s time to treat yourself for once. It’s Christmas, after all.”
You shook your head, stepping away reluctantly. “I can’t. I need to stick to my budget.”
Brittney frowned but didn’t push. Instead, she linked her arm with yours and said, “All right, let’s go. We’ve still got to find gifts.”
By the time you left the mall, you were exhausted but triumphant. You’d found the perfect gifts—Brittney had, of course, insisted on adding a bow to each package.
With the gifts secured, you headed home, your thoughts kept drifting back to the music box—and to the question, you couldn’t quite answer. Crowe or Sol?
Standing in front of your mirror, you smoothed the soft fabric of the outfit Brittney had picked out for you—a cozy yet stylish off-shoulder sweater black sweater dress paired with maroon tights, and a matching bow that sits on your nightstand.
It fit perfectly, hitting all the curves, and you had to admit, Brittney had an annoyingly good eye. When she handed you the bag earlier, she had waved away your protests with a grin.
“Think of it as a gift,” she’d said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I had no clue what to get you anyway, so this counts. You’re welcome.”
You laughed at the memory as you reached for the maroon bow. It was a small, thoughtful gesture from her, but it carried more weight than she probably realized. Brittney always had a way of showing her care through actions, even if she hid it behind sarcasm.
Your gaze shifted to your phone on the dresser, the screen still lit up with Hyugo’s text. You tapped your nails on the dresser, reading the message again and again. The idea of strolling under the glowing canopy of Christmas lights was tempting. Hyugo’s steady, dependable presence had always been a source of comfort, and Sol...
Your chest tightened slightly at the thought of Sol. He wasn’t the loudest or the most expressive, but he had a quiet way of showing he cared. Whether it was walking on the side of the road closest to traffic or remembering your favorite snacks when you studied late, Sol went out of his way to protect you in the subtlest ways.
But then there was Crowe.
You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, sighing softly as you adjusted the collar of your sweater dress. Crowe was the opposite of Sol in many ways—charismatic, quick-witted, and always so present. He had a way of being there when you needed him most, whether it was cracking a joke to pull you out of a bad mood or reminding you to take care of yourself when you pushed too hard. Crowe didn’t just care about you; he saw you.
Your brush stilled in your hand as your thoughts tangled. Sol, with his quiet strength and unspoken devotion, versus Crowe, whose vibrant energy and unwavering support had become a constant in your life. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt torn like this, but tonight, with everything hanging in the air, the question loomed larger than ever.
You placed the brush down and reached for your phone. Your thumb hovered over the screen, Hyugo’s text still unanswered.
The truth was, both options held their kind of magic. You could picture yourself with Sol and Hyugo, laughing as Sol attempted to grab a runaway balloon from a vendor at the Christmas lights. But you could also imagine spending the night with Crowe and the rest of the group, his familiar presence anchoring you as the chaos of the party swirled around you, perhaps playing games and catching up.
Would Crowe be disappointed if you didn’t go?
You bit your lip, closing your eyes for a moment as you let out a long breath. There wasn’t a perfect answer, and no amount of overthinking would make the choice any easier. Finally, you set the phone down with a soft thud and looked back at your reflection.
“Just go with your gut,” you murmured to yourself.
As you adjusted your clothes in the minor one last time, you headed to your living room. You put on your leather boots, then grabbed your coat, and you made your way toward the door. No matter what decision you made tonight, you knew one thing for certain: the holidays weren’t about the lights, the gifts, or even the plans—they were about the people who mattered most to you.
And whether that person was Crowe or Sol... maybe the night would help you figure that out.
If you picked Crowe!
You stood in front of your front door, staring at your phone screen as your thumb hovered over the keyboard. Hyugo’s invitation sat open on your messaging app, the words staring back at you like a challenge.
Spending Christmas Eve with him and Sol sounded wonderful. The idea of walking under glowing lights, sharing laughter and stories, and basking in the quiet warmth of their presence was so tempting. You could already picture Sol’s quiet, steady energy and Hyugo’s easygoing humor, balancing each other out like always.
But then there was Brittney’s party. She had been planning it for weeks, texting in all caps about the details and how “NO ONE was allowed to skip out unless they wanted to face my WRATH.” And Crowe… well, Crowe had been unusually involved in the group chat about the exchange. You could sense his subtle excitement, even though he’d never admit it outright.
Your heartfelt caught between two equally important choices. One evening with Hyugo and Sol would mean stepping away from the rest of your friends, missing out on the little traditions that had brought you all closer. And yet, declining Hyugo’s invitation felt like a lost chance to make a special memory with him and Sol.
Biting your lip, you finally typed out a reply, your fingers moving hesitantly:
— You: I’d love to, but my friends already planned something. Maybe next time?
You stared at the message for another moment before pressing send, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.
It wasn’t long before your phone buzzed with Hyugo’s response:
— Hyugo: Got it. Have fun!
You smiled softly at the screen, some of the tension in your chest easing. Hyugo was always so understanding—steady and reliable, no matter the situation. But before you could set your phone down, it buzzed again.
The name flashing on the screen made your stomach flip.
Sol.
You hesitated for a beat before answering. “Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light despite the sudden tightness in your throat.
“Hey,” he replied, his voice calm but noticeably quieter than usual. “I just wanted to check... So, you’re not coming tonight?”
Your chest tightened further at the faint thread of disappointment in his tone. “I’m really sorry, Sol,” you said, sighing softly. “I already have plans with others friends. I don’t want to bail on them.”
There was a pause, long enough for your heart to sink. When Sol spoke again, his words were careful, and understanding, but there was no hiding the sadness that laced his tone. “It’s okay. I get it. Maybe we can hang out another time.”
The lump in your throat grew heavier. “We definitely will,” you promised quickly, wishing you could say something to lighten the weight you could feel in his words.
In the background, you heard Hyugo’s voice. “Is that them? Gimme the phone.”
There was a rustling sound before Hyugo’s familiar warmth came through the line. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said with an easy chuckle. “We’ll survive without you. But next time, no excuses, okay?”
The lightheartedness in his tone made your shoulders relax slightly. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, relieved by his usual charm. “Thanks, Hyugo. Have fun tonight, okay?”
“You too!” he teased before adding, “And try not to let your friends drag you into too much chaos. See you soon.”
The line clicked, leaving you standing in the quiet entryway of your apartment. You lowered the phone slowly, staring at it for a moment longer as an ache settled in your chest. Sol’s voice lingered in your mind, soft and careful, and you couldn’t help but wish things could have been different.
But tonight, you reminded yourself, was about being with the others, about keeping the traditions you’d built with them alive. With a deep breath, you slipped your phone into your pocket and grabbed your coat, stepping into the night air with a mixture of anticipation and bittersweet longing swirling in your heart.
The evening of the party arrived, and as you approached Brittney’s house, the warmth and energy of the gathering spilled out onto the deck porch. Golden light glowed from the windows, the cheerful hum of music and laughter drifting into the chilly December air. You paused for a moment at the door, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you gathered your thoughts.
With a steadying breath, you knocked. A moment later, the door swung open, and there was Brittney, her face lighting up with her signature, effervescent grin.
“Finally! I thought you’d never get here,” she said, already reaching to help you with your coat.
“Sorry, I was—”
“Fashionably late,” she interrupted, her eyes scanning your outfit. A satisfied hum escaped her lips as she appraised you. “Now this is what I’m talking about. You’re stunning.”
You laughed softly, slipping out of your coat to reveal the gorgeous outfit Brittney had insisted on picking for you—a soft black off the shoulder dressed, paired with maroon tights with an matching bow that made you feel both elegant and confident. She handed you a pair of house shoes, the ones you knew she kept around for occasions like this.
“I feel like I’m overdressed,” you said lightly, but Brittney shook her head, waving a dismissive hand.
“Overdressed? Please. It’s Christmas. You’re perfect.”
Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the cheerful din behind her.
“Hey, you made it.”
Your gaze shifted, and there stood Crowe. For a moment, you simply stared, taking him in. He wore an azure button-up shirt, paired with a black vest that complemented his rich brown skin, the deep hue drawing out the warm tones of his deep blue eyes. A sapphire brooch glinted at the center of a meticulously tied black bow around his collar, and his long hair was pulled into a low ponytail, tied back with a matching azure ribbon.
In his hands, he held a small bouquet of blue irises.
Your breath caught, and as he stepped closer, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his outfit . “Wow,” you murmured. “You look... princely.”
Crowe raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk faltering as a flicker of warmth crossed his expression. “And you look...” He paused, his gaze lingering on you before softening. “Really beautiful.”
“Only tonight?” you teased, raising an eyebrow and tilting your head.
His eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words, flustered in a way you didn’t see often. “No, I mean—you look beautiful every day, but tonight you just—” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish laugh escaped him.
You both burst into laughter, the tension easing in an instant. Brittney rolled her eyes dramatically, patting Crowe’s shoulder as she passed. “Well, my work here is done,” she said, her tone dripping with mock exasperation. “Don’t mess this up, princeling.”
As Brittney disappeared back to the living room, leaving you and Crowe in the hallway. He turned his attention back to you, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you,” he said simply.
You took the flowers carefully, the soft petals brushing your fingertips. Your eyes widened slightly as you studied the blooms. “Blue irises,” you said, your voice thoughtful. “They’re beautiful.”
He tilted his head, his smirk returning. “I thought you’d like them. They’re supposed to mean hope and trust—or something like that.”
“And wisdom,” you added, looking up at him with a smile. “The iris has been associated with wisdom and truth because of the Greek goddess Iris, who was a messenger for Zeus and Hera. And nobility, too—it’s been connected to royalty throughout history.”
Crowe’s brow lifted, clearly impressed. “Well, aren’t you just a walking encyclopedia?”
You grinned. “Maybe. But you picked well. Thank you.”
The warmth in his gaze deepened, and for a moment, it felt like the noise of the party faded away.
“You’re welcome,” he said softly.
Soon the room was buzzing with anticipation as the gift exchange began. Brittney, playing hostess to perfection, had everyone seated in a loose circle, with the mountain of brightly wrapped presents taking center stage. You were perched on the edge of a couch, trying to calm the slight flutter in your chest as the turn order worked its way closer to Crowe.
When his name was finally called, he shot to his feet with his usual flair, bowing dramatically as the room cheered. “Thank you, thank you,” he said, waving his hand like a performer accepting applause. “But this isn’t about me—it’s about you all witnessing the unveiling of my superior gift-giving skills.”
Brittney rolled her eyes. “Just get on with it, princeling.”
Crowe smirked at her before his gaze flicked to you. A mischievous glint lit his deep blue eyes as he strode toward you, a carefully curated basket in his hands. He stopped in front of you, his grin softening into something a little more sincere.
“This one’s for you,” he said, holding the basket out with a slight flourish.
You blinked, surprised as you took the basket from him. “For me?”
He tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Well, yeah. You’re hard to shop for, so don’t judge me too harshly, okay?”
You set the basket on your lap and began pulling back the tissue paper, and your eyes widened as you took in the contents. Inside were all your favorite things—snacks you couldn’t resist, small trinkets in your favorite color, and even a notebook that perfectly matched your aesthetic.
“Crowe...” you murmured, already feeling a warmth spreading in your chest. But as you moved the tissue paper aside further, your gaze landed on something at the center that made your breath hitch—a beautifully crafted music box.
“You...” You looked up at him, your voice barely above a whisper.
Crowe shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of nervousness. “I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re always saying you have everything you need, and every time I offer to get you something, you turn me down like I’m trying to buy your soul or something.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and you couldn’t help but smile. “So, I figured I’d just... cover all my bases. You know, a little bit of everything. And, uh... I remembered how much you like little tunes and stuff, so...” He motioned awkwardly to the music box, looking anywhere but directly at you.
Your chest tightened as a wave of emotion swept over you. The thoughtfulness behind the gift—the way he’d paid attention to all the little details about you—left you speechless. Without thinking, you stood up, leaned toward him, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you, Crowe,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, Crowe froze, his eyes wide as the room erupted into a chorus of whistles and teasing laughter. His hand flew to his cheek, and the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of red.
“Well, well, well,” Brittney said loudly, holding up her phone and snapping a picture. “Looks like Crowe’s the real winner tonight.”
Crowe groaned, glaring playfully at her. “Don’t you have a party to host or something?”
Brittney smirked. “This is hosting. Carry on, lovebirds.”
The teasing didn’t stop there. Someone shouted, “How about a speech, Crowe?!” and someone else chimed in with, “Yeah, tell us how it feels to win Christmas!”
Crowe sighed dramatically, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed how much he appreciated the attention. “It feels like... a conspiracy,” he quipped, shooting you a quick, fond glance.
As the laughter died down and the gift exchange continued, you found yourself clutching the basket tightly. You caught Crowe looking at you a few times, and each time, he offered a soft, almost shy smile.
As the night wore on, the room buzzed with laughter and excitement. You sat quietly, watching the group banter back and forth, their camaraderie filling the space with a warmth that rivaled the glow of the twinkling fairy lights strung across the walls. Brittney flitted from group to group, her laughter ringing out as she teased someone about their gift-wrapping skills. Crowe’s voice cut through the chatter every so often, his witty remarks earning groans and snickers alike.
You smiled at their antics, but the warmth in your chest was tinged with a bittersweet ache. The ease with which they all interacted—the history they shared—sometimes made you feel like an outsider, no matter how much they cared for you. You still felt new. You blinked quickly, willing away the sting in your eyes, but the knot in your throat tightened, looking down at your hands.
A quiet voice broke through your thoughts.
“Hey.”
You looked up to find Crowe standing beside you, his brow furrowed, concern softening his usually playful expression. He crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low so only you could hear.
You nodded quickly, forcing a smile as you wiped at your eyes. “Yeah,” you said, though your voice wavered. “I just need some fresh air.”
He didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he held out a hand, helping you up. “Come on,” he said softly, guiding you toward the door.
Outside, the crisp night air greeted you, sharp and refreshing against your skin. The muffled sounds of music and laughter from inside felt distant now, replaced by the soft rustling of trees and the faint twinkle of stars overhead.
You leaned against the railing of the porch, closing your eyes for a moment as you took a deep breath. When you opened them again, Crowe was watching you, his expression unreadable.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. Crowe noticed immediately, his brow knitting in concern. Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue handkerchief.
He stepped closer, his movements gentle as he raised the handkerchief to your cheek, wiping the tear away. His touch was warm and deliberate, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.
The tenderness of the gesture caught you off guard, and when he realized how close he was, his hand faltered. “Sorry, I—”
You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as a small, shaky breath escaped you. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.
His hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled back, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly.
The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a while, the cool night air brushing against your faces. Eventually, Crowe leaned against the railing beside you, his arm brushing yours as he tilted his head back to look at the sky.
“Do you know much about constellations?” he asked, his tone lighter now.
You glanced at him, grateful for the change in mood. “A little. Why?”
He pointed upward, his hand tracing the shape of a cluster of stars. “That one right there—that’s Cassiopeia. The queen who bragged about how beautiful she was and got herself in trouble with the gods.”
You laughed softly. “Sounds like someone I know.”
Crowe gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know, I am humble to a fault.”
“Sure, princeling,” you teased, nudging him gently with your shoulder.
He grinned, his gaze drifting back to the stars. “Anyway, you’re more like Andromeda. You know, the princess who was chained to a rock but ended up becoming a constellation. Quiet strength, endless beauty... and the kind of person you can’t help but notice.”
Your breath hitched slightly at his words, and when you turned to look at him, his eyes were already on you, warm and sincere.
“I...” You hesitated, your emotions threatening to spill over again. But instead of speaking, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small box.
“I almost forgot,” you said, your voice steadying. “This is for you.”
Crowe blinked, surprised, as he took the box from your hands. When he opened it, his expression softened even further. Inside were two matching necklaces, one in gold and one in silver, with interlocking stars at the center.
“They fit together,” you explained, taking the gold one and clipping it around his neck. “Yours is gold and mine’s silver. I thought...” You hesitated again, suddenly shy. “I thought it’d be a nice reminder.”
Crowe’s fingers brushed the charm, his gaze flicking between the necklace and you. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice low. “Thank you.”
The two of you stood close, the distance between you barely enough to breathe, yet it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. Your hands brushed as you admired the matching necklaces, an unspoken connection flickering between the two of you. Crowe’s lips parted, as if he was about to say something, but then he suddenly laughed, his eyes catching something in the distance.
“What’s so funny?” you asked, your head tilting curiously, the soft flicker of the holiday lights casting a warm glow on your face.
He pointed upward, his eyes mischievous. “You didn’t notice?”
Following his gaze, your eyes landed on a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above you, its green leaves almost glowing under the lights. The realization hit you, and heat surged to your cheeks, a soft flush spreading across your skin. You looked back at him, your heart suddenly racing, and found him raising his hands in mock surrender, his lips curling into that knowing smile of his.
“You don’t have to,” he said, his tone playful but edged with something deeper, like he was daring you to take the plunge. “It’s just a tradition, you know—.”
But you didn’t let him finish.
Without a second thought, you stepped closer, closing the gap between you until you were mere inches apart. Your fingers gently cupped his cheek, and as his breath hitched, you pressed your lips to his.
The kiss was electric. Crowe froze for the briefest of seconds, as if surprised by your sudden boldness, but then he melted into it, his hands settling onto your waist, his touch firm yet careful. The world around you seemed to vanish, the only thing that existed was the sensation of his lips against yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. It was soft, tender, but there was an intensity to it—like a fire that had been smoldering, just waiting for the right moment to ignite.
His lips moved against yours, slow at first, savoring the closeness. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the way his chest pressed gently against yours. You pulled him in closer, your hands tangling in the fabric of his jacket, as though afraid that if you let go, the moment would slip away. His body was pressed against yours now, his chest flush against yours, his strong arms securing you in place, as if to make sure you didn’t fall.
When you finally pulled back, the air between you seemed charged, crackling with unspoken words. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, deeply in love and warm with something that made your heart race. He smiled, a slow, genuine curve of his lips, his voice low and tender when he finally spoke.
“I’ve been waiting for that,” he whispered, his words almost lost in the space between your lips. His hand remained at the small of your back, holding you close, his fingers warm against your skin.
Before you could even process the weight of his words, a loud voice broke through the fragile moment.
“Got it!” Brittney crowed from the window, waving her phone triumphantly as if she had just captured a moment of great importance.
You groaned, your face immediately hiding in your hands, embarrassed, but Crowe just laughed, the sound warm and carefree, his arm effortlessly wrapping around your shoulders.
“Let them watch,” he said with a grin, pulling you closer, his breath tickling your ear. “I don’t care.”
And for the first time that night, as his arm pulled you tighter against him, you didn’t care either.
If you picked Sol!
You stood motionless, phone resting in your hand, as you stared at the glowing screen.
— You: I’d love to come. When should I meet you?
Hyugo’s response came almost immediately.
— Hyugo: 6:30 at the park entrance. Can’t wait!
A small smile tugged at your lips, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You knew tonight would be special; Hyugo and Sol had a way of making even the simplest outings unforgettable. But as your gaze drifted to Crowe’s name in your contacts, the smile faded.
Crowe.
He deserved to know you wouldn’t be there. You owed him that much.
Your thumb hovered over the call button, hesitating as a pang of guilt settled in your chest. This wasn’t an easy decision, but you couldn’t be everywhere at once. Taking a steadying breath, you pressed the button and lifted the phone to your ear.
The line rang twice before Crowe answered, his familiar voice as warm and teasing as ever. “Hey, what’s up? Please don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me for tonight.”
A soft laugh escaped you, but the guilt in your tone was unmistakable. “Not exactly chickening out, but... I can’t make it. I have other plans.”
The silence that followed stretched long enough to make your chest tighten. You checked the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped, but then Crowe’s voice returned, quieter now.
“Oh. I see. Well, that’s okay. I mean, we’ll miss you, but it’s not Christmas without options, right?”
His attempt at lightness only deepened the ache in your heart. You could hear the subtle disappointment beneath his words, even if he was trying to hide it.
“I’m sorry, Crowe,” you said softly. “I really hope you have a great time. Merry Christmas.”
He chuckled lightly, though the usual energy in his laugh wasn’t there. “Yeah, you too. Take care, okay?”
When the call ended, you stared at the blank screen for a moment, the weight of your choice pressing on you. Crowe’s voice lingered in your mind, and for a fleeting second, you almost reconsidered. But tonight was about something different—something you couldn’t quite name yet.
Later that evening, you arrived at the park entrance, the crisp night air nipping at your cheeks as the scent of pine and roasted chestnuts filled the air. Strings of twinkling lights turned the trees into glowing sculptures, and the cheerful hum of holiday music mingled with the sound of children laughing and families chatting.
Your breath puffed in the cold air as you scanned the crowd. It didn’t take long to spot Hyugo leaning against a lamppost, his tall frame relaxed and his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. He gave you a small wave, but it wasn’t Hyugo who drew your attention.
A few steps away stood Sol.
He was dressed impeccably, his white button-up shirt and green suit jacket tailored perfectly to his lean frame. The deep green of the jacket brought out the striking shade of his eyes, and his neatly styled ponytail only emphasized the sharp lines of his face. His bangs framed his expression, highlighting the glint of the piercings lining his ears.
But it was the bouquet in his hands that truly caught your attention. A cluster of green roses, delicate and vibrant against the cold winter backdrop.
Your heart skipped a beat as you walked toward him, your eyes widening. “Green roses,” you said softly, taking the bouquet from his hands with care. “They’re about life and growth. Hope, too.”
Sol blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before his expression softened. A faint blush crept up his neck as he scratched the back of his head. “Yeah... I thought you’d like them.”
You couldn’t help yourself. Without thinking, you leaned forward and hugged him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Sol froze, his body going stiff as his blush deepened to an almost crimson hue. He stammered incoherently for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ground himself.
“Well, this is already adorable,” Hyugo said, his calm voice laced with amusement as he walked up. “Thanks for officially making me the third wheel tonight.”
You laughed, clutching the roses to your chest as you turned to Hyugo. “Don’t be so dramatic. Here, I have something for you.”
Reaching into the small gift bag in your hand, you pulled out a silver katana necklace. Hyugo’s brows lifted as he took it, his fingers brushing the delicate chain.
“Wow,” he said, holding it up to catch the light. “This is... really nice. Thanks!”
“Only the best for you,” you teased, grinning as he slipped it on. The chain glinted under the lights, and he adjusted it with a satisfied nod.
“Looks good on me, doesn’t it?” he said, striking a mock-serious pose.
You rolled your eyes, laughing. “It does. But let’s not let it go to your head, okay?”
As the three of you began walking into the park, the weight of the earlier phone call began to ease. The twinkling lights, the crisp air, and the warmth of your friends’ presence all blended into a moment you wouldn’t forget.
The world around you transformed into a glowing wonderland of twinkling lights. Strings of bulbs wound through the trees like cascading stars, and lanterns in festive shapes lined the paths. The air was filled with the sounds of cheerful laughter, holiday music, and the occasional jingling bell from a passing sleigh ride.
Hyugo walked ahead, his easy stride and relaxed demeanor making him seem like he belonged in this magical setting. Occasionally, he pointed out displays, his commentary a mix of genuine appreciation and sarcastic humor.
“See that?” he said, gesturing to a particularly gaudy reindeer display. “That’s exactly what my family’s yard looks like. Overachieving neighbors are a real thing.”
You laughed, falling into step with Sol, who had remained quieter than usual. He walked beside you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets now that the bouquet was safely cradled in your arms. His reddish-orange eyes flitted between the lights and you, his expression thoughtful.
“You okay back there, Sol?” Hyugo called over his shoulder, smirking. “You’re way too quiet. I’m starting to think the roses did all the talking for you.”
Sol’s cheeks flushed again, but he managed a small smile. “I’m fine. Just... enjoying the view.” Hyugo snorted. “Yeah, sure you are.”
You glanced up at Sol, catching the way his gaze lingered on you before darting away. Your heart skipped slightly, and you decided to give him a reprieve from Hyugo’s teasing. “The lights are beautiful,” you said softly, gesturing toward the canopy of stars above the path.
Sol nodded, his voice equally quiet. “Yeah, they are.”
The three of you continued along the winding path, pausing occasionally to take in the more elaborate displays—a massive tree covered in golden lights, an archway adorned with glittering ornaments, and a whimsical snowman family that had children running circles around it.
Hyugo excused himself after spotting a nearby food stall. “I’m getting hot cocoa. Anyone want some?”
You shook your head, and Sol muttered a soft, “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourselves. I’ll be back in a bit,” Hyugo said with a casual wave, leaving you and Sol alone under the shimmering lights.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged with something unspoken. Sol glanced at you, his hands fidgeting slightly in his pockets.
“You look really nice tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice shy but earnest.
You turned to him, surprised. “Thank you. You do, too.”
He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he wasn’t sure how far to let it go. “I mean it,” he added, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “You always look nice, but tonight... I don’t know. You’re so pretty.”
Your breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you,” you said again, your voice softer this time.
The lights overhead cast a soft glow on both of you, the world feeling smaller and quieter. Your thoughts began to wander, and a faint ache tugged at your chest.
You’d spent so many Christmases surrounded by family, their familiar warmth and chaos filling every corner of your childhood home. This year was different. You’d made a life for yourself in the city and built relationships and traditions with your friends, but the distance from your family suddenly felt heavier than ever.
Sol noticed the shift in your expression immediately. His brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, stepping closer. “Hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”
You blinked quickly, realizing tears had started to well in your eyes. “Yeah,” you said, wiping at them with a quick smile. “I’m fine. Just... thinking about home.”
His concern deepened, and for a moment, he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should say anything. Finally, he reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay to miss them,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hide it.”
The warmth in his voice unraveled something inside you, and you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, Sol,” you murmured.
A small smile returned to his face, and he pulled his hand back, letting the moment settle. After a few moments, you reached into your bag, a spark of excitement cutting through the heaviness in your chest. “Actually, I have something for you,” you said, pulling out a small box.
Sol blinked in surprise, watching as you handed it to him. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” you said with a grin.
He carefully lifted the lid to reveal a miniature horse keychain, painted green and black to match his colors. Sol’s eyes widened, and a small, genuine smile spread across his face.
“For me?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.
You nodded. “And this one’s for me,” you added, pulling out a matching keychain—a small cat painted in your favorite colors. “Now we’ve got matching keychains. To think of each other, you know.”
Sol stared at the tiny horse in his hands, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. “I love it,” he said finally, his voice quiet but full of emotion. “Thank you.”
Before you could respond, Sol reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a neatly wrapped box. “I, uh... have something for you too,” he said, handing it over.
You unwrapped it carefully, and your breath caught as the lid lifted to reveal the music box you’d been dreaming about for months.
Tears sprang to your eyes again, but this time they were filled with pure joy. You couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. “Sol… how did you…?”
He stood there, his hands twitching nervously at his sides, the usual confidence he carried nowhere to be found. He took a tentative step closer, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart ache. “I remembered you talking about it once,” he said, his voice faltering, tinged with uncertainty. “I just thought you should have it.”
His words, the meaning behind them, hit you all at once. He was so thoughtful, so careful. But it was his panicked expression that really caught you off guard. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to comfort you or retreat, his reddish orange eyes wide with worry, silently questioning if he had done too much. “I—was this too much? I just thought you’d—”
You couldn’t bear to see him like that, unsure and vulnerable, so you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Slowly, you rose up onto your toes, your hands wrapping around his broad shoulders, grounding yourself in his presence.
Before he could finish his thought, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, letting your emotions guide you. His breath hitched, and for a long moment, everything seemed to pause. The twinkling lights that decorated the trees, the distant laughter of other parkgoers, even the crisp winter air—all of it faded away, leaving only the heat of his skin and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat that somehow synced with yours.
Sol froze at first, his lips still under yours, as if his mind hadn’t caught up with what was happening. But slowly, you felt him relax into the kiss. His hands, unsure at first, settled lightly on your arms, and then, as if he was grounding himself in the moment, they tightened just slightly, pulling you in closer.
His touch was little rough, but you could feel the depth of his feelings in the way his fingers brushed against your skin—like he was afraid to let go, as if the moment might slip away if he did.
When you finally pulled back, the air around you felt charged, alive with the emotion you both had been holding back. Sol stood there, his wide eyes locked on you, his cheeks flushed so deeply that even the tips of his ears had turned a deep shade of red. His chest rose and fell quickly, like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.
“I… uh…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, as if words had momentarily escaped him.
A soft laugh escaped you, breaking the intensity of the moment. You wiped away the lingering tears from your cheeks, trying to steady yourself. “Thank you, Sol,” you said, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling in your chest. “For everything. For the music box, for being here… for being you.”
Sol’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond, but instead, all he managed was a shy, lopsided smile. The kind that made your heart flutter, as if his very soul was laid bare in that simple gesture.
You smiled back, your cheeks still flushed with warmth despite the winter chill, and there was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that made everything feel right, in a way you never expected.
“And for the record,” you added softly, your tone more serious now, “I care about you. So much.”
Sol’s smile deepened, and his eyes seemed to glow with a mixture of disbelief and quiet happiness. His voice, when it came, was so soft, so full of emotion, it felt like a secret meant just for you. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmured, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch warm and tender. “You’re the best muse I’ll ever have.”
His words hung in the air between you, and it felt like time itself had slowed down, each second stretching into eternity as you stood there, lost in the quiet connection you shared. The world, the winter, the chaos of everything else—it all melted away in that one moment, leaving only the feeling of his hands, his heart, and the soft glow of your shared affection.
Before either of you could say more, Hyugo’s suddenly voice cut through the tender moment, laced with amusement.
“Well, I feel like I should leave you two lovebirds alone, but... I also don’t want to walk home alone, so…”
The interruption made you laugh, the sound light and genuine as the heaviness in your chest fully lifted. Sol’s blush only deepened, and he looked down, scratching the back of his neck in his usual awkward fashion.
Your hand found his instinctively, your fingers lacing together as you turned to face Hyugo. “You’re hopeless,” you called teasingly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Hyugo said with a mock sigh. “Glad you’ve finally figured that out.”
As the three of you continued along the path, Sol’s grip on your hand remained firm, his thumb brushing lightly against yours as though to reassure himself this wasn’t a dream. The lights above reflected in his eyes, making them shine like rubies against the backdrop of the winter evening.
After a few moments of quiet, Sol glanced at you, his gaze steady but laced with a familiar shyness. “Thanks for being here,” he said, his voice low but full of meaning.
You looked up at him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course. Where else would I be?”
He hesitated for just a second, and then, with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he added, “…And I’m glad I didn’t have to shed any blood to win you over.”
You stopped in your tracks, staring at him in mock disbelief before bursting into laughter. “What a charmer,” you said, shaking your head.
Sol chuckled softly, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “What can I say? …I aim to impress you alone.”
The teasing gave way to a comfortable silence as the two of you continued walking, your hands still intertwined. The world around you felt warmer, and brighter, like the holiday lights above had found a way to settle into your chest and glow from the inside out.
For the first time that night, you felt completely at peace, the bittersweet ache of the season replaced by something sweeter: the quiet, steadfast warmth of someone who cared for you deeply.
You two reached Hyugo, who was waiting by another set of light displays, waving his hand over to call you and Sol to have a closer look.
You couldn’t help but think that this chilly winter night had turned into something magical.
The soft hum of your phone was the only sound in the stillness of your room, the faint light casting long shadows across the walls as you lay there, scrolling through the pictures from the night of Christmas Eve. Each image flickered before your eyes like a fragment of time—memories that felt both distant and vivid, frozen in the glow of your screen.
The liveliness of Crowe and his friends, the way their energy seemed to fill the room and make the night brighter. Or the warmth of the park, the laughter of Hyugo and Sol, their voices mingling with the cold December air.
You felt an unexpected peace settle deep in your chest, a quiet kind of comfort.
College may have been over, for now, but something else had started to take root—connections that would stretch far beyond the walls of classrooms and lectures. Friendships that felt solid, steady, like something that might stand the test of time.
Just as you set the phone aside, your eyes began to flutter shut, your body sinking into the softness of the bed, drifting completely off to sleep.
Afterward, the soft sound at the window—a quiet rustle of fabric, the faintest click of the latch being undone. Then, a shadow moved across the room, sleek and fluid, dressed entirely in black. The figure moved with practiced ease, slipping silently through your window as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sol.
His silhouette was barely visible against the darkness, but you could feel the presence of his mischievous grin even before he stepped into the soft pool of light in your room. He was quick, and efficient as if he had done this a hundred times before, and yet there was something undeniably thoughtful in the way he moved—careful not to disturb anything, as if he didn’t want to interrupt the calm of the night.
He stood there for a moment, just watching your sleeping figure, his eyes heart-shaped, glinting with quiet amusement. You could feel something warm in his gaze. Then, he crossed the room, slow enough not to startle you, and crouched down at the edge of your bed. His black clothing blended into the shadows, the outline of his lean figure and the small smile playing at the corners of his lips.
You were deep in sleep, the world around you a blur of comforting darkness. And yet, in that dreamlike space, you could feel his presence, like a whisper threading through the silence.
"You made it through the year," his voice murmured, a soft, velvety tone that carried a weight of something unspoken—something meaningful. His words were like a gentle caress, and though you could barely register them in your dream state, they stirred something inside you, something warm, something that made you feel understood.
A movement—delicate, almost reverent—pulled you from the haze of sleep. His hand, steady and sure, reached out to you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was feather-light, as though he was afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the moment. You could feel the warmth of his fingertips lingering on your skin, a soft, lingering touch that made you feel protected, and cared for, even in your slumber.
"Wishing you the best in the new year," he whispered, his voice barely audible but thick with intent.
You didn’t stir, caught in the embrace of sleep, but somehow, his words echoed through your mind like a distant lullaby. His hand dropped, and then there was a shift, the movement of him leaning forward, his presence closer now, filling the space between you.
His lips brushed against your lip, the kiss so gentle it felt like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. It was brief, fleeting, but tender—an unspoken promise, woven into the light touch, something that lingered on your skin even after he pulled away. His warmth stayed with you for a heartbeat, then another, the feeling of him still hanging in the air like a quiet echo.
For a moment, everything was still. His expression remained unreadable, as it often did, but there was something else there—something deeper, more sincere than you were used to seeing. He didn’t need to say more; his presence was enough.
"Happy New Year~” he said, his voice soft but carrying a quiet smile, one that tugged at the corners of his lips as though he knew something you didn’t. And then, as swiftly as he had come, he was gone—leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his touch and the faintest trace of his words, woven into the fabric of your dreams. Still, a smile tugged at your lips as you thought about the promise of the new year—of fresh starts and endless possibilities.
Whatever moments the future held, you knew they'd be all the more meaningful depending on who you chose to share them with.
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#the kid at the back x reader#the kid at the back crowe#the kid at the back sol#tkatb#tkatb crowe#crowe ichabod#crowe x reader#tkatb sol#solivan brugmansia#jericho crowe ichabod#jericho ichabod#the kid at the back jericho#sol brugmansia#sol x reader#the kid at the back vn
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