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madamechrissy · 1 month ago

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♔ Silent Serenades ♔

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Duke Satoru Gojo x Duchess Reader

♔ Content/Warnings: Explicit sexual content, THE END OMG- lactation kink lowkey lol, highkey a breed kink, reader is a mom, oral (f receiving) spitting (they're still freaks) time skip, Gojo talking shit, fluffy and cute, HAPPY EVER AFTER- sweet and emotional- a lot of closure I hope you enjoy the end!

♔ Word count: this chap: 6k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England.- dual povs

♔ Part Fifteen ♔ Masterlist ♔ Playlist

Final Chapter- Fire on Fire

Six Years Later

“God, just look at them.” Satoru is murmuring, as you all are hiding in the foyer next to the ballroom just roaring with laughter and music, and he’s got your pretty breasts yanked out of your corset, squishing them and exhaling as they’re dripping milk making you squeak.

“Toru! Here!?” You all are literally in the middle of a masquerade, his mother has two of your children entertained, while your Nan has your youngest baby in the nursery, just a few months old.

Satoru’s silver mask is brushing against your breasts as his tongue laps at the milky liquid, moaning as he drags you close against him. “So sweet my god, you know how much I love this.”

“W-wait till… later… mnh!” Your eyes roll back in your own little glittery silver mask, as he suckles a sore nipple in his mouth, humming as the sweetness rolls into his mouth, and you feel desire shoot through you. In the background you hear the laughter, the music, but it’s drowned by your heart racing.

“Just a little drink, Princess. You’d be so cruel to your husband and deny him his favorite drink?” He pouts at you with his pretty pink lips, you sigh, arching your back and garnering his grin.

“This is how I keep getting with child, will you not give me a break- f-fuck…” He chuckles as he nips at you, shaking his head and sucking your other nipple now, you’re biting at your lower lip, so wet you can’t stand it, how ready you are for him.

“Not my fault you’re so sexy round with me, and your tits are even fucking nicer, god.” He’s sucking at your other breast now, lips latching your nipple, your thigh on his hip as he drags you against his hard body. He’s sucking down more milk, which makes you go insane, hands trembling as you cling to broad shoulders.

“You’re making me too wet, s-stop…” He’s chuckling, slipping up layers and layers of your skirts, fingers finding your clit in little circles, you’re soaking his gloved finger, breaths mingling together.

��Slutty mommy hmm?”

“Oh stop! Mommy!? You’re r-ridiculous.” Satoru’s chuckling now, kissing down your collarbone, biting it, right under the cool metal of your jeweled necklace, you yank at his hair, earning his glare, blue eyes bright and piercing.

“You’re interrupting my meal, Duchess.”

“Duke, you’re being a whore.”

“You love this whore.” He slips two fingers in your slick walls, feeling you clench them now, soaking the long, slender digits and moaning. “Feel her, god she’s so perfect still.”

“Your fingers… so thick I…” You’re whining out, gasping and covering your mouth while he smirks, so pleased. “We can’t do this right here!”

“Why not, let me fuck you in your pretty masquerade mask, while these nipples drip milk, mmm..” You glare right back up at him, when you hear footsteps, he’s just chuckling, pulling you quickly and turning you both, adjusting your top and sucking you right off his fingers. Lewd and obscene.

“You really have to do this to me?” You whisper, he knows what that damn action does to an already addled brain, he bends down and kisses your lips, as passersby see you both, awwing at the loving couple you two make, not the insanity he was pursuing a moment ago.

“Poor duchess, are they leaking now?” His taunt just makes you wetter, damn him.

“You know they are!” You hiss at him, only for him to chuckle, leading you both back out to the floor as you try to compose yourself.

“What’s the point of being a Duke if I can’t fuck my wife everywhere I want to, in my own Castle at that.” He mutters quietly, earning a smack on the shoulder, while you both glide back in and smile at everyone.

“You can do so, later, also the kids-”

“They need another sibling.”

“They do not.” Satoru pouts again, as two of your kids run to you now, a boy and a girl, the boy has Satoru’s shocking white hair but your eyes, and your oldest daughter has his blue eyes and your hair. The youngest baby is just the spitting image of you, which Satoru adores, he loves seeing all the features of you in the children you all have, children he adores.

The wife he adores, brattiness already spreading down the Gojo family line, surely from you he thinks, as he watches your eyes light up even behind your mask, your pretty grin. Your son runs to you, as your daughter runs to Satoru, hugging each of you, you bend down and pick him up, as Satoru picks her up, planting little kisses on their cheeks. Satoru’s mom smiles at you both, how adorable you are.

“Mama, Mama can we please stay up!” You giggle, shaking your head at him.

“I’m sorry, but bedtime is bedtime, handsome boy.”

“Papa!” Your daughter cooes at Satoru, he pouts now, looking at you and pulling her close.

“Bedtime, little princess.” You order, Satoru sighs.

“Mama is cruel I’m afraid.”

“Excuse me! I am not cruel. You need your rest, hmm my sweet girl?” She sighs, pouting so cutely.

“Can we watch Mama and Papa dance?” Your daughter asks, and you smile as you nuzzle her cheek.

“If Mama wants to.” Satoru says, ever so gallant as he makes a show of bowing to you after he puts your son down, and your kids eyes light up as they watch the two of you, their own masks on their cute little faces.

“I’d love to, Duke Gojo.” You tease with a wink, placing your hand in his as he leads you out to the waltz, hand on your hip as he turns in effortless circles, no one is even dancing they’re all just watching the two of you.

It is your masquerade, after all.

From the corner of your eyes you see Suguru and Shoko, watching you both with knowing smiles, and several of your other friends, lords and ladies all around you, but everything fades but him. Even from your first dance, back when you were strangers and enemies, the way his hand slips up your waist, you remember it all, vividly, like it was a lifetime ago.

But even then you knew, you knew there was something there, when he’d whispered angrily how beautiful you were, and you couldn’t believe him, you hurt him, and he hurt you. It feels so foreign and wrong to imagine hurting each other, not now that you two have built so much, every moment you breathe is just full of love for him, for your children.

He smiles down at you, so charming, not that glare of the past, and is met with your fluttering lashes and a sweet curve of your lips, not that adorable little fucking scowl you give him sometimes still. Typically when he’s trying to put more babies on you, and you’d probably like a break.

But it’s not Satoru’s fault you’re so pretty pregnant.

That’s so clearly your fault.

Your hand goes to his shoulder, over the silk brocade of his cravat, brushing slowly down as you twirl for the view of every one of the ton. Hardly anyone knows your story, what you’ve been through, and those who know bits of it even would never truly believe what you were like.

How could two black holes converge and not destroy each other?

Somehow you both had made it through.

“You’re the prettiest woman in this ballroom.” You’re flushing now, he can see it under the glimmer of the chandeliers, while he’s got you pressed firmly against him, a hand holding yours while you dance a dance you’ve both done so many times. Flawless steps, even when he has your tummy clenching in desire.

“You’re the prettiest man in London. And the sluttiest.” He smirks, as he dips you over his arm now.

“Oh, you’re the sluttiest brat in all of England.”

“Me!?” You demand, seeing mirth in his gaze behind that mask.

“You.” You’re both laughing, as no one can hear just how audacious and scandalous your conversation is.

“I think you have the title of sluttiest man in history!” You tease in a hushed whisper in his ear, and he moans softly, pulling you closer.

“More than Henry the eighth!?”

“More than him, you just don’t chop off heads.”

“You brat!” You’re so flushed from the dance, from your mirth, looking every bit the glittering diamond he met so long ago. “I’ll punish you for that.”

“Let’s see what you come up with, Duke.” Satoru sighs, aching to smack your pretty backside when he slowly ends the dance, your hands joined as everyone around you claps.

“Now it’s time for me to bed my Princess.” He whispers, feeling your skin heat up as his breath ghosts the shell of your ear, his cheek pressing yours.

“The children first.”

“Psh, why do we have all these nannies if-”

“Ah-ah, don’t be so spoiled, Duke.” He huffs, when soon the two of you are bidding your farewells for just a bit, though the two of you never end up coming back down to your own events, and you suppose everyone knows better by now.

It was not ‘normal’ for a Duke and Duchess to put their own children to bed, but you and Satoru were far from ‘normal’ or typical. People all smile as the four of you pass by, as the two of you hold your children in your arms, walking them up the stairs, your daughter already is falling fast asleep against Satoru’s chest, and your son is fighting it, all fussy.

“Don’t want to sleep, hmm? Too much excitement?” You ask softly, Satoru loves how soft your voice gets with your children.

He loves hearing you sing to them at night.

He loves being a parent next to you, so devoted, you just enjoy them so much, he supposes that’s one of the reasons he just can’t stop getting you with child. You are laying your son down, brushing his silky locks and smiling as he reaches for you with his little hands, as Satoru kisses his daughter on her forehead, tucking them both snug in their pretty room.

Intricate, huge and elaborate, it also had little touches of the Duke and Duchess strewn throughout it. A pair of your gloves on the dresser next to the stuffed animal you loved as a child sitting on the dresser, Satoru’s glasses next to that along with his favorite book that he’d read to them. It’s full of love despite just how huge it is, compared to their delicate little beds with their white canopies.

“But mama, tell me a story!” Your daughter says now, you laugh softly, coming over to sit next to her, the bed gently dipping just a bit, your gowns flowing in flounces so glittery, the moonlight capturing it so beautifully, as Satoru studies you, the soft slope of your shoulder bare in the night.

He remembers just when your first baby came, his lips twitching with amusement just a bit.

‘Suguru, it sounds like she’s dying!?’ Satoru was pacing back and forth, in long strides, hands yanking at his messy white hair, Suguru himself grimaces, taking a shot of whiskey as your screams echo through the hall.

‘Shoko is with her, and your mother… she’ll be…’

‘This big head is your fault, Satoru Gojo! I swear to god!’

Suguru snorts in laughter, as Satoru downs a shot himself, and King Sukuna walks past them, shaking his head. ‘I’ll never have a fucking heir if this is what happens to the girl, shit.’

Satoru scowls at him. ‘I still hate you.’

Sukuna grins at him widely. ‘Oh I bet you do, but I think she probably hates you more now.’

‘Knock me out with something, dear god!’ Satoru himself chuckles just a bit, shaking his head.

‘That’s my Duchess for you’

“Once a Prince lived in a very beautiful castle, and he was quite brooding,” Satoru hears your soft words now, brushing his son's hair back as he sits next to him, and the two of them watch you. “And a Princess was set to wed him from another land, well she was pretty… fiery.”

You smile at him, and his heart catches in his chest, god how much he adores you, how much you’ve both grown these past six years. The love grows so much for each other and your children. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe, when your eyes meet across your children’s room in the night, and the two of your memories are in sync, that day in the village.

The day he fell fully in love with you, the day you let yourself feel something finally, the day that changed the trajectory forever.

“They argued quite a bit at first, they were both so very stubborn, they surely thought they didn’t love each other. Foolish young royals, you know.” Satoru smiles, as you recall it all, him holding you so close, dancing in front of children, the little girl wearing your tiara.

You get misty eyed as Satoru speaks. “They were very foolish.”

“You know the story Papa?” Your daughter asks, Satoru gives her a nod then, blue eyes glinting in the dark room, as the sounds of the ball below barely penetrate the cozy room, just an echo of music and footsteps.

“I know it well, the Prince went to the village with the Princess one day, to see their subjects, and he found her putting her own crown on a little girl.”

“Aww, she seems so sweet!” Your daughter giggles out, and you feel your cheeks heat as Satoru grins.

“She was fiery indeed, but sweet deep inside. Quite like a truffle.”

“A truffle!?” He’s winking at you as you roll your eyes with a smile. “I suppose he was like a truffle as well.”

“Surely he was not!” Satoru’s lips set in a terse line, only spurring on your amusement.

“He was. The prince was so conceited, he thought the whole world was in love with him.” Satoru rolls his eyes now, earning your sassy little grin that lights up his fucking heart.

How could two that went through so much find such happiness?

Every day seems more and more like a dream, every day he stands by your side and holds you in his arms.

You’re a dream.

He’s your dream.

“I suppose many were in love with him, but he was quite annoying about it. But then, the Princess saw something different about him, when he asked her to dance, in the middle of the village! With so many looking on.”

“How romantic!” Satoru grins at his daughter’s wistful words, even at six she’s quite the little dreamer. You also feel yourself melt as you watch her lashes lower, and your son is already snoring lightly.

“He didn’t make it through the story.” Satoru teases, now the two of you sit next to your oldest, as she reaches her hands out, and you each hold them.

“Finish the story, mama!”

“Of course, baby.” You hold Satoru’s hand in your other grip, one with her teeny hand, one his huge warm one, feeling so complete then. “The Princess saw his heart that he hid away so well, and she fell in love with him, as they danced for all the little children to cheer.”

“Did he love her too?” She asks, her hand squeezing the two of yours, and you both look at each other.

“He loved her too, very much. He saw her beauty was not just on the outside, but the inside too.” Satoru’s words make you melt, when you both look at your pretty daughter smiling softly.

“Inner beauty is the most important thing. Though it doesn’t hurt, you are the most beautiful girl there is, you and your sister.” You say then, kissing her cheek, and she giggles.

“So are you mama!” She declares, and Satoru nods.

“So is Mama.”

“Oh, you two.” You kiss her one more time, tucking her in firmly now. “That’s enough for tonight, hmm?”

“Did they live happily ever after!?” She asks, eyes wide again, and you feel Satoru’s hand on the small of your back as the two of you stand.

“They did, very happy, and so was all of the land.”

“Yay!”

You both grin at her. “Good night sweet girl.” You kiss your son’s forehead as well, shutting the door softly behind you both. “A truffle huh?”

“A truffle. With hazelnuts that cut your mouth up.”

“You!” You shove at him and he laughs softly, cupping your face now, every time Satoru touches you feels like the first time, your body never stops responding with a madness.

“Shh, let me guess, checking on the baby? Before you let me put another inside you?” His husky declaration damn near ends your resolve, his hand on your tummy, still not quite flat after your third baby, but Satoru seems to enjoy your body more and more with each one.

“You let me focus, Sir.” You peck a kiss on his chin, heading down the halls with him next to you, until you’re in the nursery, peeking to see your sleeping baby.

“Good, saw them, let’s make more.”

“A moment, Satoru, shh!” Your glare is met with his hungry gaze.

“God you’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“Oh you do go on.” You step quietly into the room, holding up your skirts, seeing the beautiful mix of the two of you swaddled and sleeping peacefully. Your face lights up as you look down at her, and remember the look on Satoru’s face with your first baby.

‘Oh my god…’ Satoru’s walking in now, as you’re a sweaty mess, you’ve screamed so much you’re sure you traumatized everyone there, but it’s all worth it when you see Satoru holding her.

Your daughter.

‘A little girl, look at her. She’s beautiful.’ You whisper, exhausted when he sits next to you, and everyone leaves the chamber, to give you some privacy.

‘Like her mother.’ You’re crying when he kisses you, and tears fill his eyes, as he holds the sweet little baby against his chest. ‘I love you, sweet girl.’

‘I didn’t know my heart could be so full.’ You say softly, as Satoru hands your baby back to you, and you hold her tightly, as she opens her eyes, and you smile when Satoru sees it.

‘My eyes.’

‘Your eyes.’

‘You scared the entire castle, you know.’ You laugh, wincing then at the pain, and Satoru’s eyes grow concerned.

‘I’m just sore. Look, she’s hungry.’

‘I’ll get the wet nurse-’

‘Absolutely not.’ You sit up with his help now, and he’s watching enamored as you place the baby to your breast, and she latches after a few tries, sucking happily, making his body warm with how sweet of a sight it is.

‘A pro like her Papa.’

‘Oh god, Satoru!’

You’re now in Duke Gojo’s arms, when he holds you close, and you both study your youngest daughter in her sleep. “You get prettier with each one.”

“You’re sweet to say so.”

He scoffs. “When am I sweet?”

“Often, little truffle.”

“Psh.” He picks you up in his arms, bridal style, the way he wished he had that first night with you, but he does it almost every night now, while you all close the door, and the nannies smile at the two of you when you pass by.

You bury your face against his chest as he carries you, inhaling the familiar scent of the man you love. “You spoil me.”

“I do indeed, bratty Duchess.” You’re smiling as you kiss up his neck, and he holds you tighter, sweet little moan from his throat. “Tease.”

“Mmmhmm.” Soon he’s got you to your chambers, shutting the door behind you and letting you down, shocking you as he spins you, kissing down the nape of your neck, his masquerade mask brushing against your skin, when he unties yours by the ribbon, letting it fall to the ground.

“Fuck I need you, Princess.” You’re trembling when the corset is untied, when his fingers brush against the indentations on your precious skin. “I hate when you wear them.”

“It’s only for this gown, silly man.” You look behind your shoulder, when your silvery glittery gown falls and flounces around your ankles, and you’re left bare aside from those stockings he loves on you.

“No one could look this good in these.” You’re blushing as he picks you up right out of the dress in pieces on your floor, turning you and picking you up in his arms.

“I want to see you, Satoru, please.” He’s eagerly helping you shrug off his jacket as he lays you on the bed, you’re so eager his buttons pop, earning him smacking at your hand. “Excuse me!”

“This is an expensive shirt you brat. My favorite, so cock thirsty?”

“You’re such a-” He shuts you up with an eager kiss, and you can’t stop the whine that leaves your throat, as he grinds his cock against your heat, feeling you over his breeches.

“Slutty cunt is so ready to be filled by me.” His filthy words just excite you more.

If there’s one thing you and Duke Gojo know how to do, It’s fuck.

He’s biting your lips, squishing a sore breast, as you’re tugging desperately to bare his chest to you, exhaling when you feel his muscles with your finger tips, his abdomen tensing as his cock presses even harder. “Need you.” Your words nearly end him then and there.

“I need you.” You’ve got him almost naked, when he’s easing your stockings and slippers off your legs, kissing down your thighs fervently as he does, eyeing your body as hungrily as he did the first time. “God you’re so sexy for me.”

“Satoru… please…”

“Begging?” He raises a brow and grins, and you just nod, jerking as his breath brushes your clit, when his two fingers have your cunt spread wide. “I love when you beg f’me, god look at this little clit, she wants me to kiss her hmm?”

“Yes, yes - f-fuck!” He’s got his mouth on you now, you feel his teeth, his tongue, the plush of his lips, when he teases your poor little clit, twitching for his attention as he pulls back.

“Look at her, pretty little cunt so wet.” He’s watching arousal just pool out of your soppy little hole while he’s sucking it all up, drinking you loud and lewd, echoing in your room.

“Mnh!” You’re screaming out, thanking the world you have an entire castle to do just that, though you’re sure the maids and butlers perhaps get a kick out of the two of you, you’re sure it couldn’t reach the halls too far.

Satoru loves how you scream, how you’re yanking his white hair at the fucking roots, grinding your cunt so desperately on his face. He’s gripping your hips, wider and sexier from your babies, just making him ache to put more inside your tummy, pressing his cock against the mattress, dying to be inside you. But moreso aching to drink all the cum from your cunt.

“That’s it, let go, I feel it.” He’s pressing down on your stomach, slipping two fingers inside, watching you unravel, tits jiggling just so, full of milk he can’t wait to drink more of, when he’s done sipping you. “Cunt is soaking these sheets, huh? You’re a messy little slut f’me, aren’t you?”

“Slutty f-for you…” Is all you can answer back, as he crooks long fingers too deep in your entrance, and your walls are spasming around his fingers. “Satoru!”

“That’s it, feel me don’t you?” He’s pressing harder as he crooks fingers up on that spot, and you’re shattering, orgasm washing over you, which he laps up off his fingers, tongue then shoving inside you hungrily, desperate to drink every bit of his Duchess up.

“Please, fuck me god Toru, your cock in me please!” He’d smirk usually, but he’s got you pulling at his hair, and the plush of your thighs on either side of his head.

“Not done yet.” He’s flicking his tongue again on your engorged clit, so tiny and swollen, he grins psychotically as you’re jerking, twitching, shaking.

“Too much ngh!”

“You know you can take it, shh brat.” He flicks his tongue once more, overstimulating the little clit as he loves to, knocking you into another orgasm that blinds you completely, you’re sputtering for air when he finally relents, slipping up your body, hot thick cock finally against your inner thigh. “Can’t think? Can’t function?”

“Mnh…” You can’t argue with his sarcastic, cocky self when you cannot, in fact, function or think.

“You're gonna take this cock so good, aren’t you Princess…” You’re gulping when he shoves his cock in your entrance, moaning as you wrap his tip, pushing past that tight ring of muscles. “Still so tight, how?”

“Ngh…” He’s grinning at your lack of words, watching your eyes roll back as he sinks even deeper in your snug, soaking wet little hole.

“My duchess only shuts up when my cock stuffs her full.” He taunts, shoving in so deep he’s stuffing you indeed, your pussy tries to accommodate, to stretch, as your nails press into his skin, and you’re whimpering, walls gripping his cock so good he almost cums then and there. “Fuck…”

“You talk too much, Satoru- shit!”

“You cuss too much, mnh…” His turn to whimper, as he pauses, looking down at your face, glowing softly by the candles flickering next to the bed, inhaling your scent when he bends over you. “Let me drink more.”

“You’re insane.” You’re yanking his head down, however, when he’s sipping the sweet white liquid just pouring out of your pretty nipples, and moaning as it fills his mouth. “You’re greedy t-tonight…”

“You love it too.” He’s eyeing you, and it’s true, it feels so fucking good, his cock stretching your soaking walls while they flutter, and he’s sucking your nipples so hard in his hot mouth.

“Ah!” You’re cumming as he drinks milk spurting out, his big hands taking you over while he pulls you further down on his length. “Satoru!”

“Mmm… that’s it, Princess. Milking me while I’m milking you.”

“You’re… fucking crazy I swear…” He’s grinning as he turns to your other breast, sucking the sore peak into his mouth, while you’re trying not to pass out from how much pleasure he’s ripping from your body. “I l-love you.”

He pauses then, teeth grazing your peak before he leans back up, cupping your face gently for a moment. “I love you.”

You two kiss, desperate, while he fucks slow and leisurely for a few, letting you feel every single inch of him, so many you never get used to it, even after years of fucking this man every day. The only time he leaves her alone is the month after the children are born, but he’s not even good at waiting long.

Not like you want him to wait.

You’re cumming all over his cock again, when you see it, the shift of madness your husband does, when he goes feral inside of you, hands gripping harder, cock drilling your cunt harder, kisses deepening. He pulls back, as your hands are clinging to his strong biceps, thumbs brushing against the muscles that tense, before he pulls back, eyes glowing blue.

“Going to put ten fucking babies inside you.” He’s lost it now, truly he has, his eyes flashing, the man who never wanted babies wants some army!?

“No not t-ten you… psycho m-man…”

“Aw, can’t talk, so pathetic, Princess.” You’d scowl but he’s got you folded in half, in ways you didn’t know he could still after all your babies, but he manages to do just that. “You know you want it, huh pretty?”

“F-fuck off I don’t I… ah, there, fuck!” He’s smirking like the little shit he is while he fucks all sense out of you, as he always manages to.

“You love it.” He whispers, taunting you as his cock is hitting your cervix, his precum drooling as it drags that spot in your walls. “Say it.”

“I love it- mmm!” He’s grinning that psychotic grin again, eyes flashing as he folds you completely under him, his heavy weight on you making the bed creak, the heavy wood headboard somehow slamming those burgundy and gold walls, only Satoru Gojo can make heavy old wood slam.

“That’s it, look at you, ready for it, aren’t you? All my seed inside you?” You nod, helpless, but he’s not close to done, not when he murmurs - ‘open’ - and he’s spitting right in your mouth, a hand gripping your throat. “That’s it, still so slutty, my pretty whore, aren’t you?”

“Yours, yours…” You’re lost as he squeezes your throat, as you swallow his spit, and he drowns you with his everything, cock, hands, tongue slipping in your mouth and possessing it.

“Lemme feel it, c’mon Princess.” He’s lost himself now, crying out as he moves, pumping in and out of your loud, slutty cunt, as you struggle to take him. “Beg for it, for another baby in you.”

“God… you’ve gone m-mad…” He’s just kissing you again, slamming his cock so deep, swallowing up your scream.

“Beg.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah-ah.” He’s choking harder, the game you both play, the push and pull of the two of you, while you swallow each other whole, like the black holes you’ve always been, just craving each other’s light with every kiss, every breath, every stroke of his cock inside you. “Beg.”

“M-make me.” He’s chuckling, but his cock is twitching, you feel too fucking good, when don’t you? He’s never been able to get enough, and he never will.

“Make you? You can still speak, Duchess?” He pulls back, slamming his cock too deep and too hard, groaning as he feels himself pulse, ready to fill you to the brim, his hands bruising on the backs of your thighs. “Beg me now, to make you a mommy again.”

“Mnh… one more.” He’s lost now, pulling back and cumming so deep inside you, so much it’s pouring all around his length, as he cries out against your lips, and you drink each other’s whines, clinging to each other in the night, your bed a huge rumpled mess beneath you.

“One more, hmm?” He asks, breathless, and you’re giggling now, the sound shattering his heart, as it always has, he brushes your now messy hair back, as he eases out, exhaling when he sees that mess he’s made, taking his cock and jerking it more, letting cum pour on your tummy. “Messy girl.”

“You’re messy!” He’s just exhaling at how pretty his cum looks, kissing you once more, fingers brushing between your folds, making you jerk. “Sore, it’s been a while since we…”

“Since I folded you in half?” He asks with a brow, enjoying your flushed cheeks, glittery eyes.

“That.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it until we fill you up again.” He’s kissing your tummy, lapping along a mark left from one of your babies, you can’t keep track, swiping up his own cum along with the sweat from your skin.

“Could you not give me a few months this time?” You’re asking later on, when he’s got you in the hot copper tub, you both can hear the masquerade going on, but you’re having quite the party with just the two of you.

“It’s not my fault you’re delectable pregnant. That’s all you.”

“You’re too much, Duke.” You stick out your tongue, gasping as he pinches sore nipples, hungry eyes feasting on the milk that releases. “No more!”

“You’re a cruel, evil Duchess.”

“Me!? Says you.”

“C’mere, bratty Princess.” He’s got you turned now, water sloshing around your bodies as your breaths mingle, and he’s brushing your hair back gently, as your arms wrap around his neck, and you study him, carefully. “What is on that mind of yours, I see those brows knitting together.” He touches them thoughtfully.

“Just thinking. Satoru, do you ever wish… we weren’t so stupid?” He frowns a bit at that.

“You mean do I wish I wasn’t terrible?” You sigh, shaking your head.

“No, not that, we both were. Do you wish we… met at a different time, a different life perhaps, one where we didn’t… royally fuck it up so badly at first?” Satoru’s hand drips with rivulets of water when he cups your face, blue eyes swirling with emotions, droplets falling off his wet lashes.

“No, because I’ll meet you in every life, and always find you.” You choke up in tears then, falling and leaving little drops against the bath, your thighs are on either side of his, your hands cupping his face.

“I will always find you, in any life. I love you, my Duke.” He’s tearing up himself, with his pretty Princess in his arms, it feels like some dream.

“I love you, my Duchess.” Your lips pressed together, and the two of you fall again, with every kiss, with every moment, the past long, long gone.

You would find each other in any life, in any timeline, you know in your heart and soul, this is where you belong, when he looks up at you with those eyes, the ones that have always seen you, even when you didn’t see yourself. And he knows, when he tastes your tears against the sweetness of your lips, and feels you so eager for him again.

You all will always love each other.

It’s burning, it’s insanity, it doesn’t dull over the years, it only gets better, when he’s inside you again, and kissing those full breasts, lapping up more of you, and you’re screaming out his name, echoing in the chamber. “Ten babies.”

You laugh softly, but it turns into a cry when he slams your cervix, smirking up at you. “No!”

“Nine.”

“No- ah! Fuck it… Four.”

“Four it is.” You’re laughing as you kiss, before he cums so deep inside of you, murmuring in your ear - ‘Ten’.

The End

A/N LONG ONE- I've never been more invested in one of my stories, and this is BY FAR the longest, at over 150k words. I can't believe what a journey I had. The Duchess is as close to a self insert as I'll get, so this one means a lot to me. It may not have all the likes of some of my new works (difficult subject and angsty lol) but I am truly proud of how I wrote it. I know cheating is a rough subject, but remember that THEY did not choose to be together, they were forced. It doesn't make their actions right, and it's okay if you hated Duke Gojo, or the Duchess, or even Nanami, it's okay if you felt mad or upset at them, because that's being HUMAN. They're not perfect, but the Duke and Duchess are perfect for each other. The angst was heavy, and the emotions were as well, but I truly hope you enjoyed their journey and the deep love they do share despite it all. Sorry for this long, long rambling note, but this story meant a lot to me. I love all of you who followed it from the beginning or just are finding it, and understand what I meant to do here.

Another A/N- if you want to know, their reincarnations are Fratboi Gojo and Sorority reader in Took you Like a Shot aha. That's their much happier versions still lowkey/highkey hating each other, but much less toxicc!

taglist #1- @kalopsia-flaneur @bunheadusa @7thsthings @disilluzions @antisocialinlw @Sukunassfinger @lelsforlino @heeknow @muvasuperior @prince-wyiilder @lavender-hvze @ssetsuka @labelt-san @sadmonke @philiatothephobia @ambiguouslady42 @stromynight @dreamygirli3 @jjknanamin @jazlenekasi @wuvnada @nanasukii28 @sw3etnena @dark-agate @tamaki-simp @yuuuumii @givluv2tyy @peppertoastuniverse @sw3etnena @webshooterrr9 @thikcems @erensblackwife @murayamayoshiki-lovergurl @blue-musingss @huuuhwhaat @makingtimemine @saccharinesatoru @sunnyviewsblog @nanananananaiknow @ekaterinatepes @szna @ayumilk @trishiepo0 @just-pure-trash @nanamiskentos @ifiwereabug @devastyle @aldebrana @alygator77

Buy me a glass of wine (KoFI) - General Masterlist

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x you #satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #duke gojo #finished fic #finished jjk fic #satoru gojo #jjk arranged marriage #royalty au #jjk smut #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x f!reader

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bucketbueckers · 9 days ago

Text

MUTT

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: decent bit of plot before literal filth. language, light weed usage, sub!azzi, freak asses being freak asses in public (just a lil tho), choking, oral, fingering, thigh riding, idk what else i should be tagging tbh

wc: 7.1k

synopsis: It wasn’t even Azzi’s draft night, yet she still managed to steal the show – and your attention. With nothing but time, you were counting down the hours until the end of the draft and the afterparty, wanting nothing more than to finally get your girlfriend alone.

notes: sorry im ovulating

If you had to be honest with yourself, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to make it through your draft night without combusting.

It started early in the morning. You were surrounded by your hair and makeup team in your hotel room, trying (and failing) to be patient as they meticulously styled you. Then, the FaceTime from your girlfriend came through and your heart all but fell out of your ass.

“Holy shit,” you remember saying, hardly able to take your eyes off your phone screen. Azzi was surrounded by her team, too, looking as beautiful as ever. She was in the process of getting her hair straightened and you were just able to see that glint of mischief in her eyes, the one that told you she knew exactly what she was doing to you and that she wasn’t planning on making it any easier for you. Her makeup was subtle, bringing out the contours of her face and the warm cocoa of her eyes, and if the two of you weren’t separated by a few hotel doors and a phone screen, you’re sure you’d be down on your knees to propose. Or something entirely different. “Azzi, you look – holy shit.”

Her warm laugh echoes through the speakers, sounding far too pleased with herself. Taking her in, you silently went through today’s itinerary. You had hair and makeup for another half hour, then Brittany – Azzi and Paige’s stylist, whom you’d hired for the draft since both of your teammates swore by her – would be by with your outfit. You might have a little time before you are supposed to head out for the orange carpet. You wondered if you’d be able to convince Azzi to sneak away with you, but the amusement reflected in her expression told you that she was fully intending to make you squirm tonight.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this speechless,” Azzi says to you, the tease in her tone betraying the faux concern on her face. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say without hesitation. “You’re – Jesus Christ.” You reach up to rub a palm across your jaw in disbelief but your makeup artist swats your hand away, muttering about concealer, and Azzi’s tinkling laughter makes you feel just a little more unhinged – although you wonder if you’ve ever truly had hinges in the first place when it came to Azzi.

“You haven’t even seen my dress yet,” she reminds you.

You try to keep your increasingly inappropriate thoughts at bay, swallowing thickly. “When can I see it?” you ask, shifting slightly in your chair.

Then Azzi’s grinning at you, mischievous and evil and beautiful all at once. “Soon,” she promises, and she hangs up on you.

If you weren’t already keyed up by that point, then you’re sure you are when Brittany finally arrives with your outfit in hand. You’re wearing a custom, sleek, midnight blue Louis Vuitton pantsuit, so dark that it’s nearly black, with silver accents and embellishments reminiscent of stars. Your slacks hang low on your hips to barely reveal the waistband of your boxers – something Azzi had “innocently” suggested you do when you revealed you were interested in wearing a pantsuit for the draft, so you’re sure it’s more for her than it is for you. Your vest has a subtle crop, ending just a few inches above your belly button, and the matching blazer is snug. You’re adorned in jewelry to match the accents on your pantsuit – rings, layered necklaces, and the piercings you usually forgo when you’re on the court. God bless Brittany Hampton is what you think to yourself, and then your phone buzzes on the desk.

You glance at it. You almost collapse. It’s a selfie from Azzi, but it’s just from the chest up. She’s glowing, her dress a dark black and doing very little to cover much. You haven’t seen the whole thing but you’re sure you’ll die if you do. She texts you before you can even think about formulating a response, simply reading See you soon! with the black heart emoji.

When you’re ushered out of the hotel room to get into the van to go to the draft, you swear you see a glimpse of Azzi, but the door closes before your brain can catch up with you. You fumble with your phone to text her. You’re still on Delivered by the time you make it to the venue and all you can think about is finding your tease of a girlfriend.

You pose for pictures. Smile politely for reporters who ask you the same question in different ways. You sign a jersey or two and throw up peace signs for fan photos until you’re led inside towards the orange carpet. More photos – you adjust your poses, making sure to flaunt the clutch at your side for sponsorship purposes. The camera flashes are almost numbing but you just remind yourself you have to make it through a few more hours until you get to sit at the table and listen to your name be called.

Then, from the corner of your eye as you’re sitting through the interview with Hannah and Rickea, you finally spot Azzi, and you’re sure your heart starts beating all together. Your jaw hits the floor, which probably ruins the whole private, not a secret thing you have going on, because holy fucking shit. Her hair is straightened, cascading down her chest beautifully, her make-up done to the nines, but her fucking dress? It’s backless, swooping layers at the front with a plunging neckline, and the skirt is transparent, revealing her long, toned legs. She catches your eye from across the room, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk, and Rickea nudges you gently with an amused smile to remind you that you’re still very much on camera, live.

“What are you looking at?” Hannah asks, none the wiser, and you clear your throat.

“Sorry,” you say smoothly, adjusting the lapels of your blazer. “I just saw someone puke in a plant.”

Rickea snorts, hiding her face in her free hand, and Hannah perks up again. “Azzi Fudd is here!” she announces, turning back to the camera. “Here to support her teammates, I’m sure. UConn has four seniors ready to hear their name called.”

You smile knowingly as Hannah ushers Azzi into frame. She smiles at you, the meaning of it not lost on you as she slides up next to you. You throw a platonic arm over her shoulder, your fingers tightening on her shoulder – not hard enough to hurt or to bruise, but just enough to let Azzi know that as soon as the draft and the afterparty wraps up, she’s yours. You catch the way her smile sharpens as she glances at you out of the corner of her eye.

You barely make it through the rest of the interview in one piece, distracted by the floral scent of her perfume and the rich, smoothness of her voice. The both of you are dragged back onto the orange carpet for photos together. You know you’re being obvious, but you really don’t care. You take photos with the rest of the team – Paige, KK, Ice, Nika, and countless others, before you and the other three seniors are drawn away for more media.

Eventually, you make it back to your table, finding Azzi waiting for you. You knew that having Azzi at your table meant something. She was seated next to your parents and your younger sibling, smiling as they talked, and you were very aware of the fact that you could have had anyone else at the table with you. Paige had dibs on Coach, but you knew CD wouldn’t have hesitated if you asked. Or Jamelle. But Azzi? Your girlfriend-but-not-quite-publically-official girlfriend? That means something.

You tap your younger sister on the shoulder, immediately raising a brow at her. “Move,” you tell her, wanting to sit next to Azzi.

“Bruh,” she says, but she scoots one chair over and you happily take a seat next to your girlfriend.

“You’re so mean to her,” Azzi murmurs jokingly, her hand brushing against your thigh momentarily before retracting innocently.

“Me?” you echo, a disbelieving gasp building in your throat as you lower your voice so the rest of your family can’t hear your conversation. “You’ve been teasing me all day. The FaceTime, the picture–” you pinch the fabric of her dress in between your index finger and thumb, “–this fucking dress?”

Azzi smiles, swatting your hand away, but she can’t do much to deter your gaze. “Behave,” she whispers, motioning subtly to the cameras that are most definitely picking up on how wrecked your expression is.

You exhale, leaning back in your chair, having to fight all of your baser instincts to keep your eyes off of Azzi before you drag her off to a bathroom somewhere. You could make it through a few more hours. You just had to wait to hear your name called, then you’d be distracted by media, then you’d be back in time to hear Kaitlyn and Aubrey’s names called, too, because they would be getting drafted, too, damn it, and then you’d have to make it through a socially appropriate amount of the afterparty before you could take your girlfriend back to the hotel. The way she’s looking at you – she knows just how much you’re struggling, but she’s intent on breaking you down and making you work for it. You wouldn’t expect anything less from Azzi Fudd, but you know that she’s not the one in charge tonight.

It takes a while, but the draft starts. You and Azzi are on your feet, clapping and cheering when Paige is drafted first overall – as if anyone had any doubts. You clap for Dominique to the Storm, then Sonia and Kiki to the Mystics, and then the Valkyries are on the clock. You’d been projected to go top ten, most likely to the Sun or the Sky, which is why you’re not prepared to hear your name called fifth overall to the Valkyries.

You blink, almost confused, the cheer of the crowd nearly deafening. Someone at your table is yelling at you to get up – probably your sister – so you push yourself to your feet, your chest relaxing with relief and gratitude. Your parents are rising, and your sister is jumping up and down, but the only person you stare at is Azzi, whose eyes shine a little brighter as she stands, too. You hug her first. You know what the headlines will say, but you can’t find it within yourself, especially not when she tells you that she loves you. Heart in your throat, you hug your parents. You do your handshake with your little sister, grinning all the while, and then you make your way up the stairs to pose with the Valkyries jersey.

The subsequent media is a blur. You don’t think you’ve ever taken so many pictures before in your life. You get your hat. You speak with Natalie Nakase on the phone and you tell her you’re ready to get to work. You’re out for the remnants of the second round, settling back into your seat, returning Azzi’s proud smile as she squeezes your hand.

And when Kaitlyn is drafted 30th overall to the Valkyries, you’re sure that your entire world implodes. You’re the loudest one in the room, you’re sure, and when the room explodes for the fourth time that night when Aubrey’s drafted to the Lynx, you couldn’t be any prouder of your teammates.

Part of you doesn’t even want to go to the afterparty, still thinking about getting Azzi alone to celebrate with her, but your teammates – granted, you and Kaitlyn are Golden State Valkyries right now, but your girls will always be your teammates – don’t let you get too far away. You leave your blazer with your younger sister. As if you weren’t running on need and pure want and desire, Azzi’s outfit change is almost enough for you to drop to your knees right then and there.

Somehow, you manage to keep it together, but before you and your teammates walk into the afterparty venue, you catch her by the elbow, pressing your lips to her ear to whisper, “You have one hour and then we’re leaving.”

She smiles at you like she’d been expecting that response. Azzi trails her ringed fingers across your abdomen, pulling the waistband of your boxers and letting it snap against your skin soundly. “We’ll go when I’m ready,” she murmurs to you. “Behave.”

You don’t behave – not that anyone’s really surprised. You’re not sure how Azzi expects you to act right when she’s been teasing you all day. Her afterparty dress isn’t helping you, either. It’s snug, somehow revealing a whole lot more than the draft dress did, the straps on her shoulders thin and all you can really think about is getting her out of it. But you have to be tactful.

You start slow. Fleeting touches that would otherwise be uncordial if the lights were any darker, your fingers firm against her waist as you pull her into you as you dance. You unbutton your vest, claiming that it’s too hot, the material being held together by a bare minimum single button. You had Azzi’s attention now – you just had to finish the job, so you go ahead and call an Uber because you know she’ll be eating out of the palm of your hands before the night’s over.

Azzi’s nursing her drink at the private booth when you slide in next to her. You don’t let her get a word out before you say, “Look what I have.”

She raises a brow when you reveal the blunt between your fingers. You can tell she’s still trying to act like she’s in control, but you can see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes, the barely masked desire because she knows what you’re planning on. “You want?” you ask, goading, your voice low.

In lieu of a response, she plucks the blunt from your fingers, her free hand reaching up to trace your bottom lip, her gaze dark and seeking. Her index finger taps your cheek and you hardly think as you open your mouth for her. She places the blunt between your teeth, reaching for the lighter held in your hand, and ignites it for you.

Already throbbing, your first drag is slow, methodical, your body relaxing as you inhale. You reach for Azzi’s jaw, your eyes locked on hers, and her lips part when you lean in, shotgunning the smoke directly into her waiting mouth. Her fingers thread through your hair, her grip tightening as she sighs against you. When you pull back, her pupils are blown wide, eyes glossy, and you smirk to yourself when you watch her thighs press together.

“Want another?” you ask teasingly, not really wanting to get fucked up tonight, but she nods. You bring the blunt back to your lips, inhaling again, and her fingers tighten around your waist as you pull her in. This time, she inhales more than you exhale, like she’s truly trying to breathe the air from your very lungs. It makes you ache all over, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the table and throw her legs over your shoulders, but you remind yourself to be patient. You were close to making her crack – you could feel it.

When the smoke is gone, she sighs against you softly. You press your lips to hers – slow, not meant to lead anywhere, but to work her up and make her desperate for it. But when Azzi fucking whimpers, you know you’re gone. You lean in again, your kiss more insistent this time – needy. It’s sloppy, led by pure desire and the ache that’s been building in your core all day, wet when you brush your tongue against her lips and she lets you in immediately. It makes you lightheaded, moreso when she reaches for your free hand and guides it to her waist. You groan into the kiss as you feel her, your hand dragging across the definition in her abs, down to her thigh, slipping your fingers under the skirt of her dress, your head spinning when you press against the damp spot at the apex of her thighs.

She pauses, breathing heavily like it was a secret you weren’t supposed to know about, and you grin at her, because you’ve won. “Oh, Azzi,” you coo, your voice dripping with faux concern.

“Don’t even–”

“You’re soaked,” you murmur, relishing in the way her breath hitches when you drag your fingers across her again. She curses under her breath, her head lolling, and you waste no time before you’re leaning in and pressing your lips to her neck. You nip at her skin, your touch dangerously featherlight against her, only meant to tease. “You were just gonna sit here all night, dripping down your fucking legs, acting like you don’t need me? Like you’re not bothered?”

“‘M – fuck – not,” she argues weakly, her breath catching when you draw her skin between your teeth, enjoying the way her skim blooms.

You laugh a little. Your fingers drag against her a little harder and her hips buck. “So, you wouldn’t mind it at all if I stopped?” To punctuate your point, you retract your hand from her thighs. She whines, bratty and displeased as you adjust her skirt, acting as though nothing was wrong. “Since you’re so unbothered, right? I’m getting a little thirsty, too. I think I’m gonna go up to the bar, say hi to Paige, make sure she’s not dead.”

Azzi whimpers, your name falling from her lips. It sends heat straight down to your core. Before either of you can say anything, KK slides into the booth next to the both of you, drink in hand. “Hey, y’all!” she chirps happily, blissfully unaware of what she’s just interrupted. You can feel Azzi burning next to you – you are, too, but after what she’s put you through today, she can sit through it a little longer.

“You seen Paige?” you ask KK nonchalantly, raising your fingers to your mouth, sucking the remnants of Azzi’s arousal off in a show of checking for something in your teeth. Azzi’s breath catches in her throat, her expression beyond wrecked.

“Mmm,” KK hums around her straw, glancing over her shoulder. “Think P Boogs was tryna get everyone drunk last I saw. Big ass crowd around the DJ.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes slightly. “Sounds like her.”

Then, before KK can say anything else, Azzi groans, pressing her palms to her forehead.

“Damn, you good?” KK asks, concerned.

“I don’t feel great,” Azzi mutters. You have to hold back your laughter, but KK buys it – hook, line, and sinker.

KK presses her hand to Azzi’s temple. “You’re burning up,” she states. “Maybe you caught a lil cold.”

You rub your hand across her back. Her skin is warm but her posture is tense. You’ve won. You know it. “Lemme take her back to the hotel so she doesn’t throw up everywhere,” you say to KK, trying for a concerned expression as the both of you stand. “Make sure Paige doesn’t get too lit, okay?”

KK offers a two-fingered salute. You reach for both yours and Azzi’s bags, saying your final goodbyes to KK, and you lead Azzi through the crowd. “You’re so fucking evil,” Azzi says, lengthening her strides.

“Just playing the game, baby,” you retort, squeezing her hip possessively.

The Uber ride back to the hotel is tense, but not with hostility. You rest your hand over Azzi’s thigh, who trembles with unrestrained need, but you’re content to tease her. She hasn’t admitted it yet although you know you have her right where you want her. When you make it to the hotel, you make sure to thank the driver, and you guide Azzi through the hotel lobby.

As soon as the elevator doors close, she’s on you, her hands around your neck as she pulls you down to her level. Your kiss is desperate, pure heat and desire, pent up frustration from being teased all day. You want her as bad as she wants you, so you sink into her, wrapping an arm around her waist and your free hand trailing under her skirt again to grip her thigh. Sliding a knee between her legs, she grinds down on you, and all you can do is swallow her moan as you drag her across your leg.

The chime of the elevator barely cuts through the haze between the two of you. Azzi drags you along with a purpose and presses her lips to your neck while you’re fumbling through your wallet for the keycard. Once it finally registers, you push open the door and you have her pressed against it before it even clicks shut. Her heels fall off, her legs tightening around your waist as you hold her up, your hands firm under her ass. Azzi’s fingers tangle in your hair, lessening the space between the two of you.

Slowly and blindly, you navigate through the darkness in the hotel room until your knees hit the bed. You lay her down on the pillows, not stopping the drag of your lips until you’re aching and breathless. Your fingers reach for the remaining button on your cropped vest while Azzi’s fumble with your belt buckle, both your vest and your pants coming off with ease. Left in just your boxers, Azzi’s hands reach for the waistband, too, and you let her pull it off you.

Her pupils are wide with want, her eyes dragging across every inch of your body. You let her touch you, her hands sliding across your hips, cupping your breasts and tweaking your nipples with a sort of reverence that you’re too wound up to fully appreciate. You gather her hands in yours, pressing them over her head as you lean down to kiss her soundly.

It’s pure filth, pure desire, the way she keens into you, her hips bucking up for the slightest contact or friction. The knowledge that she wants you makes you throb. You press her hips into the mattress with one of your hands, and with the other, you drag your fingers across her chest, as if trying to memorize her body.

“Don’t tease me,” she pleads, her doe eyes wide and gone, still slightly rimmed with red from the smoke you’d exhaled directly into her lungs.

You smile down at her, sharp, unyielding, ruined in your own right. Azzi Fudd is beneath you, laid out and begging for you to touch her, and it’s almost disastrous when you realize that you’re the only person in the world with the power to deny her a little longer, to make her work and beg for what she wants from you. You smooth your hand across her chest again, feeling the cool metal of the necklace she’s wearing, until you inch up slightly to rest your palm against her throat. You can feel her pulse hammering – you don’t apply any pressure, just letting her feel the weight of you, teasing her with the possibility of what’s coming. “You’ll take what I give you,” you murmur, listening to her soft sigh. “Been together how long and you don’t think I know you? Know what you need, how to give it to you? Don’t be silly, Az.”

You lean down, brushing your lips against hers again, featherlight and barely there. She chases after you when you pull away but freezes when you apply pressure to her throat, squeezing the sides lightly – not enough to cut off her air flow, but enough to warn her. She keens, hips shifting, and truthfully – a part of you feels a little bad. You want to give it to her – everything, if you could, but she’d left you wet and wanting for the better part of the day, too. “Be good,” you whisper, and she nods emphatically, tears pooling in her eyes from how badly she wants this.

Once you’re sure you’ve earned her submission fully, you reach for the straps of her dress. Gingerly, as if unwrapping a present, you tug them down her shoulders; she raises her arms to help you, and you throb with desire, your eyes taking in every inch of caramel skin revealed to you. The slope of her collarbones, the dusty brown of her nipples, her soft sigh when you can’t help but take one into your mouth, your hand reaching up to brush against the other one – it all makes you ache. You alternate motions, listening to her delicate moans, kissing her once more on the lips before you draw back to continue pulling the dress off of her.

The knowledge that you’re the only person who gets to see her like this makes your head spin. Azzi is so beautiful, so pliant beneath you, so willing. You could never get enough of her.

You discard the dress at the foot of the bed, spreading her legs a little wider and slotting yourself in between them. Cupping her cheeks, you press your lips to hers again, hardly needing to ask before she’s opening her mouth, her tongue meeting yours, swallowing her soft sighs and the sounds of need.

“How do you want me?” you ask, your lips trailing across her jaw. She tilts her head to give you more space to work with, soft whimpers building in her throat as you nip and suck, soothing the sting your teeth leave behind with your tongue. You’ve hardly done anything but she’s wrecked, already teetering on the edge of being fucked out that you take your time with her, letting her try – and fail – to gather her thoughts.

You lick the salt off her skin, deciding to have mercy on her. “You want my mouth?” You kiss the sensitive spot under her ear, smirking when her breath comes out in a shudder. “My fingers?” Your hand drags against her navel, dipping dangerously low and feeling the heat radiate off of her body.

“Both,” she begs, hands reaching for yours for stabilization, like she’s afraid she’s going to melt away completely.

“Both?” you echo, teasing, kissing her lips again when a blush rises on her cheeks.

“Please?” she tries – anything to get you to stop torturing her and to get on with it. Her lip trembles, a tear slipping out, and her breath comes in increasingly fast bursts that makes you think you’ve dragged this on for too long. Azzi’s needy, desperate, wet for you – what kind of monster would deny her for so long?

So, you don’t. You descend, marking your path with soft kisses and nips to her skin, energized by the soft gasps falling from her lips. “I got you, baby,” you promise, your hands massaging the tension out of her thighs. “Breathe for me, okay? I got you.” Azzi nods, her fingers tangling in the sheets if only to have something tangible to hold onto.

You rest one arm over her hips to keep her in place, already knowing that your girl has the inability to sit still, but before you press your lips to her, you reach up and twist your Valkyries cap over your head so it faces backwards. The sight of you above her, the self-satisfied smirk, the backwards hat, the strength in your arms makes her eyes glaze over, her gaze heated, needy, already ruined.

You kiss her thighs gently, easing her into the feeling, listening to the change in her breathing as she tries to calm herself. With her other hand, you spread her folds, groaning in appreciation for the sheer amount of wetness you find waiting for you. The duvet beneath her is damp. Knowing that you can’t keep her waiting anymore, you lean in, dragging the flat of your tongue across her, relishing in the long, drawn out, deep moan that spills from her lips.

You’re everywhere, her wetness spreading across your cheeks, your nose brushing against her clit with every up and down and back and forth motion of your head. Your free hand wraps around her strong thigh, trying to keep yourself rooted – Azzi tastes fucking divine, unlike anything else you’ve ever experienced. Ever since you cut down the net nearly a week ago, you’ve been on a perpetual victory tour. Getting drafted was a new high, but right here, right now, with your girlfriend trembling for you, it feels like winning all over again.

You alternate between short, quick flicks of your tongue to her clit and long, slow, broad strokes against her. You delve inside, drinking directly from the source, groaning when her nails scratch across your shoulders. The bite of pain keeps you from getting too lost in her, in her taste, in the cries spilling from her throat.

“Please,” she gasps, her body trembling, seizing up, shaking with pleasure. “More.”

“Breathe, Azzi,” you remind her, rubbing her navel, and when she does, you oblige. You quicken your pace, the intensity. Your jaw aches, but her soft cries and whimpers do nothing but motivate you. You suck her clit into your mouth, releasing it with a pop, continuing to work her until her thighs shake. For good measure, you trace the letters of your name over her, just to remind her who’s doing this. She gasps, realizing what you’re doing, her body melting into the mattress. When you glance up just to check on her, your pace falters, a groan spilling from your lips when you realize she’s squeezing her chest to keep herself grounded, her thumbs tweaking her nipples.

Unable to resist, you reach up to cup one of her breasts, taking over for her. Her hand wraps around your wrist just to hold on. You can hear the shift in her breathing, the way her breaths transform into gasping moans, and you can tell she’s close. You double down, focusing your attention to her sensitive clit, and abandoning her breast to tangle your fingers together.

“I’m close,” she warns you, her voice pitchy, squeezing your hand.

“Breathe,” you say one more time. You don’t have to look up to see her nodding, listening to her whimpers as you work her closer to the edge. You can tell when she gets there, the way her hand tightens in yours, the way her cries increase in volume. And when it finally hits her, you’re almost not ready for the intensity of her orgasm, but you ease her through it, keeping up your motions and slowing down until her hands push your head away.

You can’t help but grin, pressing one last kiss to the inside of her thigh as she breathes heavily, coming down from her high. You rub her stomach soothingly, adjusting until you’re hovering over her fully, and with your free hand, you wipe the tears off of her cheeks, the smudged mascara. “You good?” you ask softly, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face, the gentleness of your voice a stark contrast from the heat of the moment prior.

“Mhm,” she hums, her voice sounding a little wrecked, and you can’t help the smug smile that appears on your face. You press a firm kiss to her lips, deepening it as soon as she lets you, relishing in the moan she lets out once she tastes herself. You pull back to kiss her cheek, your thumb gentle on her skin.

“You’re not done yet, are you?” you coo, your fingers trailing down her chest, brushing against her ribcage. She glances up at you, her gaze ruinous, pliable, soft. “Know you’ve got another one in you, baby. One more for me?” Her response is instant, emphatic nods as her hand reaches for yours. You smile, pulling the cap off of your head and settling it over hers, enjoying the sight of her in Valkyries gear far too much. That was your team now. Your girl. It makes you suddenly aware of the ache between your legs, the throbbing need you’d ignored until Azzi felt good.

You drag your hand down her torso, feeling the warmth of her skin, the sweat pooling in the ridges of her abs. She’s quivering like she wants more, like no matter what, she’ll take it as long as you’re the one giving it to her. Your fingers find the dampness between her thighs, brushing up and down to coat them, and your eyes find hers as you reach to rub featherlight circles against her clit. It makes her hips jump up, her breath catching, but she hurries to keep her body in place, knowing exactly what you expect of her.

It makes you smile, your free hand reaching up to cup her breast again, thumb brushing against her nipple. “So good for me,” you murmur, pressing your lips to her neck as you keep up with the barely there motions that make her tremble. You suck another dark spot against her neck, uncaring of who might be able to see – let them. A plea falls from her lips, her brows drawn up and tight, and the sight makes you ache, still working her with your fingers. “You want more?” you ask. But she nods, so you press a little firmer against her, just to get her attention. “Words, baby. Let me hear you.”

“More, please,” she whispers, her voice small, begging, gone.

You smile to yourself, tapping her chest directly over her heart – a reminder. She understands instantly, breathing in and out deeply. Your fingers dip down to brush against her entrance, just teasing, before you sink one finger in her. She’s so soaked that you push to your knuckle without any resistance, her jaw falling slack, face contorting with a silent moan. You pull out, then push in again, feeling her walls squeeze your finger.

Suddenly aware of your own ache now, ready to combust purely from the feeling of being inside her, the sounds she’s making, and she way her face twists with pleasure, you shift, your knees pressing into the mattress as your legs bracket one of her thighs. Slowly, you sink yourself down, groaning when your clit brushes against the firm muscle of her thighs. Azzi chokes on her breath, her eyes flying open when she feels you – just as wet, as wanting, as desperate as she is. With the hand not inside her, you tangle your fingers together, resting your joined hands over her navel.

You recognize the needy expression on her face, so you add in a second finger, murmuring nonsense to soothe her when she breathes a little heavier. You sync your motions, rutting against her thigh in tandem with every push and pull of your fingers. She’s dripping everywhere, her slick cascading down your wrist and onto the duvet, and she whines, babbling a whole lot of words that are more like sounds than they are like sentences.

“Fuck,” she pants, her voice cracking a little. “More? Please, I–”

“I got you,” you whisper, your voice low, hungry, wrecked, your hips still seeking out your orgasm. “Relax for me, Az. So good for me, you know that, baby?” You adjust the angle of your fingers, your thumb pressing against her clit, rubbing slow, methodical, firm circles, gazing down at her reverently when she cries out. “You’re so beautiful Az. You hear me?”

She nods, eyes slipping shut, but you press down on her stomach with your joined hands, gaining her attention as she gasps from the feeling. “Eyes on me, baby. Let me see you.” She nods again, a whimper falling from her lips as her gaze finds yours. Her eyes are glassy, tears pooling at her waterline again from the sheer amount of pleasure, and you grin. “There we go. Perfect girl, just taking it all, aren’t you? You want more?”

Azzi hums again, her fingers tightening around yours over her navel. “Please,” she begs, “wanna feel you.”

“Whatever you want,” you agree breathlessly, dizzy from the pleasure of rutting against her thigh and from the sight of her jaw falling open as you squeeze in a third finger. Her walls clench around you, a moan spilling from her lips, and before you know it, her hips are bucking up to meet your thrusts. Watching Azzi chase her pleasure makes you feel a little weak, so all you can truly do is let her ride it out, trying to maximize the feeling as best as possible.

It doesn’t take much. She’s still sensitive from her previous orgasm and you’ve been wound up all day, so you sigh raggedly, releasing her hand to drag your palm up her torso, brushing across her chest until it comes to rest over her throat. You don’t apply any pressure – not yet – but the way she gazes up at you, her brown eyes full of tears and trust, makes your hips stutter although you try to keep your fingers and your thumb moving consistently for her.

“‘M close,” she murmurs, rocking against you, her slick soaking your fingers. Her body glows with a light sheen of sweat, her chest rising and falling erratically, her face contorted and desperate as she breathes for you.

You tighten your grip around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her light-headed, and her hands reach up to hold onto your arm for stability. You’re not one to usually deny Azzi, but you do like to delay – to draw her pleasure out until she’s trembling and a breath away from slipping off of the edge completely. You press your thumb a little firmer against her clit, circling it, although the amount of slick gathered there makes you fumble, and you order, “Hold it.”

Her eyes find yours, a bit of desperation reflected in her gaze as you speed up both your hips and your fingers. “Fuck,” she whimpers, “I can’t, baby, please.”

“You can,” you press, your stomach burning with your rapidly approaching climax, your wrist cramping from how consistently you’ve been splitting her open. Her pulse hammers against her ribcage and you can feel it in her neck. “You will. You’re so good for me, I know you can.”

Azzi nods, like she’s believing it too, and her body all but melts into the mattress as she takes it, her face screwing up with the willpower it takes to hold back. Her thighs start trembling again, legs shaking, and her grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly. Her eyes meet yours, a single tear streaking down her cheek, pupils blown wide, her gaze needy and trusting, letting you make that choice for her.

You can’t deny her for much longer. “Let go for me, baby,” you instruct, body burning at the whimper that spills from her lips. Azzi is fucking ruinous. Her mind, her body, her heart – every bit of Azzi makes you unravel at the edges, makes your composure slip until you’re nothing but a vessel for want, love, desire. You gaze at her with sharp, desperate eyes, determined to watch her fall apart beneath you, to sear the image on your eyelids for as long as you’ll live, to replay this very scene every time you close your eyes to sleep.

She clenches around you, gasps falling from her lips, and it’s then that you finally release your hold on her throat, watching her suck air in as she unravels completely, soaking your hand and the bed below her with her release. It’s enough to push you over the edge too, spilling over her thigh as you move your hips and your hand in tandem to ride out the aftershocks.

The pleasure gives way to overstimulation and she taps on your wrist. Gingerly, you remove your fingers – you shudder when you take in just how wet they are and Azzi sighs, almost as though she misses the stretch – and you wipe them against the duvet, figuring that it’s already destroyed enough.

Your legs feel a little weak when you crawl off of Azzi’s thigh, collapsing onto your side next to her, taking in her expression with a mix of smugness and mild concern. “You okay?” you whisper, brushing your clean hand through the hair sticking to her forehead, cupping her jaw gently.

“I think you just destroyed me,” she says, voice hoarse, and you laugh a little as you press an affectionate kiss to her cheek.

“I’m not that lucky,” you retort, watching the smile light up her face.

The both of you lay in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the hotel air conditioner to be heard in the room. Then, Azzi shifts, meeting your gaze. Her eyes are a little brighter, a mix of exhaustion and love in her pupils. “You got drafted tonight,” she reminds you.

You were too swept up with her to consciously think about it, but in the quiet of the room with Azzi breathing next to you, the realization begins to creep in. It hasn’t set in fully yet – you’ll probably truly realize you’ve been drafted when you and Kaitlyn board the plane tomorrow morning to go visit the Bay, or when you sign the lease for your new apartment.

For now, though, you’re content with the simple understanding, to get lost in this moment together with Azzi, where the time doesn’t feel like it’s moving as fast anymore.

“I did,” you agree.

“To GSV,” she continues. “California.”

You search her eyes, knowing where she’s going with this. You’ve had this conversation numerous times before, knowing that there was a chance the draft would take you away from her. “You think a couple miles can keep me from annoying you? Try again, baby.”

Azzi quirks a small smile. “Try three thousand.”

You cup her cheek, angling her face so she’s looking you directly in the eyes. “I love you,” you promise. Her features brighten at your admission. “That’s all we need. No matter how far away we are, I’m yours. And our schedules aren’t that bad. You can come see me during the offseason. And I’ll be at every single one of your games. Coach thought he got rid of me but he’s wrong. I’m gonna be sitting courtside yelling about how you’ve literally never fouled anyone in your life.”

She laughs, a relieved sort of sound, and you press your lips to hers, soft and lingering – a vow. “I love you,” she whispers back. “And I’m so proud of you.”

You smile mischievously at her. “Think you love me enough for a third round?”

Azzi rolls her eyes, faux-annoyance in her expression – but your smile widens when she throws a leg over your hip to straddle your waist, kissing you in a way that makes you think about how nice forever sounds with her.

#azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #azzi fudd smut #uconn wbb

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dazevi · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER ONE: GHOST IN THE ROOM

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: with the tour coming to an end, vi's manager insists on the band taking a break. meanwhile, you help your best friend, mel, with planning her wedding.

content warnings: MDNI. angst (lots of it), slightly suggestive, rockstar!vi, writer!reader, eventual exes to lovers (more like exes to fwb to lovers), no smut but mentions of sex, jaymel cameo, bestfriend!mel, time skips, mentions of alcohol and smoking

wc: 11,388 (about—i made some edits lol)

note: good morning!! (its morning where i am) this is my first time writing a series so feedback would be very much appreciated—would love to hear what you guys think!!! also i had some trouble deciding if i wanted to write jayvik or jaymel but i felt like mel would’ve been more fitting for reader to have as a best friend lol anyways here is the first chapter! i hope you all enjoy!!! (fanart by bunimint_ on ig)

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

The hum of the venue echoed faintly through the backstage room, muffled by layers of concrete and steel.

The crowd had been electric tonight, their cheers and screams still ringing faintly in Vi’s ears as she sat on the small stool in front of a mirror. Her guitar sat propped against the brick wall behind her, its strings still vibrating in her memory from the final chords of the night. The air in the room smelled faintly of sweat and smoke, the residue of adrenaline and effort clinging to her skin.

The band was as much a family as it was a group of musicians. While Vi stands in front, Ekko was on lead guitar, the youngest of them but by far the most electric on stage, shredding solos and occasionally stepping up to rap when a song called for it. Then there was Steb on drums. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t really need to. He was a crucial part of the band already and quite creative with his beats. And on bass was Loris, a big guy with a bigger heart, who filled every song with lines that could shake the floor of any venue.

But she was alone now, the rest of the band off celebrating the end of the tour, their laughter faint in the distance, just past the door. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—flushed cheeks, damp hair sticking to her temples, her tank top slightly wrinkled. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but her mind wasn’t calm.

Not really.

She reached up to push a strand of hair from her face when her fingers brushed against the cool silver chain around her neck.

Her hand stilled.

The necklace felt heavy on her neck as always, but she hardly thought about anymore.

Tonight, for some reason, it felt heavier. Vi tugged gently at it, pulling the necklace out from under her shirt to let it fall against her chest. They glimmered faintly in the dim backstage light, catching her eye like they always had.

She stared at them for a long moment, her throat tightening.

She hadn’t thought about it—about you—in a while.

Or… maybe that wasn’t true.

Maybe she’d just gotten better at pretending she didn’t.

But now, with the adrenaline of the stage fading away and the silence of the backstage room settling in, it hit her all over again.

Six years had passed since graduating high school. She remembers all the memories that came with it—that came with being with you—as if they happened yesterday.

But, three years.

It had been three years since the two of you had broken up, and Vi still couldn’t let go of this last piece of you. She told herself it was just a necklace, just a reminder of a time when life seemed simple, but deep down she knew it was more than that.

It was a lifeline to a past she hadn’t entirely made peace with—a time when the world didn’t feel quite so big, and her dreams hadn’t come at the cost of losing you.

She blinked at her reflection, her jaw tightening as her fingers played with the rings. The memories came flooding back despite her best efforts to push them down. The nights spent tangled up together in her room, the sound of your laugh as you teased her for pretending to know how to play certain songs when she wanted to impress you, the way you always smelled faintly of lavender and paper from all those books you carried around and loved so much. God, she could almost hear your voice if she closed her eyes, could almost feel the way your hands used to cup her face when you kissed her.

But you weren’t here. And you hadn’t been for years.

Vi exhaled shakily, letting the necklace fall back against her chest. She rubbed her hands over her face, her calloused fingers catching slightly on her damp skin.

She tried to tell herself this was what she wanted—what she had worked so hard for. The sold-out shows, the screaming fans, the endless crowds. It had been her dream for as long as she could remember.

But the truth was, none of it felt quite as fulfilling as she thought it would. Not without you.

The buzz of her phone on the dressing table broke her train of thought. She glanced at it, the screen lighting up with a text from Ekko reminding her to join them at the bar. She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the mirror.

For a quick moment, she thought about it—thought about texting you. Maybe, calling you. Just to say hi. Just to hear your voice again, even if only through the cold distance of a phone call.

But she knew better. You had probably already moved on, or at least, you deserved to.

Vi stood slowly, adjusting the chain so it tucked back under her shirt, hidden from view. She ran a hand through her hair and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on. As she walked out of the room, she felt the rings press lightly against her chest.

The party the next night was loud, chaotic, and everything it should have been to celebrate the end of a year-long tour. Vi found herself tucked into a corner of the room, a half-empty beer bottle in her hand as she watched her bandmates laugh and shout over the music. People swarmed around them—fans, industry suits, and a few familiar faces from the tour circuit.

It was exactly what she used to love, the kind of scene she’d dreamed about when she first picked up a guitar in her mom’s garage. But tonight, it all felt hollow.

She plastered on a grin when someone approached, making small talk she wouldn’t remember later, pretending the music wasn’t giving her a headache.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the celebration. She should have been celebrating. A year long tour. Ninety shows. Sold-out venues in cities she never thought she’d even visit, let alone play in.

But now that it was over, the rush was fading.

Vi’s manager had pulled the band aside after the final show, giving them a rundown of what came next.

Or rather, what didn’t come next.

“You’ve earned it,” the manager had said, looking around at the group. “Take a break. Go home. Recharge. You’ve been going non-stop for years. You deserve this.”

Home. The word lingered in Vi’s mind. It felt heavy and unfamiliar.

She sipped her beer and glanced around the party again. Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives, but Vi felt detached, like she was watching it all through a screen.

The truth was, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. This band, for the time being, had been her life. The shows, the music, the adrenaline—it all kept her moving forward, kept her distracted.

But now? Now she was being told to stop.

Her fingers brushed against the chain around her neck, hidden beneath her shirt. She’d done it out of habit, her thumb grazing the spot where the rings rested against her skin. She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as she felt some sort of pain swell in her chest. She pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the noise and the people around her.

When a girl caught her eye across the room—pretty, confident, the kind of girl who wouldn’t ask too many questions—Vi didn’t hesitate.

She let the girl take her hand and pull her upstairs to some empty room in the penthouse suite. It was mechanical by now, second nature. She knew what to say, where to touch, how to make it seem like she was present when, in truth, her mind was somewhere else.

Or rather, with someone else.

It always ended the same way.

Vi closed her eyes, and it was you. There was no one else she could think of other than you.

It didn’t help that every time she hovered over someone else, her necklace would dangle just in front of her, and she’d look down and catch a glimpse of you beneath her, all pretty and waiting, with eyes full of love and warmth—the very eyes she fell in love with again and again. Every laugh, every touch, every kiss—it was you she conjured up in her mind.

But it never lasted.

Reality always came crashing back when the girl whispered her name in a way that had no effect on her or when she clung to her a little too tightly, too roughly.

When it was over, Vi sat silently by the bed, pulling on her shirt, avoiding eye contact.

“Can you stay?” the girl asked softly.

“No,” Vi shook her head, grabbing her jacket. She never stayed. She never left her number. And she never looked back.

Walking out into the cold night air, Vi lit a cigarette with trembling hands.

She thought about you—again. She thought about the way you used to smile at her, how your fingers used to trail through her hair when she rested her head in your lap, how you’d call her name so softly that it felt like she was listening to her favorite song. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but it was the only thing that reminded her she was still alive.

Since the breakup, Vi had grown bitter, the world feeling heavier with each passing day. She hadn’t felt truly happy in years, hadn’t laughed the way she used to.

So she buried herself into anything that could distract her—work, music, and nights like this one.

But it was useless.

Because no matter how far she ran, how many strangers she kissed, or how loud the music played, she always had you in her mind.

Always you. Only you.

To the little town she used to call home. To the life she’d walked away from when she chose this one.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice.

The chime of the bell above the flower shop door rang faintly as a customer left, and you glanced up from where you sat behind the counter, absentmindedly wrapping a bouquet of daisies in soft brown paper. The shop smelled sweet and earthy—comforting in a way that nothing else had been for the past few years.

It had been your mom’s idea for you to work here after you graduated college, though you hadn’t exactly protested. It was a nice job to have. Stress free. Relaxing. Arranging flowers, chatting with customers, and helping with orders had its own kind of peace.

You figured it would be nice way to pass some time while saving up money for your own shop—a book shop.

But some time has passed now, and all you’ve got to do is find the courage to go downtown and lease out that nice empty spot by the town gardens.

But, you decide to put that off for next month. Maybe after the wedding.

Your degree in literature had been the culmination of years of dreaming, of late nights spent pouring over books and writing short stories that no one else ever read. And for a while, everything felt like it was falling into place. That book—the one you poured your soul into, the one that had felt like ripping your heart out to write—had done surprisingly well. It wasn’t a bestseller, but it had been enough. Enough to make you believe you were on the right path, to reassure you that the sacrifices had been worth it.

But now, the blank pages in your notebook always stared back at you, mocking. The words didn’t come as easily as they used to. It wasn’t writer’s block, not exactly—it was something deeper. A lack of fire, you called it. And you told yourself that the flower shop was just a temporary stop, a place to regroup until the inspiration came back.

But part of you worried it never would.

As you finished tying a ribbon around the bouquet, your gaze drifted to the small bookshelf by the window. Copies of your book sat there, stacked neatly, the cover facing out. Your mom kept them in stock, proud and supportive as always, even if the sight of them made you wince. Every time you looked at it, you remembered how much of yourself you’d poured into that story—how you’d been told it was heartbreaking and beautiful, and yet writing it had felt like stitching up a wound that refused to heal.

You always tried not to think about who had inspired it.

But of course, you failed. You always did.

Some days, it was easier to pretend that part of your life hadn’t happened, to bury it under layers of routine and busy nights. Other days, it hit you out of nowhere—a song on the radio, a laugh in a movie, the way a stranger’s voice pitched just so.

And suddenly, you’d be back there.

Back to her.

The chime of the bell rang again, snapping you out of your thoughts as a new customer stepped in. You forced a polite smile, brushing your hands against your apron. The shop was warm and safe, a place where you could hide from the rest of the world.

But somewhere out there, the rest of the world kept moving—just as it had for Vi.

You remembered the day you saw that headline.

You hadn’t expected to see it, but there it was—Violet Lanes Spotted Dining With Famous Actress Caitlyn Kiramman—in bold, glaring letters across the entertainment news section of your phone screen.

The date on the article was just two weeks after your breakup, and it felt like the universe had decided to make sure you never forgot. You could still remember the way your heart sank as you read it, like the air was suddenly sucked out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

You’d known about Vi’s fame, how it grew quickly when she started making music professionally, of course—how could you not? She was a rockstar, her face plastered everywhere, her name trending almost daily.

But this… this was different.

Caitlyn Kiramman was an actress with a reputation that preceded her, a star on a different level entirely. Vi was supposed to be with you—at least, you thought so, at the time. But as you read through the details, the pictures of Vi smiling across the table at Caitlyn, her arm casually draped around the actress’s shoulders, something inside you snapped. It was the first time, in the aftermath of everything, that you’d truly felt like you’d lost her.

You tried to dismiss the burning ache in your chest. After all, you hadn’t exactly been an innocent party in your breakup. You had your reasons for walking away, too.

But seeing Vi so effortlessly move on, laughing and drinking wine with someone like Caitlyn—someone who could stand next to her in the spotlight without being swallowed by it—hit you harder than you expected.

It wasn’t jealousy, not really.

It was just you realizing that Vi had stepped into a world without you, just as you had stepped into one without her.

You thought about calling her, but you didn’t.

The last time you’d spoken, you’d said what needed to be said, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time. You had told yourself you were better off, that you deserved more than being constantly second place to her career.

You didn’t want to call. Instead, you buried yourself in your work, threw yourself into your job, and started writing stories that felt too hollow to ever really be finished. You kept your distance from everything that reminded you of her, trying to forget the feeling of her hand in yours, the sound of her voice when she’d whisper your name in that low, raspy tone that made your heart flutter.

Maybe Vi was happy. Maybe she had found someone else who could give her the things you couldn’t. The thought hit you harder than it should, but you couldn’t stop it.

You thought about the necklace—the one Vi had worn, the one that had been yours too, back in high school. Your fingers traced the small silver chain around your neck, the one you hadn’t taken off since that night you two shared it.

Had she kept hers? You wondered, for the briefest second, if she still thought about you.

But you had no way of knowing. You hadn’t heard from her in years, and you had convinced yourself that it was for the best.

The familiar sound of the bell above the shop’s door jingled softly as your mom stepped out from the back room, balancing a couple of boxes in her arms. She looked like she��d been at it for hours, strands of her hair falling from the bun on top of her head.

“Sweetheart,” she said, setting the boxes down on the counter with a thud. “Mel’s going to call about the flowers soon. You know how particular she can be about the arrangements.”

You sighed, pausing mid-wrap on a bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus.

“I know, Mom,” you muttered, though you couldn’t quite keep the smile off your face.

Mel had been one of your closest friends since high school, and if anyone had a reason to be particular, it was her. She deserved the perfect wedding, after all.

“She’s already called three times this week about those centerpieces. I’m pretty sure I know her vision better than she does at this point.”

Your mom laughed softly, brushing her hands on her apron. “She’s just excited. It’s a big day.”

She gave you a knowing look, the kind that said she wasn’t just talking about Mel.

Before you could respond, the phone behind the counter buzzed, cutting through the silence of the shop. You reached for it instinctively, already knowing who it would be.

“I swear, she has a sixth sense for these things,” you mumbled as you picked up the receiver.

“Hello, Lane Florals, how can I help—”

“Don’t even start with the formalities, I know it’s you,” came Mel’s voice, bright and slightly exasperated on the other end. “And I know I’ve already called you a million times this week, but I need to talk about the bouquets again. Jayce thinks we’re good, but I’m having second thoughts about the hydrangeas.”

You let out a dramatic groan, though you couldn’t help the laugh that followed. “Mel, you’ve gotta stop stressing. You’re going to make me go gray before your wedding day. What’s wrong with the hydrangeas now?”

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “I just feel like they don’t have the right… feeling. Maybe we should go with lilies? Or peonies? Or—oh! Do you think we could mix in some sunflowers? Jayce looooves sunflowers.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, glancing over at your mom, who was now suppressing a grin as she watered the potted plants by the window.

“Mel, we’re two weeks away from the wedding,” you said gently. “If we keep changing things, you’re not going to have any flowers at all.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Mel sighed dramatically. “You’re right. Ugh, you’re right. I’m just overthinking it. I’m sorry, I’ll stop being such a pain your ass.”

“You’re not a pain,” you said, softening. “You’re just… a perfectionist. But it’s all going to be perfect, I promise. The hydrangeas are beautiful, and they’re going to look amazing with everything else. Trust me. I’ll throw in some sunflowers, too, for Jayce.”

Mel let out a small, relieved laugh. “Thanks, babe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lose your mind, probably,” you teased, leaning back against the counter. “But seriously, you’re going to be fine. And as your maid of honor, I think you should take my advice and roll with it.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, and you could hear the smile in her voice. “Oh, and don’t forget, you promised to help me with the seating chart this weekend.”

“I know, I know,” you assured her, though the thought of wrangling that seating chart made you want to pour yourself a strong drink. “I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

“Okay. Love you!” she said quickly before hanging up.

You set the phone down with a sigh, turning to your mom, who was now watching you with an amused expression. “Hydrangeas again?” she asked.

“Hydrangeas,” you confirmed with a laugh, shaking your head. “I swear, if I hear the word one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

But despite the teasing, you felt nothing but warmth for Mel. She was one of the few people who had stuck by you through everything, and seeing her so happy with Jayce was something you couldn’t begrudge, no matter how stressful wedding planning had become.

You glanced at the calendar on the wall, your thoughts drifting briefly, as they so often did, to Vi.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

At least, that’s what Vi had told you when she kissed you goodbye at the airport years ago, both of you standing on the edge of the new chapter—her with her band’s first big break, and you heading off to college.

She had cupped your face, her calloused hands warm against your cheeks, and promised, “We’ll make it work. You and me, we’re solid, baby. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

But it did.

You used to call everyday. Text everyday. It was so often that Vi would fall asleep on the phone every night, to the sound of your voice, telling her how much you missed her. You’d do the same, too.

But the calls that used to stretch into the early hours of the morning grew shorter and less frequent.

At first, Vi always made time for you, even if she was in the middle of nowhere, some dingy tour bus parked at a rest stop. She’d stay on the line, her gravelly voice cutting through the static as she told you about the show that night or the funny thing Ekko had done to annoy Steb. And you’d tell her about your classes, your professors, the friends you were making in your lit program. She also always used to mention you in interviews when people would ask the band if they were single or whatever.

And Vi would always say, “I’ve actually got a girl waiting for me back at home,” with cheekiest smile she could throw on.

For a while, it was enough.

But then the band’s success started to pick up, and Vi’s world got louder, busier. The calls started to come later and later—or sometimes not at all.

You’d stay up, staring at your phone, waiting for it to ring, only to wake up hours later with an empty inbox and a dull ache in your chest.

And the texts? They dwindled too.

You used to send each other everything—pictures, inside jokes, songs that reminded you of each other.

Days would pass before you’d hear from her. And when you did, it was always rushed. A quick voice message, “Sorry, babe, crazy day. Miss you, though. Love you,” followed by radio silence for the rest of the week.

You tried to understand. You really did.

You knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d worked to get where she was. You were proud of her, more than you could ever put into words.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

One night, you were in your dorm room, sitting at your desk with a stack of notes and an unfinished essay in front of you, your phone balanced precariously on the edge. Vi had promised to call after a show—it had been over two weeks since you’d last spoken properly—but the clock was inching toward midnight, and there was still no word.

When the phone finally buzzed, you snatched it up, your heart pounding. “Vi?”

Her voice came through the line, raspy and tired. “Hey, baby. Sorry, show ran late.”

“It’s okay,” you lied, sinking back into your chair. “How was it?”

She sighed, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. “Good. Crowd was wild. But I’m beat.”

There was a pause, one that stretched too long, too heavy. You could feel the distance between you, the miles and the time zones and the weeks of missed calls.

“I miss you,” you said softly, your voice breaking a little.

“I miss you too,” she said, but it sounded automatic, like something she’d said a thousand times before—who are you kidding? She probably has.

You wanted to ask her why she hadn’t called, why it felt like you were slipping further and further apart.

But the words caught in your throat.

Instead, you said, “When are you coming home?”

“Uh…” Another pause. Then, “I don’t know, babe. Not for a while.”

It felt like a punch to the gut.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’m sorry,” she added quickly, like she could sense your disappointment in her. “It’s just… everything’s so crazy right now. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

When the call ended, you stared at your phone for a long time, tears blurring your vision. Vi had always been your safe place. But at that time, it felt like she was slipping away, and no matter how tightly you held on, you couldn’t stop it.

And Vi felt it too.

She hated the way things were between you, the way she could hear the hurt in your voice even when you tried to hide it. She wanted to fix it, to drop everything, fly to you and hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

But the truth was, she didn’t know if it would be.

Because no matter how much you loved each other, the distance was pulling you apart. And neither of you knew how to stop it.

NOVEMBER, THREE YEARS AGO.

It had been months since you’d last seen her—months that felt like years. You’d tried to bury yourself in your studies, keeping busy so you didn’t have to think about the loneliness she left behind with you.

But then your phone rang one rainy afternoon, and when Vi’s name flashed on the screen, you hesitated for only a moment before answering.

“Hey,” you said softly, curling up on your bed as you balanced the phone against your ear.

“Hey, babe,” she replied, her voice a little hoarse, like she’d been yelling or maybe singing too much. “How’s school?”

“It’s… fine,” you said, trying to keep your tone neutral.

You wanted to tell her everything—how much you missed her, how hard it was to fall asleep without her voice in your ear—but you swallowed the words.

“What are you up to?” You asked, bringing a hand up to rub the side of your neck.

“Nothing, right now… I’m in bed. I just finished up at the studio,” she said quietly. “It ran pretty late so…”

“Are you doing okay?”

You hear her take a breath before sighing softly, “Yeah, I’m… I just miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you echoed.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then she said, “I was thinking… I want you to come to New York.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “New York?”

“Yeah. The band got invited to this award show. It’s kind of a big deal, I guess. I—I want you to be my date.”

Your stomach twisted at the invitation. You could hear the hope in her voice, and for a second, all you wanted to do was say yes. But then reality set in.

“Vi, I don’t know. I have finals coming up, and plane tickets are—”

“Will be taken care of,” she interrupted quickly. “I’ll handle it, everything. Just say yes.”

“Vi…”

“I wanna see you,” she said, and her voice was soft, almost pleading. It caught you off guard. “Please. It’s been too long. I miss you.”

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the wall, and sighed.

It was always hard to say no to Vi.

“Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice brightening.

“Yeah.”

The next few weeks all happened too quickly.

Vi arranged everything—a plane ticket, a car to pick you up from the airport, even a dress for the event. You didn’t know how she’d managed it all, but you weren’t surprised. She could practically do anything she sets her mind to.

When you stepped off the plane and into the terminal, you were expecting to just follow the signs to baggage claim, look for the driver Vi had mentioned in passing, and quietly make your way to whatever fancy hotel she had booked for you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate her effort—Vi always went all out when it came to you—but you figured this was just another one of those things she couldn’t be present for, one more event she’d planned out from a distance.

But when you rounded the corner toward the arrivals area, your feet froze mid-step.

There she was.

Vi was standing near the entrance, her tall frame wrapped in an all-black outfit. A long black coat hung open over a fitted turtleneck and dark jeans, her combat boots planted firmly on the tiled floor. In her hands, she held a small bouquet of flowers—white daisies and a few pale pink roses wrapped in simple brown paper.

She looked every bit the rockstar she’d become, yet look on her face told a different story.

Her eyes scanned the crowd eagerly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper wrapping as though she were nervous.

Your breath hitched, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

For a moment, you couldn’t move.

Then Vi’s eyes found yours.

Her face lit up like the sun breaking through a storm, and before you could even process what was happening, she was running toward you. Her long strides closed the distance in seconds, and then she was there—her arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you into her chest.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered against your hair.

You couldn’t respond.

Your throat was too tight, and the only thing you could do was cling to her, burying your face in her neck as the tears spilled over. The flowers were crushed slightly between your bodies, but neither of you cared. Vi’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, holding you like she was afraid you might disappear.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands cupping your face as she scanned your features like she needed to memorize them all over again.

She let out a breathy sigh, a smile making its way onto her face, “God, you’re even prettier than I remember.”

You let out a watery laugh, wiping at your cheeks with trembling fingers.

“Shut up,” you teased, though your voice wavered.

Vi grinned, a little sheepishly, and handed you the now slightly crumpled bouquet. “These are for you. Sorry, I think I crushed them a little.”

“They’re perfect,” you said, taking the flowers and holding them close to your chest.

She smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to take your suitcase.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. We can go get lunch after the hotel. I know a place you might like.”

And for the first time in a long while, being with her finally felt right.

The weekend passed like something out of a dream. Vi stuck close to you, almost glued to your side, like she couldn’t bear to let go of you for even a second. She carried your bags, opened every door, kissed you in every private corner she could find.

In the the hotel room, with the city skyline stretching endlessly outside the window, she kissed you until her lips felt bruised, like she was trying to make up for every kiss she hadn’t been able to give you.

She made love to you slowly, tenderly, the way you deserved—whispering soft words against your skin, brushing stray strands of hair from your face, as if she couldn’t believe you were there with her.

“God, I missed you,” she murmured over and over again, her voice thick and quiet, spilling out each time her lips found yours. “I missed you so much.”

And it wasn’t just the being this close to you that left Vi breathless—it was everything else.

The way your laugh filled the room when she cracked a joke. The way you shyly tucked your head into her shoulder when she kissed your temple in public. The way your voice softened when you told her you missed her, that you loved her. Vi felt like she was relearning you, rediscovering all the tiny details she’d loved about you from the start—the way your fingertips felt trailing down her arm, the way you hummed absentmindedly when you were happy, the way you fit perfectly in her arms like you’d been made for her.

For once, Vi wasn’t thinking about work, about the band, about the next tour or the endless cycle of interviews and late-night rehearsals.

None of that mattered here.

The world felt smaller, quieter, when it was just the two of you.

She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed you, how much she’d missed this.

As the weekend was drawing to a close, you were lying in bed together, your head resting on her chest. Vi traced lazy circles along your shoulder with her fingertips, her other hand draped protectively across your waist. The sheets were tangled around your bare legs, the city lights painting soft, dim patterns on the walls.

“I forgot what this feels like,” Vi had said, her voice almost a whisper. “Just… being with you. I missed it.”

You tilted your head to look up at her, your eyes warm and full of something she couldn’t quite name.

“Me too,” you said softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

Vi leaned down to kiss you again slowly, her hand cradling your jaw.

She wanted to stay in this moment forever, to bottle it up and carry it with her wherever she went.

Being with you, she wasn’t worried about the distance, about the time apart, about anything other than you.

But happiness like that didn’t last for long and, tomorrow, it would all go to shit.

The night of the music award show was everything Vi had hoped it would be, glimmering lights, and flashing cameras. She could hardly contain her pride as she stood beside you, her arm around your waist, guiding you through. Everything had been planned, from your dress to the after-party, and it seemed like everything was falling into place.

You looked stunning in the dress she had picked out for you. It was a deep shade of red that hugged your body in all the right places, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline that made your girlfriend want to cover your collarbone with kisses. Vi couldn’t take her eyes off you when she first saw you in it. She kept telling you how beautiful you looked, her voice filled with awe every time she caught a glimpse of you.

You had always been beautiful in Vi’s eyes, but tonight, you looked like someone straight out of a dream, her dreams. She felt a pride swell up inside her every time she looked at you, like the world had never seemed brighter, knowing that you, her girl, were beside her.

But despite how nice it was all going, it wasn’t without its discomforts for you.

There were moments when you felt too out of place in the spotlight, when the flashing of cameras made your chest tighten, or when you were pulled away from Vi to stand beside some celebrities for interviews, your smile feeling stiff and forced. Every time you were apart from her, even for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of loneliness, wanting to be close to her again.

The show itself went smoothly, though.

Vi did her thing and you watched from the sidelines, starstruck and completely in awe. It was so surreal to see her like this, her bandmates by her side, to see other celebrities you watched from home, the crowd cheering for her every time her name was called. She looked radiant. And it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by it all.

But the further the night dragged on, the more it felt like you were losing her to this new world.

You felt more of it at the after party. Vi had been swept away by a group of celebrities who wanted to talk to her, leaving you standing alone at the bar.

Ekko noticed and came over to keep you company, but it still wasn’t the same. He asked about how things were at home, mentioned how much he missed eating Benzo’s cooking. And it was nice talking to him—nice to have a friend around who didn’t feel too far into the fame as everyone else did in the room.

As you leaned against the bar, nursing your drink, you found your eyes wandering back to Vi, standing across the room, laughing and chatting with some famous actress, her hand resting on her arm. She looked completely at ease, her eyes sparkling as she talked with the other guests.

But it was clear that you that were nothing more than a bystander to her world now.

Ekko’s voice snapped you out of your daze. “You okay?” he asked, noticing your distracted expression.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a bit tired, I guess.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “You sure? Vi looks like she’s having a blast. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

You smiled again, though it felt hollow. “Yeah, she always has a way of talking to people, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does,” Ekko agreed, grinning. “But you know she’s really happy to have you here tonight. She’s always talking about you. Can’t get her to shut up about you sometimes.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, but it faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

You stand there, drink in hand, feeling an odd tension settle in your chest as you watch Vi across the room. She’s talking to someone—a tall woman, all legs and sharp angles, with dark blue hair that catches the light in an almost ethereal way. The way the actress moves, the way she laughs—effortless, magnetic, like she’s always been in the spotlight.

You’ve seen her before, vaguely—magazines, red carpets, maybe a movie trailer. She’s the kind of woman people can’t help but stare at. Perfectly polished, perfectly poised.

And there’s Vi, her face bright with a smile you once thought was reserved just for you. But now, as she stands there, chatting easily, you feel like a ghost in the room, watching from the sidelines.

Your fingers tighten around your glass, but you don’t move. You can’t.

It’s strange, this feeling that tightens your chest, this longing and bitterness you can’t seem to shake. Vi’s laugh carries over through the party, and for a moment, you close your eyes, remembering when you were the one who made her laugh like that. When you were the one who kissed that smile from her lips.

But it all feels so far away now.

The more you watch them, the more out of place you feel.

The more you look at Vi, the more she seems to belong in this world—this world of lights and flashes, of perfect strangers who all seem to know exactly who they are, exactly where they fit.

And you?

You’re still standing in the corner of this room, feeling like you’re made of something that doesn’t belong, something that’s too small for this space.

You swallow, trying to force down the lump in your throat.

It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid.

You’re just a girl from a small town with college exams coming up and some books you wrote.

Nothing glamorous.

And Vi—Vi’s everything you aren’t. She’s out here, living the life you never had the guts to chase. You can’t even blame her for it. She’s been nothing but amazing, talented and hardworking, giving you so much of herself, even when it all felt too complicated.

But seeing her like this, only reminds you of how out of place you feel now, in her world, in this world.

“I… I think I’m just gonna get some fresh air,” you say quietly.

You excuse yourself from Ekko, offering him a small smile as you slip away from the conversation. You need air—fresh, cool, anything to clear the thoughts that have taken root in your mind.

You take the elevator down to the ground floor, your heels clicking softly on the polished floors. The doors open with a soft ding, and you step out, immediately greeted by the cool bite of the night air. It’s a entirely different compared to the warmth of the party inside, and for a moment, it feels like a relief, like you can finally breathe without the walls of the venue pressing in on you.

The city lights glow in the distance, the hustle of traffic and the low hum of conversations from nearby streets filled your ears. You pull your coat tighter around you, the fabric clinging to your shoulders, but it doesn’t do much to shield you from the knot tightening in your chest.

You stand there for a moment, breathing deeply. The cool air is refreshing, but it can’t seem to cool the heat rising in your cheeks, the bitter ache in your stomach. Everything about it reminds you of how far things have come—and how far apart you and Vi have drifted.

You didn’t want to feel this way tonight. You didn’t want to spend another evening consumed by jealousy, by doubt.

But here you are, standing outside in the dark, unable to fight the feeling.

You really hadn’t expected it to be this hard.

Maybe it’s silly to think you could’ve ever fit into that world.

But the truth stings.

You want things to be different. You want to be the one she looks at, the one she chooses. But everything about tonight has made you feel like that’s something you’ll never be again.

You look up at the sky, the stars barely visible through the city’s haze, and for a moment, you close your eyes, letting the cold air fill your lungs.

You wish things were different. You wish you could go back to when you were everything to each other.

But you can’t.

Not anymore.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Vi’s voice cuts through your train of thought.

She must have slipped out unnoticed, and now, there she is, standing behind you. Her arms come around your waist, pulling you closer, her front pressed against your back. Her chin rests gently on your shoulder, her breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Hi, baby,” she muttered quietly.

You want to speak, to tell her how you feel, how the space between you both is only growing wider.

But the words stick in your throat.

Vi stays there, waiting for you, her body warm against yours. Her hands move from your waist, softly tracing over your arms, gently coaxing you into the safety of her touch, even though you don’t know how safe it feels anymore.

For a moment, all you can do is breathe, just breathe, feeling her arms around you… as if it’s the last time you’ll feel it.

When you do finally speak, it’s quieter than you intend, barely above a whisper. “Vi, I think we… I think we should stop this.”

Vi stiffens behind you, her hands pausing on your skin.

You can feel her heart rate quicken slightly. But she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she presses closer, her breath brushing your ear as she whispers, “What are you talking about?”

She holds you tighter, and for a brief second, you feel the urge to give in to her touch, to forget the mess in your head.

But it’s not enough anymore.

You try to speak again, but your words come out jumbled, like you’re struggling to find the right pieces to fit together.

“I… I don’t know. We’re not the same anymore.” You let out a shaky breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to explain the mess of feelings inside your chest. “It’s like we’re just… strangers now. I can’t keep pretending it’s the same, Vi.”

Vi’s hands stay on your waist, but you feel her pause for a moment. She pulls back just a little, enough to look at you, but not enough to fully let go.

You can hear the uncertainty in her voice when she speaks, “What? It’s still us. You and me. I—” She swallows, and you can hear the faint tremor in her words. “I thought we were okay.”

You shake your head, your chest tight.

“We’re not. We haven’t been for a while. And, I can’t tell if you even notice. Do you? You’re… you’re so far away, and I’m just… here.” The pain in your voice stings, but it feels like it’s the only truth you have left. “And I don’t know how to make it work anymore. I don’t know how to feel close to you when you’re a million miles away all the time.”

Vi’s arms move again, but this time, they’re softer, as if she’s afraid you’ll break under her touch.

“Don’t say that. I-I do notice. I do. I know it’s been a bit rough lately, but we can fix this… right? We’ve always been able to fix things before.” She tries to lighten the air, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she’s trying to erase the tension in the air. “I-I promise to call more, baby, please—”

But it doesn’t reach you.

You step back from her, the space between you both growing with each step, and for the first time in so long, you feel something other than the ache in your chest. It’s cold, too cold, and the distance feels like it’s swallowing you whole.

Vi’s arms drop at her sides, her hands twitching as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

She watches you carefully, her eyes wide as you move away. When she tries to move closer, you flinch. It’s instinct, something you didn’t mean to do, but you can’t help it. You just need space.

And Vi hates it.

“I wanna go home,” you say, your voice shaking with the everything you’ve been trying to ignore, trying to bury.

Vi’s smile falters, her brows furrow as she processes your words. She takes a small step toward you, the panic creeping into her voice. “O-Okay. I-I’ll call a cab and we can go back to the hotel and—“

You cut her off before she can finish, your heart hammering in your chest. “No, Vi. I want to go back home. I don’t… I don’t belong here with you.”

The ring in her ears and as soon as they leave your lips, you can see the color drain from Vi’s face. Her breath catches in her throat, and you watch her, eyes wide, disbelief settling in. She furrows her eyebrows, her entire posture faltering as she tries to process what you just said.

“What?” she whispers.

She takes a shaky breath, her gaze searching your face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of cruel joke, some kind of misunderstanding.

But you can’t give her that. You can’t pretend anymore.

“I just…” you start, but the words get caught in your throat, like you’re suffocating on them. You look at her, at the girl you once knew better than anyone else, and you realize that you’re not the same person anymore. “I thought I could keep pretending, but I can’t. And… I-I don’t see how we can change anything right now. I’m sorry, I—”

Vi opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She just stares at you, like she’s trying to wrap her mind around what’s happening, and in her silence, you hear all the things you can’t say.

The tears begin yo roll down your cheeks and Vi wants to wipe them away immediately, wants to take all that pain you’re feeling away for good… but…

“I need to go home,” you whisper again, this time your voice firmer, because if you don’t say it again, you might never leave.

And the look in her eyes—this heartbreaking, raw pain that flits across her face—makes your heart shatter even more.

Because you never wanted to hurt her.

But you’re not sure how to fix any of this. How to find your way back when it feels like everything between you two has crumbled into dust.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but the words feel so small. So insignificant.

Vi doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, frozen in place. She swallows hard, her lips trembling as she finally finds her voice.

“I thought we were… I thought you wanted to be with me.”

“I always want to be with you, I do, but this—” you bring a hand up, wiping your cheeks quickly. “What did you think was gonna to happen after this weekend’s over? That we’d have a great time here together, then everything would be okay? All of our problems aren’t just magically gonna disappear, Vi… You barely call. You barely text. And I’ll go back home and you’ll stay here and I… What, I won’t see you again for another four—five months? I-I cant be in a relationship with someone who—fuck, with someone who can’t even really be with me. And I don’t want to make you choose. I can’t make you choose but, Vi…”

Her eyes widen in panic, her face twisting with desperation.

“Don’t say that. I-I can fix this. We can fix this, baby, just—” she starts, her voice broken, her words faltering, as though she’s trying to pull something, anything, to make things right.

“Stop it, Violet,” you say quiet.

“No, no, just—just tell me what to do,” she says. She’s shaking, but it’s not the gentle tremor of someone trying to hold it together. It’s raw. It’s frantic. “Tell me what I need to do to, please—”

You stand your ground, feeling the anger swell within you as her frustration starts to mirror your own.

“Stop it.”

“I love you.”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s right, if there’s a chance, if somehow everything can go back to how it used to be.

But then the reality sets in.

“Are you happy with me, Vi?” You ask.

Vi looks at you and furrows her brows, confused at the question, “Of course, I am—”

“You’re happy with the way things are right now? Really?”

Vi freezes, the words caught in her throat. The certainty she usually wears like armor slips away.

“You’re happy with how far apart we always are? You’re happy that we barely talk anymore? That we don’t have time for each other anymore? T-That when I go home, you’ll forget all about me until you suddenly remember that you have a girlfriend miles and miles away, just waiting for you to call or pick up your damn phone?”

“I…” she stammers, her brow furrowing as she tries to find the right thing to say, but nothing feels right. She’s taken aback, not just by your question but by the realization behind it—the way your words cut through the illusion that she’s been clinging to, that everything is okay.

The silence between you stretches for so long and Vi fucking hates it. She hates the way you’re looking at her, as if you already know the answer she’s too afraid to give. Because deep down, she knows she’s not happy—not with the distance, not with the missed calls and the half-hearted promises, not with the way she’s been letting you slip away.

But admitting that feels like admitting defeat, like saying out loud that she’s failing you, failing this.

“I—” she tries again, but she looks away, her jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

She wants to say that she’s happy, that you’re enough, that she wouldn’t trade this for anything—but the truth is, she doesn’t even know what this is anymore either.

And by the look in your eyes, neither do you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, before opening them again to look up at her. Your hand reaches up, trembling slightly, and cups Vi’s cheek. Her skin is warm, damp from the tears she didn’t realize had fallen until now. The moment your palm makes contact, Vi leans into it instinctively. Her eyes flutter closed, and her shoulders quake as she lets out the softest, most broken sound—a quiet sob she tries to hide but can’t.

“Don’t,” she whispers, shaky and fragile. “Please…”

You don’t pull your hand away. Instead, your thumb brushes along the line of her cheekbone, and how gentle you were with her makes her cry harder. She feels your breath, and she hates how much she craves you, hates how much it hurts.

You swallow hard, the sound of your barely louder than a breath as you say, “This isn’t good for us.”

Vi’s eyes snap open, bloodshot and wide, her lips parting in disbelief. For a second, she freezes, the words not fully sinking in, like her brain refuses to process them.

“We should stop,” you say again, softer this time. Your hand is still on her cheek, and Vi clings to it, her larger hand wrapping around yours as though she could keep you there forever. “We’re hurting each other, Violet. We’ve been hurting each other for a while now.”

“No,” Vi pleads, shaking her head, her voice so weak you could barely hear her as she presses harder into your touch, desperate. “I don’t wanna stop. Please, just—let me fix this—”

You shake your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay, though they’re already blurring your vision.

“It’s not about fixing anything, Vi. We’re just in two completely different places and…” Your voice falters for a moment, breaking. “…and it’s not working for us.”

Vi’s breath hitches, and the hand gripping yours starts to tremble.

“I don’t know how to—” Her voice cracks, and she looks down, her tears falling freely onto the ground. “I don’t know how to do any of this this without you.”

Your heart clenches painfully, and for a fleeting second, you want to take it all back. You lean down slightly, pressing your forehead to hers, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, you do,” you whisper, the words like a final goodbye. “You’ve been doing all of this without me already.”

She shakes her head softly, “That’s not true.”

Vi’s breath comes out shaky, her tears mingling with yours as she presses herself closer, trying to savor the moment, to memorize the feel of you before it slips away entirely.

“I love you,” she says, words trembling as if the words are the last lifeline she has left to offer.

She watches you closely, her wide, teary eyes searching yours, desperate for something—anything—to tell her this isn’t the end.

But you don’t say it back right away.

And for those few agonizing seconds, the silence feels suffocating. Vi’s heart pounds painfully in her chest, and a lump forms in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her lips part to say something, to plead again, but before she can, you finally speak.

“I love you, Violet.”

It’s everything Vi wanted to hear, but as soon as the words leave your lips, they cut deeper than any silence ever could. There’s a softness to your voice, a finality in the way you say it, and Vi knows.

She knows what it means, what you’re trying to say without saying it outright.

And it hurts so fucking bad.

Her breath catches, and her hands drop slightly from where they’d been holding you, as if the weight of the words has drained her strength.

She shakes her head, voice cracking as she stammers, “Don’t say it like that.”

You look at her with so much tenderness it almost shatters her completely, but it’s that softness that makes it clear you’ve already made up your mind.

“Vi,” you whisper, and the way you say her name only makes the tears come faster.

She hates it. She hates how much of a goodbye it sounds.

“I love you so much,” she says, words breaking, barely audible now.

But even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they’re futile. She knows that no matter how much she loves you, no matter how much she tries to hold on, she can’t stop you from slipping through her fingers.

And for the first time, the love she’s always clung to feels hollow, like it’s not enough to keep you here.

Like she’s already lost you.

After a moment, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to Vi’s cheek, the warmth of your lips lingering on her skin.

Vi closes her eyes at the touch, savoring it, even though something deep inside her tells her this is the last time. She wants to hold onto it, to freeze this moment, to make you stay just a little longer. But you’re already stepping back, pulling away from her reach.

“I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” you say quietly.

Vi nods instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as she responds, “I’ll go with you.”

Just a little more time, she thinks. She just wants whatever time she could get with you. Her voice is so weak under her breath, but she takes a step forward, already moving to follow, to stay by your side no matter what.

But then you stop her.

You place a hand up between you—not to push her away, but enough to keep her there, frozen in place. And when she sees the look in your eyes, Vi feels the first crack split through her chest.

“I’ll be okay,” you say softly. “I’ll call a cab and find my way back.”

It’s not the words themselves that break her; it’s the way you say them, like you’re letting her go in every sense of the word. Her heart shatters, the pieces falling one by one, and she doesn’t know how to stop it. She doesn’t know how to stop you.

“Let me go with you,” she breathes out, her voice, desperate to see more of you for as long as she still can.

But you shake your head gently, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over, and she knows there’s no changing your mind.

She’s never felt so powerless, so useless, and all she can do is stand there, watching you walk away, feeling like you’re taking every part of her with you.

She watches your silhouette grow smaller and smaller, her mind clinging to every detail—how your hair looked under the dim streetlights, how soft your lips felt against her cheek, how your voice cracked when you said her name. She already misses all of it, every little piece of you.

But deep down, she knows she’s been missing you for far longer than just tonight.

The air is damp and Vi doesn’t move. She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing there, rooted to the ground, staring at the spot where you disappeared from her sight. A faint drizzle begins, tiny drops kissing her skin. She barely notices it at first, but soon the rain falls harder, soaking through her clothes.

She shivers, but she doesn’t move. Her hands fall limply at her sides, her mind replaying every moment of the night, every word you said, every second she couldn’t hold on to you. Her knees feel weak, but the ache in her chest is worse.

She wants to run after you, to stop you, but even if she said all the right words, she knows you’d still be leaving.

And it’s her fault, she thinks. She let it all slip away.

Hours pass, or maybe just minutes—it doesn’t matter. By the time she finally stumbles back to the party, her hair is dripping, her hands are trembling, and her heart feels hollow.

You booked the earliest flight you could, and as the sky begins to lighten, you pull your coat tighter around you and make your way to the airport.

In the next couple of days, in a big headline on your phone, you find out that Vi punched someone at that party.

SATURDAY, PRESENT DAY.

The hum of soft music drifted through the flower shop as you sat at the counter, a list of names and scribbled notes sprawled out in front of you. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched by your elbow, the faint aroma of lavender and honey filling the air.

You tapped your pen lightly against the edge of the paper, squinting at Mel’s unusually messy handwriting.

“Does Jayce even know this many people?” you muttered, half to yourself and half to Mel, who sat cross-legged on a stool across from you, flipping through her wedding binder.

Mel let out a melodious laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, you’d be surprised. He seems to think everyone he’s ever spoken to needs a seat at this wedding.”

She reached over and plucked the list from your hands, glancing at the names.

“This is ridiculous. He even invited his college professor,” she squinted, pointing at a name near the bottom of the page, “—Heimer…dinger?”

You laughed softly, shrugging. “Don’t look at me.”

Mel groaned, leaning back and rubbing her temples. “I swear, at this rate, we’re going to have to build a second venue just to fit all these people.”

“Maybe you could just cut the guest list in half,” you suggested lightly, marking a few names off with your pen. “Say the venue has a sudden capacity issue.”

She smirked. “Tempting. Though, knowing Jayce, he’d probably build a whole new venue himself just to make sure no one gets left out.”

You smiled at her, then turned your attention back to the seating chart—you were only halfway through the list. You could feel the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the shop’s windows. The scent of fresh blooms mixed with the faint perfume Mel always wore, filling the air with a sense of comfort you’ve gotten familiar with long ago.

“Do you think my mother will mind sitting next to Jayce’s?” Mel asks, uncertain. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and frowns at the chart like it’s a puzzle she just can’t solve.

You glance up at her and let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I think they’re are old enough to behave for one meal.”

Mel sighs, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. “You clearly haven’t met my family.”

“Yes, I have,” you roll your eyes and lean forward, studying the chart. “Okay, well… how about this?”

You move a few names around, scribbling quick arrows to new spots.

“We put your mom near your college friends. She can’t cause too much trouble if they’re surrounded by strangers.”

Mel grins at you, resting her chin on her hand as she watches you work.

“Perfect,” she says.

“How’s your mom holding up with all of this?” Mel asked suddenly, watching you as you meticulously rearranged the tiny paper name tags on the chart.

“She’s good,” you replied, your voice soft. “Excited, mostly. She keeps talking about how nice it is to have the shop involved in something so big.”

You paused, your hand hovering over one of the name tags.

“She’s just happy to see you and Jayce so… settled, I guess.”

Mel tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful look in her eyes. “And you? How are you holding up?”

You hesitated, your fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the seating chart. For a moment, you considered giving her the same polite, surface-level answer you gave everyone else. But this was Mel—your best friend, the one person who’d known you through every high and low.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, though the words felt heavier than they should have. “Really.”

Mel’s gaze softened, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached over and placed a reassuring hand on yours, her smile warm and understanding. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great. And if you need anything—anything at all—you know I’m here.”

The phone rings before you can reply. You instinctively reach for it, the receiver cool against your hand as you press it to your ear. “Lane Florals, how can I help you?”

“Oh, hey! It’s Jayce,” a familiar voice greets you cheerfully on the other end. “Just checking in to see if Mel’s still holding you hostage over there.”

You laugh softly. “Hostage is a strong word, but yes, we’re almost done.”

Mel perks up at the sound of his name and reaches for the phone.

“Give me that,” she says playfully, taking it from you. “Jayce, we’ve been over this—your input doesn’t count unless you actually help with something.”

As Mel steps into the back to argue with her fiancé, you sit back in the chair, momentarily tuning out the sound of her voice. Your eyes wander around the shop, landing on the bundles of flowers waiting to be arranged, the sunlight filtering in through the windows, and the stillness of this place.

You absently twirl the pen in your hand, your mind drifting for a moment. It’s easy to stay busy here, to focus on what’s in front of you instead of the ache you don’t like to name.

“Jayce insists we keep his cousins together,” Mel said with a playful roll of her eyes as she returned to you. “I love him, but the man doesn’t understand how chaotic that side of the family is.”

“Maybe put them near the bar. That way they won’t bother anyone too much,” you suggested, earning a grateful laugh from Mel.

“Alright, I think we’ve almost got it,” she said, standing up to pour herself a glass of water.

Left alone for a moment, you leaned over the chart, eyes scanning the names to double-check the placements. Your gaze moved quickly at first, recognizing some familiar names and skimming unfamiliar ones, until it landed on something—towards the end of the list—that made your breath hitch.

Violet Lanes.

It was there, clear as day—her name printed neatly on a delicate little card, tucked beside a few other names at one of the smaller tables. Your hands stilled, hovering over the paper as a wave of something sharp and overwhelming crashed over you.

“Hey, you okay?” Mel’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, I just—” You glanced down at the name again, your fingers brushing against the edge of the paper. “I’m fine.”

Mel’s eyes softened as she walked over, leaning over your shoulder. She followed your gaze to the card and let out a quiet sigh.

“I was going to tell you,” she said gently. “Jayce invited her. You know how they’ve been since high school. They’ve been in touch for a while, I guess. He didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

You nodded again, but the tightness in your chest didn’t ease.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Mel reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“If it’s too much, I can figure something out,” she offered. “She hasn’t even confirmed with us yet… She’s probably so busy anyway.”

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “No, it’s… it’s your wedding. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Mel, really. It’s okay,” you threw on one of the best fake smiles you could give. “It just caught me off guard, is all.”

Mel studies you for a moment, her gaze lingering on your face. “If you don’t want her there, I can tell Jayce—”

You cut her off with a quick shake of your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but you push through it. The last thing you want is for Mel to feel guilty, or worse, pitying you.

She doesn’t seem convinced, but she nods anyway, going back to arranging the seating chart. You know she’s trying to keep things light, to keep you from feeling weighed down by whatever’s hanging in the air. And maybe you’re fooling yourself into thinking you’re not still carrying it.

But the truth is, you don’t know what to do with the ghost of her, or your love for her, lingering between everything you do.

“Hey,” Mel says after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Want to grab a coffee after we finish here? We could use a break.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction. “That sounds good.”

Glancing at the seating chart again, your finger rests on the name that’s still too familiar.

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keraawrites · 3 months ago

Text

"How can I let someone else have you?"

Summary: You two had been bestfriends forever. But when did the lines blur? You had no idea, but some shots and weed may help you find the answer. ۶ৎ Bakugo x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Content: Underage drinking, drug use (weed), drinking games, belly piercing, use of the name ma & mama, oral (m&f), missionary, doggy style, unprotected sex (Wrap it up guys)

Word count — 4.8k

Babble; Hey guys, so I have rewritten this, changed up the aesthetic and added some extras to it, but the summary is all the same. You can reread if you like💋

Nobody really understood the dynamic between you and Bakugo—well, except Midoriya. But the green-haired boy never dared to disclose too much because, frankly, he valued his life.

People assumed. They whispered. They stared too long whenever you and Bakugo walked through the halls together. And with good reason—y’all were close. Too close. Always up under each other, too touchy for “just friends.” But every time someone asked, the response was always the same:

“Katsuki? No, it’s not like that. He’s my best friend.”

“Hah?! The fuck you ask me for!?”

After a while, your friends had stopped prying, though the girls still gave you side-eyes and grilled you when Bakugo wasn’t around. Especially after he gave you that necklace three years ago.

“Oh my God, ‘Sukiiii! I love it!”

You had nearly tackled him when you ripped the wrapping off, revealing a thin gold chain with a small, elegant K hanging from it. The metal shimmered under the dorm lights, and your heart nearly burst.

“You gonna stop screeching so I can put the damn thing on you?”

You wore it every day. Bakugo didn’t know what it was, but something twisted in his chest every time he saw that delicate sparkle against your brown skin. A tight, unfamiliar feeling that he always brushed off.

The blonde clicked his tongue, irritation bubbling under his skin as he noticed you still hadn’t come down for breakfast. Again.

“This fuckin’ girl,” he grumbled, rubbing a hand down his face. He already knew what was up. You never set your alarms properly, and even now, in your third year, you still woke up barely twenty minutes before class.

Grumbling the whole way up to your room, Bakugo didn’t bother knocking this time. He just pounded on your door once before shoving it open, golden eyes narrowing at the lump buried under layers of blankets.

"You always fucking do this," he snapped, marching over to your window. With one rough yank, he pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with sunlight. “I’m tired of draggin’ your ass outta bed every day!”

"Then stop fucking doing it..." you grumbled, voice muffled against your pillow.

He didn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he ripped the blankets clean off you, forcing a dramatic groan from your lips as the cold air hit your skin. You barely had a second to react before your quirk flared up, an instinctive warning shot sparking from your fingertips. But Bakugo was used to your games. He dodged easily and shoved you toward the bathroom.

“Go shower, dumbass.”

You sent him a glare over your shoulder before stomping inside, slamming the door dramatically behind you. Unbothered, Bakugo walked to your closet, yanking out your uniform like it was second nature. You had been in his life for as long as he could remember, since before either of you had quirks or even full teeth in your mouths. You were the only one he really listened to—the only one he ever let check him when his ego got too big.

You and Midoriya had been his childhood friends, but it was you who kept him grounded, you who threatened to stop being friends with him when his bullying got out of hand. And even though he had been a stubborn little shit, he always found his way back to you.

The bathroom door creaked open, steam spilling into the room as you stepped out, skin still dewy from the heat. A towel was wrapped around your body, and without a word, you took the uniform from Bakugo’s outstretched hands.

“You gonna stand there, or you gonna turn around?” you teased, raising a brow.

The corner of his lip curled up. “Like I ain’t seen you in less before.”

It was true. You had spent countless nights in his bed, knocked out in one of his oversized skull T-shirts. He had seen you in a towel more times than he could count. But still, he turned around, rubbing the back of his neck as you changed.

"So, we going to the party tonight?" you asked casually, the sound of body spray filling the air.

"You wanna go, mama?"

"That's not what I asked."

He didn’t answer. Just pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. "Can you hurry the hell up? We got, like, five minutes till class. I'll leave your ass here."

You laughed, stepping in front of him fully dressed. Your hair was pulled into a bun, your braids a perfect shade of soft brown, complementing the warmth of your skin. The scent of vanilla and cocoa butter wrapped around him, triggering something deep and familiar in his chest. His eyes flickered over your uniform—knee-high socks, skirt too damn short, tie missing, but that K still sat perfectly on your collarbone.

"No, you wouldn't," you said smugly, looping your arm through his as you walked toward the door. "And since you didn’t answer my question—we’re going to the party.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. Because you were right. He was going. Even if he hadn’t planned on it before.

And, though he didn’t say it, there was an uneasy feeling twisting in his gut.

The bass of the music thrummed through your body as you giggled, swaying your hips to the beat alongside Mina. Your limbs were warm, your movements loose—three shots deep and already tipsy. The party had been going strong for nearly two hours, and you, Mina, and Jiro were thoroughly frassed. The latter was curled up on Kaminari’s lap, lazily sipping her drink while his fingers traced over her thighs.

Across the room, Bakugo sat sprawled on the couch, legs wide, his body relaxed in that effortlessly cocky way of his. A red Solo cup dangled from his fingers, half-full, while the blunt made its way around the circle. His crimson gaze, however, was locked onto you.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

His jaw flexed as you rolled your hips, your laughter carried through the air, completely unaware of the way he was struggling.

"So when are you gonna quit the act and make this official?"

Bakugo tore his gaze away with a sharp tsk, already knowing where this was going. Kirishima smirked at him from the other end of the couch, watching Mina dance with you.

"Shut up."

Kirishima chuckled. "I’m serious, bro. Someone might swoop her up if you keep acting like a dumbass."

Bakugo scoffed, taking a long sip of his drink. "Yeah, if they wanna fucking die."

The redhead hummed, eyes flickering toward the crowd. "Well… looks like Monoma picked a perfect day to die."

Bakugo’s entire body stiffened.

His head snapped back toward you, and sure enough—there he was.

That damn copycat.

You were laughing at whatever bullshit Monoma was spewing, eyes hazy from the alcohol. Mina had helped pick out your outfit tonight, and it showed. Your dark denim shorts sat high on your hips, shaping your ass perfectly, while your low-cut black cropped graphic tee teased just enough stomach to show off your belly piercing.

You weren't a fan of makeup, but you always had eyelashes on and some form of gloss on your lips and the chocolate lip gloss you chose today paired perfectly with your skin.

You remembered the way Katsuki's brows raised as you and Mina came down to the common room. He didn't think anyone noticed, but his eyes lingered on your stomach and thighs a little too long before his hands found your waist and walked you to the cab the guys had called.

Your mind was pulled back when the blonde in front of you ran his finger down your cheek, you didn't have enough time to smack his hand away before Katsuki harshly shoved the other blonde. His hand made its way around your waist, his fingers resting on your exposed flesh, sending a shiver right through you.

"Can I help you?"

Everyone knew the unspoken rule. Every guy who had tried to hit on you in the past backed off the moment Bakugo got involved. But Monoma? Monoma was either too dense or too reckless to care.

"What’s it to you, Bakugo?" Monoma sneered, brushing himself off.

Your skin burned where Bakugo’s fingers rested. His grip tightened slightly. You swallowed.

Before things could escalate, someone shouted about a drinking game.

You seized the moment, grabbing Bakugo’s wrist and pulling him toward the forming circle.

You were pulled into Katsuki's lap as soon as he sat down, his hand firmly placed on the inside of your legs, your ass rubbed against his jean glad semi. He was used to this, you sat on his lap daily and slept in his bed almost every night, he was used to you pushing your ass against him but for some reason, he thinks you're doing it on purpose right now.

You weren’t oblivious to the growing heat between you two, the way the alcohol only made you more aware of him. And from the way his fingers flexed against your inner thigh, he wasn’t oblivious either.

The game was already in full swing, a mixture of embarrassing questions, wild dares, and far-too-heavy drinking. You took two shots to dodge a question, only for Bakugo to pinch your thigh and grumble, "Pussy."

You wistled along with everyone as Jiro finished giving Kaminari a dirty snog. Mina’s eyes scanned the crowd before her eyes settled on you her fingers fished through the deck of cards before a twinkle lit her eyes up.

"Okay, next, y/n drink or answer?"

You raised a brow. "Don’t I need to hear the question first?"

Mina waved a Joker card. "Nope. I get to ask anything."

You hesitated, contemplating your options before nodding. "Fine."

Mina's grin turned wicked.

"BJ, backshots, missionary—"

"MINA!"

"—Monoma, Bakugo, or Kiri?"

"W-what, Mina!?" The redhead was equally as concerned as you, Mina rubbed his arm before whispering something in his ear. Whatever it was seemed to calm the sturdy hero down but the blush on his cheek didn't go unnoticed by you or the blonde under you.

You could feel his body tense as soon as the names left your pink friend, your body reacting to the feel of his hand on the inside of your thigh but you willed yourself to not look at him.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, reaching for your drink, only for Mina to wag a finger.

"Ah, ah, Joker card. No drinking your way out of this."

Your heart pounded as all eyes landed on you. Kiri looked less concerned now, like he could laugh off whatever you said about him.

"You know," You and everyone else watched as the blonde for resident 3B stood up as he adjusted his jeans. "We can just act out all three if it makes your answer easier."

You didn't even have time to cuss his nasty ass out before Bakugo grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. Your eyes were blown wide open as you watched the angry boy start to yell in his face. Kirishima was already on Bakugo but it didn't register what was going on around you, Katsuki always defended you, always fought off boys who were getting too touchy but this felt different.

You don't know if it was the drinks or the weed but your inside was a mess, you knew your panties were as well and it was getting very hard not to do anything about it.

"You wanna try say that fucking shit again!?"

Monoma had a shit-eating grin on his face as he let some mini explosions go off in Bakugo's face, you knew you needed to get him out of there before he blew up the whole of 3B.

And you weren’t talking about Monoma.

You didn't remember dragging him away from the blonde, you certainly didn't remember as he began dragging you upstairs so one of the rooms. But here you were, in someone else’s room watching as he tried to calm his breathing down.

You perched yourself on the edge of the bed and just let him come around.

"Fucking shit, who the fuck does he think he is!?" It was rhetorical and you knew that but something was bugging you.

"Why is it making you so angry? He does this shit all the time." You mumbled, your eyes noticing the way his body tensed to the sound of your voice. His head snapped towards you as he seemed to remember you were there.

"Why wouldn't it make me fucking angry? He's a lowlife scum who needs to stop fucking talking to you like your a fucking piece of meat." He snapped, eyes very much ablaze from his anger.

You bit the corner of your lip, gnawing at your thoughts. You never had a problem speaking your mind to the blonde, so even as you felt the erratic heartbeat against your chest you asked the question that you knew would change everything.

"But why?"

"Because why would I let someone else have you when you're mine!"

…

You could feel your heart in your ears, the tension was already high but now the room was filled. You watched as he approached you, nervously shuffling on the bed but not taking your eyes off him.

His eyes were dark, burning with something raw, something dangerous.

“You’ve been mine forever,” he muttered, voice low and rough like gravel. His crimson gaze locked onto yours, intense, possessive. “But the moment you put my initials around your neck? That sealed it.”

Your throat went dry as his words sank in.

“You think I’d let some extra take what’s mine?”

He was towering over you now, and you had to tilt your head back just to keep eye contact. His gaze flickered downward—to your lips, your chest, the way your breath was coming faster, shallower. He was watching you react to him, soaking it all in like it fueled him.

And maybe it did.

The crazy part was—you weren’t surprised.

Not at his words. Not at the possessiveness in his voice. Not at the way his fingers twitched, itching to grab you, to claim you.

Because deep down, you already knew.

You knew it every time he shoved past guys who dared to flirt with you. You knew it every time his hand found your waist at parties, steering you away before anyone got ideas.

And it wasn’t just him.

You remembered when Camie tried to flirt with him, and your fists curled so tightly, you nearly drew blood from your own palms. You remembered when first-years tried slipping him love notes, and you scared them so bad, they never looked his way again.

But the moment you knew?

It was that night. The night he was taken from you.

The night you felt like your entire soul had been ripped from your chest.

You barely functioned—until Izuku snapped you out of it, and you threw yourself into battle to bring him home. You didn’t sleep for two nights after that, staying by his side even when he told you to leave.

But he never really meant it.

You could tell by the way his fingers curled around your wrist when you tried to go.

And when he kissed you for the first time? When he made love to you that night? It changed everything.

It was never spoken about, never addressed—but from that moment on, he was yours, and you were his.

And now?

Now, he was standing between your legs, hands on your thighs, looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

His thumb traced your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly. His voice was lower now, raspier.

“What you thinkin’ about, ma?”

You swallowed, barely able to get the words out.

“Our first time.”

A groan rumbled from deep in his chest, and his grip on your thighs tightened. He kneeled down, his nose barely brushing yours.

“You remember it?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Course I do, ’Suki.”

His fingers dug deeper into your flesh, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, forcing your legs open just a bit more. His lips hovered over yours, close enough that you could feel his breath fan across your skin.

His next words sent a sharp, hot pulse straight through you.

“You know you’re mine, right?”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a statement. A fact. A warning.

You barely managed to nod, your hand sliding up to cover his, needing to touch him, to ground yourself.

“Always been yours, 'Suki.” You barely got out his name before he smashed his lips to yours, not soft. Not hesitant. It was deep, hot, and desperate, a collision of everything you had held back for too long. You gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage, his tongue slipping inside to tangle with yours.

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. His hands roamed your curves, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. He kissed you like he was starving and in a sense, he was.

His grip tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your curves like he was staking his claim. Like he was trying to make sure you felt everything he had never been able to say.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your foreheads touching. His fingers brushed along your jaw, thumb grazing your swollen lips, he groaned as you wrapped your lips around his thumb. His eyes darkened, his chuckle filling up the room, his voice dark with command as he stared at you.

"Your knees, now mama."

You didn't waste any time, you were eager to please him, your eyes never leaving his eyes as you made quick work on his jeans. Your core clenched when you heard the groan that admitted from the blonde once you wrapped your fingers around his cock.

You swiped your tongue along the base of his cock, moaning at the taste of him but you whined once you felt his fingers bunch around your braids, lifting your head so your eyes met his blazing red ones.

"Stop teasing, or I'll fuck your throat. Suck. Now."

Your lashes fluttered against your lids before you looked down and took his cock into your mouth.

"Fuuuuck." Your eyes rolled back, the sound of the man above of moaning to your actions. You continued to lap at him, your tongue laid flat as you continued to take more of him and soon you were gaging on him.

You pull back swiftly, letting a trail of spit fall onto his tip as your hands work him with firm, synchronised movements. Your breath is shallow, but you waste no time before taking him back into your throat, your shoulders trembling slightly with each gag and splutter that escapes around his length. Katsuki's hands tightened around your hair, his mind racing with thoughts on how you were never going to leave him, not after this.

As you pull back again, saliva drips down his cock, and your tongue teases the slit at the tip while you glance up at him through heavy lashes. Your lip gloss has all but disappeared, leaving its mark instead at the base of his cock, staining his pubes with a faint brown hue. Yet, you show no hesitation, no shame—smiling wickedly as your tongue presses cruelly into his slit, your hands continuing their relentless, rough strokes along his shaft.

He ripped you off him with a deep, shuddering breath. His thumb brushed your swollen lips, and his jaw clenched at the sight of you—eyes hazy, lips glossy, your breath coming out in short, needy gasps.

“Not gonna cum unless it’s inside that pretty pussy mama,” he muttered, his voice gravelly.

You shuffled against the bed as he began to pull down your shorts, his lips trailing kisses along your ankles up to your thighs. A shuddered breath left your lips as his mouth got closer to your inner thigh, his fingers trailing along your clothed clit.

"You gonna let me eat?" You moaned at the desperation in his voice, your head quickly nodding but Katsuki took his time with you. His lips kissing the inside of your thighs, his eyes looking up at you.

"Sukiiii. don't tease me."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want." You gasped as he ripped your panties from your cunt.

He grabs your thighs, spreading them wide with an urgency that makes you gasp. His eyes are wild, hungry, drinking at the sight of your beautiful brown skin like a man starved. The way he looks at you—it's primal, desperate, years of holding back finally snapping like a dam breaking loose.

He dives between your legs without hesitation, his hot tongue immediately finding your clit with fierce determination. Your back arches off the bed as he devours you, his groans vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His strong hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling you closer to his mouth as if he can't get enough of your taste. Each stroke of his tongue is demanding, almost possessive, making your toes curl and drawing breathless moans from your throat.

"Fuck," he pants against you, his voice rough with need. "Been wanting this—wanting you—for so fucking long." His words are barely coherent as he returns to his feast, alternating between sucking your clit and letting his tongue delve deep inside you. Your moans grew as your hands found their way into his ash-blonde hair, gripping tight as he worked you with an intensity that borders on desperation.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, leaving marks that you'll feel tomorrow—proof of how you were his. Every flick of his tongue, every hungry moan against your wet flesh tells the story of countless nights spent dreaming of this moment. Your best friend, always so controlled, now completely undone by the desire for you, eating you out like it's his last meal like he's trying to make up for every second he spent holding back.

“Fu--ck Kats, gonna cum. Please let me cum.” You all but whined as he pushed a finger into your tight cunt. You squealed as he lightly bit on your clit before his eyes met yours.

“Come on then pretty, want you to cum all over my face before you cum all over my cock.” You could barely hear your moans as the sound of your pussy squelching filled the room, now two fingers buried deep inside of you as his mouth enveloped your cunt for the last time.

Your mind went blank as you squirted all over his face, a dark chuckle leaving his lips as he quickly worked you through your orgasm.

“There you go ma, you did so well for me.” He kissed the inside of your thighs before he made quick work of your clothes, your brown nipples were greeted with sloppy kisses, your heart swelled from how tentative he was being. But you weren’t surprised.

The first time you had been together, the first time you had both given yourselves to each other—it had been slow, careful, a confession neither of you were ready to say out loud.

But this?

This was different.

This was claiming.

“Wanna feel you, ‘Suki,” you whispered. “Please.”

The blonde groaned against your neck; no doubt he left a hickey as he continued to kiss the same spot. He pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, your leg pulled over his shoulder. With a gentle yet firm motion, he enters you, and a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him fill you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and intimacy. He pauses, allowing you to adjust, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. When you nod, he begins to move, each thrust deliberate and deep as if trying to etch this moment into your soul.

"Fuuuckkk, how are you still so tight baby?” You moan from the deep, continued thrusts he gave you. Your fingers wrung their way into his hair, tugging at every thrust you received, your moans were loud-- not realising or even caring whether or not your classmates could hear you.

You felt his hand around your throat, your pussy fluttering around his cock causing him to groan in your ear. You felt him squeeze slightly, causing your eyes to fly open to meet his red ones.

"Open."

It was a demand, your mouth opened instantly-- your tongue hanging out. You watched as a string of spit left Katsuki's mouth and dropped into yours. Your eyes rolled back as you swallowed without hesitation, you both moaned at the sight, and Bakugo delivered a hard thrust to you causing your second orgasm to crash over you.

The pace quickens, yet in one fluid movement, he shifts your position. With a rough tug of your hips, he rolls you over onto your hands and knees,

"Ass up mama-- yeah just like that." You moaned as you felt the air thick with anticipation; his demeanour shifted— you hadn't felt him re-enter you, your head turns to look at him but the spank came quick to your ass.

"Don't remember telling you to turn around, face in the sheets. Now."

Whines left your lips as your cunt clenched around nothing from the roughness of his voice. You heard him groan as he palmed your ass, slapping it slightly, you knew he was watching it jiggle so you gave him a show.

You arched your back a little more, wiggling your ass softly but before you could continue you felt him enter you-- hard.

He lines up behind you, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he thrusts in with a belligerent urgency. Every thrust is deep and deliberate, fueled by years of pent-up desire. The sounds of wet skin against skin, the slap of his hip against your body, and your moans mingling in the heated air form a chaotic, raw symphony of lust.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and commanding as he pounds into you. “Tell me you’re mine—utter it like you mean it.” His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and through gasps and whimpers, you manage, “I’m yours … always.” With each word, he drives deeper, his hunger bordering on desperation, his motions rougher, his grip on you intense and unyielding.

Your nails raked along the sheets beneath you, you gripped the sheets as you felt his hand wrap around your braids-- pulling slightly causing the pain to mix in with the pleasure of his continued thrusts.

"You walked around with my initials around your neck but acted like it meant nothing."

"It did-- meant everything, Sukiii." He growled, his eyes watched as a creamy ring pooled around the base of his cock. His eyes darkened even more, not long later his hand wrapped around your stomach as he pulled you up against his chest, his fingers moved down to your clit-- you squealed, eyes fluttering as he continued his rough thrusts.

"I love you unno," He nipped at your ear, your eyes welled with tears, you didn't know whether it was from the pleasure or the emotions. You turned to face him, your lips meeting his, the kiss was sloppy but that didn't defer from the passion and love you poured into it.

"Love you to Suki, so much." That was it for him, his lips brushed against yours- he murmured for you to cum and that was all it took, you came around him-- hard. Black dots sported your vision, your body gone limp but his arms still held you up as he chased his own orgasm.

He whispered soothing words into your ear as ropes of his cum painted the inside of your walls.

Your body fell to the mattress, your breathing trying to even out as you felt him leave you. You whined from the emptiness but you felt him clean you up as you trailed kisses down your spine.

"I don't have to say it right?"

You giggled, turning over to face him. "No Kat, I know I'm yours-- so you tell those fass ass girls that you have a girlfriend now."

He chuckled at your response, helping you get dressed. Everyone knew him as the angry explosive blonde, but to you he was just Katsuki and Katsuki loved you.

He left kisses along your body, you both knew you had to go back downstairs, whether it was to the party or not but you needed to go back to your dorms.

Your eyes blinked up at him, confusion swimming in your thoughts, "Wait. Who's room did we fuck in?"

You didn't have long to ponder, the door opened causing your eyes to blow wide but the smirk on Katsuki's face got bigger.

"Guess what copy cat, we just acted out all three."

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

#bakugou katsuki #black fem reader #Katsuki x black reader #my hero academia #bakugou smut #Katsuki smut #best friends #aha x black fem reader #Bakugo smut #black female smut #black female #mha #mha x reader #mha bakugou

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enhani-ki · 4 months ago

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touché - reader x ni-ki

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, etc.

read part two here!

ni-ki has a way of taking up space in your mind. you don't exactly know when it actually started but he just stood out to you without being so loud or seeking attention in your shared friend group.

and lately, you've noticed that whenever you glanced in his direction, you would also find him already looking at you. perhaps he was just looking around the room, and you caught him mid-gaze but still, it's happening too often to ignore.

you began to feel self-conscious. thinking that ni-ki might assume that you're always staring at him.

and without realizing it, you found yourself influenced by his style. you bought caps similar to one he always wore, you started layering necklaces, and even swapped your usual bag for a stylish crossbody one like his.

your eyes instinctively searched for him. you scanned the room and when you didn't spot him, you sighed, frustrated with your own behavior. and as you turned around, you bumped into someone’s chest.

"woah..." came a familiar voice. ni-ki's hands gently steadied your arms.

"ow..." you mumbled, holding your nose, which throbbed from the impact. "sorry..."

"you good?" he asked, tone light with a hint of concern. and without waiting for an answer, he smoothly guided you towards the kitchen.

you nodded, laughing softly while rubbing your nose. "yeah, i'm good. just clumsy, i guess."

ni-ki laughed too, leaning casually opposite of you against the counter as you leaned against the kitchen sink.

he had been thinking about this. getting you alone and away from the group. not that it was a big deal or anything, but he's been feeling you and noticing you more lately. it wasn't something he planned exactly but now that you're here, just the two of you, it felt like a good chance.

he just have to act normal.

"so… i've been seeing you here a lot lately." he said, crossing his arms.

you nodded, feeling a little awkward under his stare. "yea- yeah, i guess i have been pretty social these days."

"you've been dressing differently too." ni-ki pointed out, his eyes flicking briefly to your cap and necklaces.

your eyes widened slightly and your cheeks burned in his sudden comment. "oh, uh… just trying something new." you laughed nervously.

"it suits you." he said with a smirk. as if he knows exactly who you dresses like.

trying to change the subject, you cleared your throat as you reached for a jar of jam on the counter. you scooped a small spoonful into your mouth.

ni-ki gestured for the jar as you ate. without thinking, you handed it over, still talking about something trivial.

and he didn't bother getting a new spoon. he dipped the one you just used, taking a bite while you're yapping. he's looking at you with an intensity, making your words gone.

"you were saying?" he prompted, lips curving into a mischievous grin as he held the spoon in his mouth.

you stammered. completely forgetting your train of thought.

ni-ki chuckled at your reaction. he started to walk towards you. tossing the spoon into the sink with a casual flick of his wrist. he took a step closer making you lean back against the sink while your heart beats so fast in your chest.

still keeping his eyes on you, he reached and turned your cap backwards, his fingers brushing against your hair.

"there. much better." he smiled with a low and teasing voice.

ni-ki looked in your eyes for a while, smiling. he tilted his head and very slowly, he leaned in. your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into the moment ni-ki placed a kiss on your lips.

he pulled back slightly and saw the dazed look on your face, a flicker of amusement crossed his lips. "not enough?" he asked you in his mind.

ni-ki held your face gently. this time he leaned in again with more urgency. deepening the kiss, his lips moving against yours in a way that sent shivers down your spine. you could taste the sweetness of the jam on his mouth as the kiss grew hungrier.

his hands began to roam. they slid from your neck down your back and to your waist. and with a firm and gentle grip, he pulled your body closer to his. niki pressed his body against yours harder each kiss.

the heat between you was overwhelming, making you let out a soft gasp and he seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring yours with a skill that made your knees weak.

you can feel his smirk against your lips, clearly pleased with your reaction.

the sound of someone shouting his name from another room shattered the moment. both of you froze, your lips parting with an audible sound.

ni-ki pressed his forehead against yours. his breathing ragged but gave you another kiss.

"should i deal with him or should we get out of here?"

"uhh… deal with him?"

ni-ki smiled and chuckled. he was expecting you say otherwise but anyway, he gave you another quick peck on the lips before stepping back. "wait, i'll be right back."

you exhaled shakily when he left. a wide grin spreading across your face like an idiot. you couldn't believe what just happened.

you stayed frozen in place, leaning against the sink, your fingers brushing over your tingling lips as if to confirm it wasn't a dream.

the warmth of his touch and the taste of the jam still lingered, making it impossible to focus on anything else. you kept replaying the moment over and over in your mind.

you can hear the distant hum of conversations from the other room. ni-ki returned, his presence filling the room like it always did. "miss me?" he asked casually, leaning against the counter once more as if nothing had happened.

you rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the heat rushing to your cheeks. "you were gone for, like, five minutes."

ni-ki smirked, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. "felt longer."

you bit your lip, looking down to avoid his piercing stare but he wasn't about to let you escape so easily.

"so..." he started, stepping closer once again. "why do I always catch you looking at me but never saying anything?"

"but i don't." you said, searching for a defense but coming up blank.

ni-ki leaned in, his hands casually rested on the edge of the sink on either side of you, effectively trapping you in place. "it's okay, though." he murmured, his voice soft but teasing. "i like it. it's cute."

your exhaled shakily as his face hovered inches from yours, his proximity making it impossible to think straight. "you sure you're not imagining things?" you managed to ask, though your voice wavered.

"oh?" ni-ki smirked at your comments. totally amused that you're still denying it. "i don't think so..."

you opened your mouth to respond but the words died in your throat when he leaned even closer, his lips just barely grazing your ear.

"you're not very good at hiding it, you know," he whispered, his warm breath tickling your skin.

you turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. ni-ki's look was steady and full of confidence.

"and what about you?" you asked him. surprising yourself with your boldness. "you're not exactly subtle either."

ni-ki chuckled softly. "touché."

and before he could say more, the sound of someone walking toward the kitchen interrupted the moment. niki straightened himself. his hands falling back to his sides though his eyes never left yours.

"we're not done here." he said quietly, grinning.

ni-ki then casually greeted the person entering the kitchen as if nothing happened.

a/n: hello! read part two HERE<3

マスターリストm.list

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jhyoos · 1 month ago

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Guns & Lace

outlaw!abby x rich!reader

mentions: modern au!, 1800s au!, romance, fast pace, hints of homophobia, sex in barn, forbidden love trope, kissing, reader comes out to family, violence, shooting, readers father is the sheriff

summary: you have a secret relationship with one of the most wanted woman in the country.

notes: im ovulating so the romance and smut is a little too over the top.

You were the daughter of the town’s esteemed sheriff, a symbol of grace and perfection molded by the expectations of high society. To the townspeople, you were nothing short of divine—each appearance sending ripples of admiration through the crowd. A new dress, a shimmering necklace, or simply the glow of your porcelain skin under the sun was enough to make them sigh in awe. Your mother ensured you lived up to this image, shaping you into the perfect lady with a delicate yet unyielding hand. Every morning was a lesson, every evening a test—how to curtsy at just the right angle, how to smile without showing too much teeth, how to keep your spine straight even when the bones of your corset dug deep into your flesh.

You liked being a lady, or rather, you liked the beauty of it. The elegance, the fine silks that draped over your body, the glint of candlelight against your jewelry—all of it had a certain enchantment. But there was an unspoken weight that came with it. The corsets were suffocating, the carefully practiced posture left your muscles aching, and the shoes—oh, the shoes—were a punishment wrapped in luxury. Worst of all, you were expected to endure the sharp tongues of high society with nothing more than a polite smile and a veiled retort, never truly allowed to bite back. Even horseback riding, one of the few freedoms you had, was made into an ordeal by layers of lace and ruffles that always found a way to tangle in the saddle. You wanted more. You craved more.

And then, as if the universe had heard your silent plea, she arrived.

No one knew who she was—not yet. But you did.

You had heard your father speak of her in hushed yet furious tones, piecing together the stories, the rumors, the scraps of information collected from frightened witnesses and unlucky men who had crossed paths with her. A woman built like a warrior, golden-haired, with a gaze sharp enough to cut. A leader. A ghost. A legend. Abby Anderson.

And there she was, in the grandest ballroom of the year, standing among politicians and the wealthy elite as if she belonged. Her suit was crisp, fitted in a way that made her broad shoulders even more imposing, yet she moved with an ease that suggested she was not the least bit intimidated by the opulence around her.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched her. You should have been terrified. But terror was not what you felt.

Her eyes found you.

She smirked, slow and deliberate, as she strode toward you, weaving effortlessly through the dance floor until she stood close—too close.

"Didn’t think I’d meet an angel at a place like this," she murmured, her voice a low hum, thick with something dangerous.

Your throat went dry. You knew who she was. You knew what she was. And yet—

"And I didn’t think outlaws got invited to presidential balls," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you expected.

Her smirk deepened. "You wound me, sugar. I’m no outlaw. Just a woman who knows how to walk through the right doors."

The heat of her presence was intoxicating. Every brush of her fingers against your sleeve, every lingering glance, sent a thrill rushing through you. You should have left. You should have turned away.

But you didn’t.

"You shouldn’t be talking to her."

Your mother’s voice sliced through the moment like a blade, and before you could react, she was there, her gloved hand gripping your wrist tight enough to leave marks. "Go dance with one of your suitors, darling. This one is… not our kind."

You barely had time to process the loss of Abby’s warmth before your mother was dragging you away, her nails digging into your skin through the delicate lace of your gloves.

She didn’t stop until she found an empty hallway, away from prying eyes. When she finally released you, she was fuming, her lips pressed into a hard line.

"Women like that," she spat, as if the words themselves were poison, "are not fit for society. They’re unnatural. Filthy. Do you understand me?"

Your stomach twisted.

"I have seen what happens to girls who entertain… that kind of company," she continued, her voice low and seething. "They end up outcasts. Ruined. And I will not have you ruin yourself over some broad-shouldered brute pretending to be a man."

You felt like you had been struck, though she had not laid a hand on you. Shame and anger warred inside you, tightening your throat.

"She was just talking to me," you whispered, though you knew it didn’t matter.

Your mother scoffed. "She was corrupting you," she corrected. "And you, foolish girl, were letting her."

She took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as if that alone could erase the conversation. "Now, go back inside. Dance with someone respectable. And do not let me see you near that woman again."

With that, she turned and disappeared back into the ballroom, leaving you alone, trembling with something that was not fear—but something much more dangerous.

And then—

"Well, that was somethin’."

You spun around, your pulse hammering in your ears. Abby leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You—"

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her voice softer now, intimate. "Figured she wouldn’t like me much. Pity. I like you plenty."

The air between you was thick, electric. You should have run. You should have turned and gone back inside.

But instead, you did something reckless.

"Abby," you breathed.

She froze.

A flicker of surprise passed over her face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something slower, something deeper.

"You know who I am," she murmured, more statement than question.

"My father—"

"I know who your father is," she interrupted, taking another step closer, so close you could see the flecks of green in her stormy eyes.

You swallowed hard. Your name was on the tip of your tongue. And before you could stop yourself, you gave in.

"My name is—"

"I know who you are," Abby cut in, her voice a low whisper, tinged with something that made your breath hitch.

She lifted her hand, fingers grazing your jaw, slow and deliberate. The moment stretched, thick with unspoken words, with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t.

A slow smile curled at the edges of her lips.

"See you around, angel," she murmured before turning, disappearing into the shadows.

And for the first time in your life, you wanted to follow.

The memory of that night at the ball clung to you like the lingering scent of roses after a storm. No matter how hard you tried to push her away from your thoughts, Abby Anderson remained, etched into your mind like an ink stain that refused to fade. You saw her in the flickering candlelight of your bedroom, in the whispers of the wind that slipped through the cracks of your window, in the ghost of a touch that never truly left your skin.

You had danced with suitors, entertained polite conversations, played your role as the perfect daughter of the sheriff, but none of it mattered. Not when your mind drifted back to her. The way her voice curled around her words, the way her fingers had ghosted over your wrist like a promise, the way she had looked at you—like she saw something worth stealing.

And clearly, she couldn’t forget you either.

It was a late night, the kind where the world was quiet, draped in darkness and secrets. You had slipped away from the manor, seeking solace in the gazebo overlooking the still waters of the estate’s lake. The moon painted silver ripples on the surface, casting a reflection so serene it almost made you forget the cage you lived in—the beautiful, gilded prison of your family name.

You leaned against the wooden railing, letting the cool night air kiss your skin, lost in your thoughts.

How did one move on from someone like Abby?

A soft sound behind you sent a shiver down your spine. The rustle of fabric. The faintest scuff of a boot against wood.

And then—

A tap on your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

You turned, pulse hammering in your ears.

And there she was.

Abby stood before you, half-drenched in moonlight, her golden hair tousled by the breeze, her piercing eyes drinking you in like she had been searching for you just as desperately as you had been searching for her. She looked so effortlessly out of place in the elegance of your world, a predator among painted dolls. And yet, she fit so perfectly in the darkness, in the forbidden spaces where only the bold dared to wander.

"How—" Your voice came out breathless, barely above a whisper. "How did you get in here?"

The manor was a fortress, guarded at every entrance. Even you, the daughter of the sheriff, had to be mindful of your steps. No one got in without permission. No one.

She smirked, slow and wicked, like she held all the answers to the questions spinning in your head.

And then—

She kissed you.

It was sudden, overwhelming, the warmth of her lips stealing the breath from your lungs. She tasted of something untamed, something wild and dangerous, and yet you melted into her like she was the only thing keeping you standing.

The question of how she got in, how she had managed to slip past the guards, the locked gates, the watchful eyes of your mother and father—it all faded away.

This was your answer.

Abby Anderson had a way of taking exactly what she wanted.

And tonight, she wanted you.

The moment her lips met yours, the world ceased to exist. The cold night air, the distant hoot of an owl, the flickering lanterns lining the garden path—none of it mattered. All that mattered was her.

Abby kissed you with a certainty that sent a thrill down your spine, her hands finding purchase on your waist, pulling you flush against her. She wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful—no, she kissed you like she had waited a lifetime for this, like she was staking her claim, like she had been searching for something and finally found it in you.

And you let her.

You melted into her, your fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as if letting go would send you plummeting back into the carefully constructed life you were supposed to live. The life where you were nothing more than the sheriff’s perfect daughter. The life where women like Abby Anderson were nothing but a whispered warning from your mother’s lips.

But here, under the moonlight, in her arms, you were something else. Someone else.

She broke the kiss, just barely, her lips still ghosting over yours as her breath fanned against your skin. You were dizzy, lips tingling, chest heaving, but she only smirked—pleased, confident, as if she knew exactly what she had done to you.

"Still wondering how I got in?" she murmured, her voice teasing, yet thick with something deeper, something that made your knees weak.

You swallowed hard, staring up at her, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. "I should be worried," you whispered, though your grip on her hadn’t loosened in the slightest. "If you can get in this easily, what’s stopping someone else?"

"Sweetheart," she drawled, thumb brushing against your waist in slow, lazy circles, "no one else is as good as me."

Your stomach flipped.

She wasn’t lying—she was a ghost, a legend, the woman your father had spent months trying to track down. She had no face on wanted posters, no official name in bounty records. She was a whisper, a shadow, and yet here she was, standing before you, real and solid, her hands warm against your body.

"You shouldn’t be here," you finally said, though the words had no weight behind them.

She chuckled, dipping her head just enough that her lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "And yet, you don’t seem too eager to send me away."

Damn her. Damn her and that voice and the way she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

Your silence was all the answer she needed.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at you properly, her hands never leaving your waist. In the dim light, her expression softened—not entirely, not enough to strip away the sharp edges that made her who she was, but enough for you to see something real in her eyes.

"I haven’t stopped thinking about you," she admitted, her voice quieter now, more serious. "Since that night at the ball."

Your breath hitched.

Neither had you.

Every fleeting thought, every stolen moment, every memory of her touch had haunted you. But hearing her say it—knowing she felt the same—it sent something dangerously close to hope blooming in your chest.

"You’re going to get caught," you murmured, though it wasn’t a warning. It was a fear. A truth.

She smirked again, tilting her head. "Then I guess I better make this visit count."

And before you could say another word, she kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, as if sealing a promise neither of you had spoken out loud yet.

You lost yourself in her.

The taste of her, the feel of her—Abby was fire and sin wrapped in something dangerously intoxicating, and you drank her in like you’d been starved your whole life. The kiss was slower now, deeper, her hands firm on your waist as she pulled you closer, leaving no space between you. It was different from before—less about staking a claim, more about savoring.

And you let her.

The night wrapped around you like a well-kept secret, the moonlight spilling through the gazebo casting silver streaks across her face. You could see the way her brows furrowed, the way her lips parted against yours, the way she let out the faintest sound when your fingers found their way into her hair.

You could’ve stayed like this forever.

But forever was a fragile thing.

A distant sound—rustling in the trees, the crunch of gravel under boots—sent reality crashing back into you.

Your eyes flew open. “Abby,” you whispered, a warning in your tone.

She didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she lingered for a second, pressing one last kiss to your lips, softer this time. Like she knew this moment was about to slip away.

When she finally leaned back, her hands stayed on you. “You expecting someone?”

You swallowed hard. "No, but my father has men patrolling the estate."

Her jaw tensed slightly, the rogue in her sharpening. “Damn. They’re getting better.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. The thought of your father’s men finding her here, of her getting caught, of what would happen if your father realized his own daughter was sneaking around with the very outlaw he had been hunting—it sent a cold dread down your spine.

"You need to go," you whispered urgently.

But she just smirked, tilting her head. "You trying to get rid of me already?"

"Abby," you hissed, stepping back, but she only followed, hands finding your waist again, keeping you close.

"You worried about me, sweetheart?" she teased, but there was something softer underneath, something real.

You scowled. "I am when my father wants your head on a spike."

Abby hummed as if considering that. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

"Abby."

She sighed, but her smirk never fully faded. "Alright, alright." Reluctantly, she let her hands fall from your waist, stepping back into the shadows of the gazebo. "But I’ll see you again."

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Your stomach twisted, a mixture of fear and something else, something dangerously close to excitement. “You shouldn’t.”

She grinned. "That never stopped me before."

With a last lingering look, she melted into the darkness, disappearing as easily as she had arrived.

And as you stood there, breathless, pulse still hammering, you realized something terrifying.

You wanted her to come back.

Ever since that night, you and Abby fell into a dangerous, intoxicating routine.

Every few nights, when the house was quiet, when the guards had long settled into their rounds, you would slip out of your room and make your way to the gazebo. And every time, without fail, she would be there.

You never saw how she got in—never heard the crunch of boots on gravel, never caught the flicker of movement in the shadows. She simply appeared, like a ghost summoned only by your presence. Sometimes she was already leaning against the railing, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk tugging at her lips. Other times, she’d wait for you to turn, wait for the moment your back was to her before grabbing your waist, making you gasp as she chuckled softly against your ear.

She lived for the way you reacted to her.

And you lived for the moments you could be near her.

It started with stolen kisses—rushed, heated, lingering. Pressed against the wooden posts of the gazebo, hands tangled in fabric and hair, trying to take as much of each other as you could in the fleeting moments you had. Abby kissed you like she was afraid you’d slip through her fingers, and you kissed her back like you were terrified this was all just a dream.

But over time, it became more than that.

It became whispered conversations under the moonlight, words meant only for each other. Abby told you about the world beyond your gilded prison—the vast open lands, the hidden saloons where no one asked questions, the thrill of outrunning the law. And you told her about your world, about the weight of expectations, about the loneliness that came with perfection.

She listened.

She always listened.

And slowly, without meaning to, you started leaving little pieces of yourself with her.

It began one night when she ran her fingers through your hair, idly twirling a loose strand between her calloused fingers. “This is nice,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Without thinking, you pulled the lace from your hair, the one your mother insisted you wear to keep yourself "presentable," and tied it around Abby’s wrist instead.

“There,” you whispered, running your fingers over the delicate bow. “Now you have something nice too.”

Abby looked at it, then back at you, something unreadable flashing in her gaze. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. The way she leaned in and kissed you told you everything.

After that, it became a habit.

A bracelet, one of the many you had been gifted but never wore, found its way around her wrist. A pocket square embroidered with your initials, tucked into the inside of her coat. Small things, things no one would question if they saw you without, but things that meant everything when you saw them on her.

And then, one night, you gave her something more.

It was a simple photograph, a small portrait taken at your father’s insistence. In it, you were poised, elegant, the very image of the sheriff’s perfect daughter. But when you handed it to Abby, her fingers brushing yours as she took it, her expression softened in a way you had never seen before.

“You carry this around with you?” she teased, though her voice was gentler than usual.

You swallowed, unsure why your hands suddenly felt clammy. “I thought… maybe you’d want something to remember me by.”

Abby stared at you for a long moment, thumb brushing over the edges of the photo. Then, carefully, she tucked it into the pocket of her coat.

“I don’t need this to remember you,” she murmured. “But I’ll keep it anyway.”

And when she kissed you that night, it was different—slower, deeper. Like she was savoring you. Like she was memorizing every part of you.

Like she already knew she’d never be able to let you go.

The ride around town with your father had been uneventful—quiet, almost peaceful if you didn’t know any better. The streets bustled with familiar faces tipping their hats or offering polite smiles as you and the sheriff rode past, your father a man well-respected, and you… the pristine daughter of law and order.

You played your part well, as you always did, nodding, smiling, waving when expected. But inside, an uneasiness clawed at your chest, an unshakable feeling that something was coming.

And then, as you returned to the estate, it came.

Your father helped you off your horse, his hands steady as ever as he guided yours away from the reins. “I’ve set up a meeting with an eligible bachelor for you tomorrow morning,” he said, voice calm, firm—unchallenged.

You felt your stomach drop, but you kept your face carefully composed as he continued.

“He’s a nice man. From Italy. Nice oceans, views, new culture…” His eyes met yours then, serious. “And most importantly, you’ll be safe there. You will marry him.”

Your lips twitched into a practiced, obedient smile. It was all you could do. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as he reached out, pulling you into a brief hug.

He kissed the top of your head. “I have to go back to the office. I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, his words final, before mounting his horse and riding away, leaving you standing there in the settling dust.

The moment he was out of sight, your composure cracked.

You barely made it up the path before the tears slipped free. Silent, burning, bitter. You pulled off your gloves as if they, too, suffocated you, your pace quickening toward the manor. A few ranch hands caught sight of you but said nothing. They knew better.

But someone did speak.

A hand grabbed your arm, yanking you off the main path and into the barn. Not just any barn—the hidden one, the one your father used for storing crates of moonshine, whiskey, and whatever else kept his business running behind closed doors. The flooring was clean, meant for storage, not animals, and it smelled of wood, liquor, and secrecy.

You already knew who it was before you saw her.

And when you turned, breath shaky, it was confirmed.

Abby.

She stood in the dim barn light, her sharp blue eyes scanning your face, immediately locking onto your tears. Her expression hardened, concern creasing her brows. “What happened?”

That was all it took. The moment she spoke, you broke.

A sob tore from your throat as you crumpled into her arms. She caught you, strong and steady, pulling you close without hesitation. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

You buried your face into her coat, voice muffled, breaking as you confessed, “I’m getting married really soon… and I’m leaving to Italy.”

Abby stilled.

Her entire body went rigid, the grip on your waist tightening for just a second before she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her hands still framed your face, thumbs brushing at the wet streaks beneath your eyes.

Her voice was low, dangerously calm. “What?”

You sniffled, trying to keep yourself together. “I don’t wanna get married… I don’t want to leave you, Abby.”

There. You said it. The truth, raw and trembling between you.

Something dark flickered in Abby’s gaze. Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. “Who decided this?”

“My father.” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper.

Abby let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. “Of course.” She shook her head, her grip on you never loosening. “And you’re just… going along with it?”

You looked away. “What choice do I have?”

Abby inhaled sharply through her nose, exhaling like she was trying to control herself. “He says I’ll be safe there,” you continued, your voice small. “That it’ll be good for me.”

Abby scoffed. “Safe?” Her eyes burned into yours, piercing, fierce. “You think a gilded cage in a foreign country with some man you don’t even know is safety?”

Tears threatened again, but you held them back this time. “It doesn’t matter what I think. My father has already decided. It’s happening tomorrow.”

A silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating.

Then, Abby spoke, voice low and steady.

“No.”

You blinked, frowning. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, stronger this time. “You’re not marrying him. You’re not leaving. You don’t want this, so you’re not doing it.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Abby, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.” Abby stepped closer, her hands tightening on you, grounding you. “You don’t belong to him. Or to anyone. And I’ll be damned if I let him take you away from me.”

Your breath hitched.

Abby exhaled, calming herself, her voice gentler when she spoke again. “Look at me.”

You did.

Her eyes softened, but the fire in them never dimmed. “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Abby nodded, her jaw set, her grip firm. “Then run away with me.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

Abby leaned in, forehead nearly touching yours. “Run away with me. Tonight.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Run away. With Abby. Leave everything behind—your father, your family, the only life you had ever known.

It was reckless. Impossible.

You didn’t know what to say.

The words sat heavy in your throat, tangled in doubt and longing, in fear and hope. Every possible response warred inside your mind, but nothing came out. You were terrified—terrified of the unknown, of leaving behind everything you had ever known, of stepping into a future so uncertain.

But then there was Abby.

Abby, whose presence made your heart race. Abby, whose touch set your skin on fire. Abby, who had become the only thing that made sense in your world of suffocating expectations.

You loved her. That much was clear. And being with her… being truly hers—it would make you happier than anything else ever could.

She must have seen the hesitation in your eyes because she didn’t push for an answer. Instead, she kissed you.

Soft at first. Patient. But the moment you melted into it, the moment your lips moved in sync with hers, it turned into something deeper, something more.

Her hands found your waist, gripping you like she was afraid to let go. Then, her lips left yours, trailing down the curve of your jaw, then lower, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your neck. Each one sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

A small gasp escaped your lips when your back suddenly met the rough wood of the crate behind you, bottles clinking faintly inside. Abby was against you now, her hands roaming, her body pressing closer, her mouth working against the sensitive skin of your throat.

Then, fingers toyed with the buttons of your blouse, and in one smooth motion, she undid them, peeling the fabric from your shoulders.

Your breath hitched.

“Abby, wait…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

She stilled immediately, lifting her head to meet your gaze. Concern flickered across her features, her hands halting their movements. “What’s wrong?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her coat as you hesitated. “I—I don’t know how to do this… Especially not with a woman.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, Abby’s expression softened, and a slow, reassuring smile curved her lips. “That’s okay,” she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll lead the way.”

There was no judgment in her voice. No impatience. Just quiet understanding.

Then, she kissed you again.

Abby kissed you slow, deliberate, like she was savoring every second. The warmth of her breath fanned against your skin as she trailed soft kisses down your collarbone, her hands resting firmly on your waist as if grounding you, making sure you stayed with her in this moment. Your body was tense beneath her touch, not from fear, but from the unfamiliarity of it all—the thrill of stepping into something you had never allowed yourself to consider before.

Her fingers traced the bare skin of your arms, slow and careful. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against your shoulder, her voice a mix of amusement and tenderness.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled back slightly, her piercing blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t have to,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Her words were comforting, but they didn’t stop the nervous energy buzzing inside you. You wanted this—you wanted her—but the weight of everything, the years of being told how you were supposed to act, how you were supposed to be, left you hesitant.

“I just… I’ve spent my whole life being told what I should do, what’s expected of me.” You exhaled, your fingers gripping the fabric of her coat. “This—you—it’s the first thing I’ve ever actually wanted for myself.”

Abby’s expression softened, and she reached up, cupping your face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “Then let yourself have it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

She kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as if silently reassuring you that there was no rush, no expectations—just the two of you in this hidden space, stealing time before the world could take you away from her.

Her hands moved again, featherlight against your skin, tracing the curve of your spine before settling at your waist. The warmth of her touch sent another shiver down your body, and you found yourself gripping her wrists, not to stop her, but to hold onto something real, something steady.

“I want this,” you finally whispered against her lips, and you felt her smile.

“Then trust me.”

Abby had undressed you. She was able to find some blankets in the barn and locked the barn from the inside. Your legs was resting on her shoulders as she devoured you like you were her last meal.

She licked up your folds and clit repeatedly before sucking on your clit. She moaned against you, enjoying the taste of you which only sent vibrations through you, making you jerk.

She held your thighs caressing them, her muscles flexing as the sunlight from the holes of the barns relflected onto them. She looked beautiful, like your own personal god.

The feeling was foreign to you, but you couldnt deny that it felt amazing, making soft whimpers and quiet moans.

You were trying to be quiet as there was still farmhands and guards patrolling the manor, but Abby wasnt helping at all as her tongue made it's way inside of you. You gasped loudly as your hand made it's way to her hair.

"Ha! Wait!," you moaned out, as you felt tongue move around inside of you, her hand moved down to your clit, rubbing it in circles with her thumb.

You bite your lip as you looked down at Abby, who was looking at you. You two made eye contact as she continued to move her tongue in and out of you.

The intense eye contact was soon broken when Abby pulled away and kissed you, eagerly. You could taste yourself on her as you kissed her back.

Two of her fingers found their way into your entrance, making you gasp against her mouth. Her fingers moved around inside of you stretching out your walls as you clenched around them.

She notices it and kisses your forehead as she starts to move her fingers in and out of you. "Does that feel good?," she asks.

"Yeah. It feels really good," you whined out.

"You're so beautiful," she says as she uses her other hand to grope one of your boobs, pinching your nipple before putting it in her mouth.

You whined as you grinded against her fingers "Please...,"

"Please what, babygirl?," she asked, before putting your nipple back in her mouth.

"Move your fingers faster, please," you begged.

She responsed by fingering you faster, the sound of your pussy juices faintly filling the sound of the barn.

You put your hand tightly to your mouth, muffling your moans. You had to be quiet, knowing farmhands and patrol was right outside.

Abby unlatches from your nipple, moving your hand and kissing you. The pace of her fingers got fasters which you didnt even think was possible, your hand went to her bicep, your nails digging into her arm.

There was a tight feeling in your gut, felt like you almost needed to pee the pressure of it was painful yet pleasurable. It made your wall clench tightly around her fingers again.

"Cum for me," she says in between your lips.

Just like that you came, gasping and moaning in Abby's mouth as she slowly finger fucked you.

When you came down from your orgasm, she pulled away. She put her hands around your waist, rubbing her hands up and down. "Did you like it? Your first time?," she asks.

"Yeah," you say "You're really good with your fingers."

Abby chuckles before getting up and getting your clothes. "Come on so you can go back before your parents start wondering where you are."

The morning light poured through the grand windows of the sitting room, casting a golden hue over the pristine furniture and polished floors. You sat still, painfully still, dressed in the most suffocating gown your mother had chosen for you. It was a delicate shade of ivory, lace wrapping around your arms and corset laced far too tight, restricting every breath you took.

The weight of your elaborate hairstyle made your head ache, strands pulled and pinned with too many clips, too much perfume clouding your senses. You felt more like a decorative doll than a person, meant to sit pretty and obedient as men discussed your fate.

The Italian man had arrived promptly, dressed in fine fabrics, his dark hair slicked back with precision. He was handsome in a distant, statuesque way, with sharp features and an air of entitlement. But it was clear from the moment he walked in—this meeting wasn’t about you. It was about what you represented.

Your father and the man spoke easily, exchanging pleasantries and discussing business affairs. Your mother sat beside you, a tight smile on her face, pleased that everything was going smoothly. You had barely been acknowledged beyond your father listing off your ‘best qualities’—your grace, your talents, your ability to be a good wife.

It was only when the Italian man turned to you directly that you felt truly seen, though not in the way you wanted.

“You are very beautiful,” he said in a thick accent, his gaze sharp as it swept over you. “And tell me, what makes you a good wife?”

You forced a polite smile, the words coming from your lips like they weren’t your own. “I am skilled in embroidery and music. I can manage a household, and I have been trained in etiquette and diplomacy.” You swallowed the bitterness threatening to rise in your throat. “I will be a loyal and dutiful wife.”

Your mother’s approving smile widened. Your father gave you a satisfied nod.

The man hummed, taking in your words with an impassive expression. Then, he turned to his mother, an older woman draped in luxurious silks, her beady eyes watching you with scrutiny.

“Stand up,” the man instructed.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but under your mother’s expectant gaze, you obeyed. Rising to your feet, you folded your hands neatly in front of you, waiting.

“Turn around.”

The request sent a cold wave of humiliation down your spine, but again, you complied, slowly spinning in place as if you were nothing more than a product being inspected.

His mother tilted her head, her lips pursed as she examined you. Then, she spoke.

“She’s a good weight, nice hips—good for baby-making,” the older woman noted, her voice firm, clinical, as though she were evaluating livestock. “And her skin… it’s perfect.”

You stilled, blinking as the words settled in.

Good for baby-making.

Perfect skin.

Your hands clenched at your sides. Your lips parted, but no words came out. You had no words, no way to express the sickening feeling curling in your stomach.

They weren’t looking at you as a person. You were nothing more than a vessel, a means to an end—a bride to be sent away, a future mother to bear their lineage.

Your mother beamed at the woman’s words, clearly proud. Your father nodded in satisfaction.

And you?

You wanted to scream.

But instead, you simply smiled. A perfectly practiced, empty smile.

Because that’s what they expected of you.

After what felt like hours of conversation—most of which you weren’t even part of—the Italian man finally reached into his pocket, retrieving a small, elegant box. Your breath caught in your throat as he flipped it open, revealing a ring so extravagant it nearly blinded you under the chandelier’s glow.

The band was gold, thick and heavy, adorned with a massive diamond at its center, surrounded by smaller shimmering gems. It was undeniably beautiful, but as he delicately took your hand, sliding it onto your finger, the weight of it felt suffocating. A symbol of ownership rather than devotion.

He smiled, pleased by the sight of it on you. “A fine ring for a fine wife,” he said, holding your hand a little too long, his fingers pressing firmly against yours. “I will return in a few weeks for the wedding.”

Your heart dropped, but you forced yourself to nod, your expression carefully composed.

Your mother was practically glowing with pride, while your father clapped the man on the shoulder, a hearty laugh escaping him. “A fine match,” he declared. “You’ve made an excellent choice.”

The man chuckled, giving you an approving look. “Yes, I believe I have.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat.

The farewell was quick, formal. You and your parents stood at the grand entrance of the manor, bidding him goodbye as he prepared to leave for Italy once more. His mother gave you a final once-over, satisfied, before stepping into the carriage.

And then, before leaving, he turned back to you.

His arms wrapped around you, his embrace stiff and firm. You barely had time to react before he leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek.

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Your skin burned where his lips had been, not from warmth, but from the sheer discomfort of it. You managed a stiff smile, whispering, “Farewell.”

He stepped back, nodding at you one last time before climbing into his carriage. The horses stirred, the wheels creaked, and just like that, he was gone.

The moment the carriage disappeared down the road, you let out a quiet breath, your hands trembling at your sides. The weight of the ring on your finger felt unbearable.

Your mother turned to you, sighing with delight. “What a wonderful day,” she mused, clasping her hands together. “You should be honored, dear. A future in Italy, with a respectable man, a prosperous family. It’s everything we could have wanted for you.”

Everything they wanted.

You simply nodded, feeling the cold wind against your skin, wishing—praying—for something, anything to stop this.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting silver light over the still waters beyond the gazebo. The air was thick with the scent of blooming gardenias, and the distant hum of crickets filled the silence. You sat at the wooden table, hands folded tightly in your lap, heart hammering against your ribs. You knew she’d come. She always did.

And she did.

Abby emerged from the darkness, her boots light against the wooden floor as she stepped toward you. But the moment she saw the glint of gold on your finger, her stride faltered. Her jaw tightened, and for the first time, she hesitated before coming closer.

“You’re actually engaged…” she murmured, her voice low, almost hollow.

You inhaled sharply. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “He never asked.” You pulled the ring from your finger, the heavy weight of it leaving an imprint on your skin. You set it down on the table between you, as if casting it away would make it mean less. “The ring is nothing, Abby.”

Abby didn’t sit. She stood there, tense, her gaze fixed on the ring as though it might attack her. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” she muttered, arms crossed, muscles flexing beneath her worn shirt.

Your throat felt tight. “I love you, Abby,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. “I love you so much. And I wish—God, I wish—I wasn’t who I am. Maybe then… we could be together.”

Abby’s gaze snapped to yours, her eyes dark with something unreadable. She stepped forward, closing the space between you in two long strides. Her calloused hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks, and you melted into her touch, leaning forward as if she could hold you up.

“We can be together,” she said, her voice fierce. “Right now. You just have to come with me.”

Your breath hitched.

“Run away with me.”

Her words lingered in the air like a prayer, like a promise. The temptation of them curled around you, warm and intoxicating. The idea of freedom—of being hers, only hers—was almost too much to bear.

But then reality clawed its way back in. The expectations. The duty. The eyes that followed you everywhere. Your father’s voice, your mother’s hands arranging your hair, the weight of their hopes pressing down on you like an iron cage.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. “Because, Abby… my duty is here.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her fingers slipping from your face. “Duty,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “And what about you? What about what you want?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

She stepped back. “They hold you up so high,” she muttered, voice laced with something bitter. “So high you can’t even breathe.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not that easy,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “It never is.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unbearable truths. The weight of your confession hung in the air, suffocating, as if the very walls of your gilded cage were pressing down on you. Abby stood there, fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight, her breath uneven.

She was furious—not at you, never at you—but at the world that refused to let you have each other. At the people who decided your fate before you even had a chance to.

Her fingers flexed like she wanted to reach for you, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned away, dragging a hand down her face. “You say you love me,” she muttered, voice raw. “But you won’t fight for us?”

Her words cut through you like a blade. You shot up from your seat, hands trembling. “You think I don’t want to fight?” you snapped, stepping toward her. “You think I don’t lie awake at night, dreaming of running away with you? Of never looking back?”

Abby turned to you, her expression softening. You sucked in a breath, fighting the lump rising in your throat.

“I have spent my whole life being who they wanted me to be,” you whispered. “If I leave, I will be ruining everything they built for me.”

She took a step closer. “But you’d be free.”

You swallowed hard. “And you’d be hunted.”

That was the other cruel truth. Even if you ran, even if you somehow escaped the eyes watching your every move, Abby would never stop running. She may not have been on wanted posters yet, but that wouldn’t last forever. You knew your father—knew how ruthless he was. If he realized who Abby truly was, if he found out you left with her… he’d never stop looking.

Abby shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do!” you blurted out, your voice cracking. “I care if something happens to you. I care if they put a bullet in you because of me.”

That stopped her.

Her shoulders fell slightly, and for the first time that night, you saw something like defeat in her eyes. It terrified you.

“You really won’t come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart twisted painfully. “I can’t.”

Her eyes searched yours, looking for something—hope, hesitation, anything to hold onto. But she must have found nothing, because she exhaled sharply, stepping back.

“Then this is it, huh?” she murmured.

Your lip quivered. “I don’t know.”

Abby studied you for a long moment before nodding to herself, as if coming to terms with something. She took a deep breath, looked up at the stars, then back at you.

“If you ever change your mind,” she said, voice steady, “I’ll be waiting.”

Tears burned your eyes as she turned, disappearing into the darkness.

This time, you didn’t stop her.

Days bled into weeks, and Abby never returned to the gazebo. You told yourself it was for the best, that this was the life you were meant to live, but every night, when you lay in your lavish bed, staring at the ceiling, you felt hollow.

The day of the wedding arrived faster than you wanted.

The grand estate was transformed into a spectacle—flowers draped over the balconies, silk banners rippling in the breeze, and the scent of expensive perfume and freshly baked pastries filling the air. Townspeople gathered beyond the estate gates, desperate for a glimpse of the sheriff’s daughter marrying into wealth, while esteemed guests filled the halls, sipping on imported wines and exchanging pleasantries.

Your mother was all smiles, fussing over your gown, ensuring every stitch was in place, every curl of your hair perfectly arranged. She beamed at you in the mirror, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“You look perfect,” she said, voice thick with pride.

You looked at yourself—the gown, the jewels, the poised expression you forced onto your face.

Perfect.

Then why did you feel like you were drowning?

Your father entered the room, nodding approvingly before offering his arm. “It’s time.”

You walked through the estate with him, each step feeling heavier than the last. The grand doors opened to reveal a courtyard full of people, all rising to their feet, their eyes on you. Music played, a soft melody meant to feel like a dream, but it felt more like a funeral march.

At the end of the aisle stood the Italian man—your husband-to-be—dressed in the finest suit, his family standing beside him. He smiled at you, but you barely saw him.

Your mind was elsewhere.

Not here.

Not with him.

Abby.

Where was she now? Had she truly left? Had she moved on?

You wished she would storm in at that moment, like something out of a storybook—grab you, take you away, free you from this life.

But she wouldn’t.

She had given you a choice. And you had made it.

Your father placed your hand in the groom’s, and the ceremony began.

The priest’s voice droned on, but you barely heard him. The courtyard felt suffocating, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on you, waiting—expecting. Your hands trembled in the Italian man’s grip, your breath shallow.

You weren’t here. You weren’t present.

You were back at the gazebo, feeling the warmth of Abby’s hands against yours. You were in the barn, crying into her arms as she whispered promises you were too afraid to believe. You were beneath the moon, with her lips on your skin, telling you she’d wait.

And now you were about to let it all slip away.

“Do you, signorina, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The world blurred.

Your mother sat upright in her chair, poised and elegant, but you knew that look in her eyes—stern, unwavering. A silent warning. Your father stood tall, expectant. He had done everything to ensure this marriage, to secure your future. You could feel his presence like a brand on your skin, tying you down.

You turned your head slightly, and through the crowd, you spotted the ranch hands, the same ones who had seen you crying that day in the stables. Some looked away uncomfortably. Others pitied you.

The Italian man squeezed your hands. “Cara,” he murmured, urging you to respond.

The silence stretched too long.

Your throat tightened. Your heart pounded. The words wouldn’t come out.

You looked at your father. “I…”

He nodded encouragingly.

Then, you looked back at your husband-to-be, at the man you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with.

And all at once, it hit you.

This wasn’t your choice.

You had never had a choice.

Your breath shuddered as your hands slipped from the groom’s grasp. A murmur rippled through the crowd. You took a step back, the long train of your gown dragging behind you.

Your father’s face fell.

Your mother clenched her jaw.

“Tesoro?” The Italian man’s voice wavered.

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

Gasps filled the courtyard.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

Not rushed. Not frantic. Just steady, deliberate steps toward the entrance of the estate, past rows of shocked faces, through whispers of scandal.

Your mother rose to her feet. “You will come back here,” she hissed, her voice sharp like a blade.

You didn’t stop.

Your father’s voice followed next, low and threatening. “If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.”

You hesitated for half a second.

Then, you kept walking.

Through the halls of the estate, past the maids and butlers frozen in place, out into the open air. You lifted your skirts and ran.

Ran until your lungs burned.

Ran until the estate faded behind you.

Ran until all you could think about was her.

The world blurred around you as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt path leading away from the estate. Your wedding gown—so pristine and elegant just minutes ago—snagged on twigs and tore as you lifted the heavy skirts, desperate to keep moving. Your lungs burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The estate’s walls loomed behind you, filled with gasps, outrage, and disappointment. Your mother’s voice echoed in your head, sharp and seething. Your father’s threat burned in your chest. If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.

Good.

Everything had been a cage.

And you were finally breaking free.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled toward the stables, your heart hammering against your ribs. The stable hands were already in a frenzy, muttering among themselves about the chaos unfolding at the wedding. Some of them looked at you in shock—the sheriff’s daughter, still in her wedding dress, panting, desperate.

You didn’t have time to explain.

You reached your horse’s stall, flinging open the gate. Your hands shook as you fumbled with the reins, the golden band on your finger catching in the light. The ring. His ring. You yanked it off, giving it to a stable hand.

“Miss—” One of the stable hands stepped forward hesitantly. “Where are you—?”

You climbed onto the saddle, yanking the reins tight. “Tell my father I made my choice.”

Then you kicked your heels into the horse’s sides, and you were off.

The wind tore through your hair as you rode past the pastures, past the ranch hands who stood frozen in shock, past everything that had ever tried to hold you down. Your heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from exhilaration. From hope.

You didn’t know where you were going, not exactly.

But deep down, you did.

You were going to her.

The world spun as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt road, your breath ragged. The wedding had crumbled behind you—gasps, screams, the sound of your mother calling your name, your father’s voice booming with betrayal. None of it mattered anymore.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you pushed forward, ignoring the tears streaming down your face, the fabric of your wedding dress tearing with every desperate step. You had one destination. The place Abby had whispered about, night after night at the gazebo. The place she dreamed of taking you.

“There’s a valley past the river,” she had murmured, tracing patterns on your palm as you sat together in the dark. “No law, no rules. Just open land and the sky stretched so far it swallows you whole.”

And now, you were chasing that dream. Chasing her.

The journey felt like an eternity, but you rode harder than you ever had before. You knew this path by heart. Abby had spoken of it too many times for you to forget.

The valley stretched before you, bathed in golden hues of the setting sun. The river cut through the land like a glistening ribbon, the grass swaying in the breeze. And there, standing beside her horse, waiting as if she had known you were coming—was Abby.

Your breath caught, a sob choking its way out of your throat. She looked up, her sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. And for a moment, time stopped.

Then you were off your horse, feet barely touching the ground before you sprinted toward her.

“Abby!”

She barely had time to react before you crashed into her, your arms wrapping around her neck, your body slamming into hers with the force of everything you had held back. She caught you instantly, arms tightening around your waist as if she was afraid to let go.

You buried your face into her shoulder, shaking. “I left,” you choked out. “I left, I left, I left—”

Abby held you so tightly it almost hurt. “You’re here,” she whispered into your hair, her voice breaking. “You really came.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your hands trembling as they framed her face. “I couldn’t do it,” you breathed, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t—”

She silenced you with a kiss, desperate and deep, like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

You melted against her, fingers tangling into her shirt, gripping onto her like she was the only thing keeping you grounded. And maybe she was.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless.

“You’re mine now,” she murmured.

You nodded, eyes still glistening. “I always was.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her hands sliding down to your waist. “We leave tonight.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Take me with you.”

She grinned, the same cocky, reckless grin you had fallen for all those nights ago. “Darlin’, I was never leaving without you.”

And as she lifted you onto her horse, hands warm and steady against your waist, you realized something.

You weren’t running anymore.

You were finally free.

taglist <3 : @authenticaqua @abbysdollie @smaugayra @mingitheii @ivorydevil @ferxanda @marianeski @rhyrhy @meow4510 @hell0-ki55y @veladeangl @rhian88 @aiden-slayyyys @pornoangelz @nkeyaaa @womenlover0 @azteriarizz @ivoryrebellionmess @watermelonshine @cstbdf @teeesthings @viperineee @siresire @starberr1 @boom58 @moonlightxairdw @ilovetwizzlers14

part 2?

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fortunxa · 4 months ago

Text

Jinx’s take on birthdays

H E A D C A N O N S

「 ✦ Jinx x birthday girl!reader (ft. Isha!) ✦ 」

author’s note: this is my birthday gift to myself, so happy 21st to me! a day late, but the energy is here 🍰 it’s a hefty “birthdays by Jinx” guide, trust. everybody’s included

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

── .✦ in general

⭑.ᐟ Jinx is unpredictable and spontaneous, but she’d put a lot of effort into making you feel special. It wouldn’t necessarily be traditional, but it would scream Jinx’s personal touch. Expect creative, maybe even over-the-top plans.

⭑.ᐟ She’d probably start scheming weeks in advance. She would try to keep it a secret but might accidentally drop hints—giggling to herself or testing out her surprise explosives in the middle of the night.

⭑.ᐟ On the day of, she’d be buzzing with energy, maybe even more excited than you. She’d be jumping around, barely able to contain herself, and constantly checking to make sure everything’s “just right”.

⭑.ᐟ Chaotic wake-up call. Jinx wouldn’t just wake you up—she’d startle you awake. Maybe it’s a mini firework going off, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” screamed at the top of her lungs, or her jumping onto the bed while tossing confetti in the air. She’d think it’s hilarious.

⭑.ᐟ She would wake up early to attempt to make breakfast in bed, and it’d be a mess. The pancakes might come out misshapen, the eggs might be slightly burnt, and the kitchen might look like a warzone, but she’d serve the meal with the biggest, proudest grin, sticking sparklers in it.

– “Chef Jinx, at your service! Presentation’s… optional.”

⭑.ᐟ She would tease you all day with “hints” about what’s coming—big dramatic gestures, mysterious grins, and exaggerated secrecy.

⭑.ᐟ Alternatively, she’d pretend to forget about the birthday at first, just to make the reveal more dramatic.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx might attempt to bake a cake—or something resembling one. It’d probably have lopsided layers, mismatched decorations, and way too much frosting, but she’d remind you it was baked with love. Surprisingly, it ends up tasting quite good, all things considered. She insists on lighting so many candles that it becomes a literal bonfire.

– “Make a BIG wish!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would pour her heart out into making a gift. Maybe it’s a painted gadget, a weapon engraved with your initials, or a music box that hums your favorite tune. / She would try her hand at crafting something wearable—a necklace made from colorful wires and gears or a bracelet with tiny charms representing your relationship. / She might secretly collect mementos from your time together—photos, doodles, or little objects from your dates. She’d throw them into a scrapbook and complete it with her graffiti-style art.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would work on a small handmade gift for you as well—a simple drawing or a decorated trinket like a painted stone or a flower crown. She’d try to give it to you directly but hesitate, clinging to Jinx’s sleeve.

– “What are you waiting for, kid? Go give it to her!” And Isha would finally step forward, holding out the gift with both hands and a bashful smile.

⭑.ᐟ The birthday card would be a mix of chaotic doodles and messy handwriting. Jinx might overthink the message, so she’d stick with keeping it short and sweet.

“I suck at words, but you make me feel lucky. Thanks for sticking around, you weirdo. ꨄ︎ Love you. — Jinx :Þ”

⭑.ᐟ She would secretly paint an enormous mural on a wall in Zaun or Piltover, featuring your likeness surrounded by bold, neon colors and chaotic designs. It’d say something cheeky like, “the best girlfriend in Zaun (and Piltover—fight me)”.

⭑.ᐟ If someone tries to upstage her efforts—whether with gifts or plans—she would get hilariously pouty and competitive.

– “Oh, that’s cute, but did they make you a flamethrower? Didn’t think so.”

⭑.ᐟ If anyone else tries to monopolize your attention for too long (even for innocent birthday wishes), she might get possessive and interrupt, playing it off as a joke.

– “Okay, okay, enough. She’s MY birthday girl.”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be extra overprotective on your special day, constantly holding your hand or slinging an arm around your shoulders. She’s not only protecting you but your “birthday vibes” as well (her words). She scowls if anyone so much as looks at you funny.

– “You want a birthday beatdown, huh?”

⭑.ᐟ She would absolutely wear a birthday hat all day, and she’d insist you wear one too.

⭑.ᐟ She would write a chaotic, nonsensical birthday song and perform it with full dramatic flair, banging on random objects to create a “beat.”

– “This song’s copyrighted—only for you, babe!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would stick to you like glue, constantly poking you, dragging you to see surprises, and showering you with compliments.

– “Wow, your face is so birthday today. Like, insanely cute. Unfair, really.”

– “You’re so perfect, it’s disgusting.”

⭑.ᐟ She might hijack a Piltover broadcast or Zaun’s speakers to publicly shout out your birthday.

⭑.ᐟ She would watch your reactions to everything she planned, grinning like a proud kid.

– “Do you like it? Tell me you like it! C’mon—smile for me!”

⭑.ᐟ She keeps shouting, “IT’S HER BIRTHDAY!” every time someone enters the room, even if it’s someone who already knows.

⭑.ᐟ No matter how chaotic the day is, Jinx would genuinely want you to feel loved and appreciated. She’d get quiet for a moment at the end of the day, letting her vulnerability show.

– “I don’t always get things right, but… you’re my favorite person. So, yeah. Happy birthday, babe.”

⭑.ᐟ As long as there’s leftover cake, she’ll keep celebrating.

– “What do you mean your birthday is over? How am I eating a birthday cake slice, then?”

── .✦ Jinx planning a surprise birthday party

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would throw a chaotic but fun party with a theme that makes sense only to her. Think: “sharks with birthday hats”.

⭑.ᐟ Or, she’d mix everything you like to make a big, nonsensical theme. Think: your favorite animals/colors/anything relating to your interests in one big concoction. (thanks bunny!!<3)

⭑.ᐟ She would talk a mile a minute about her ideas, constantly glancing at Isha to see if she’s keeping up. Isha, sitting cross-legged on the floor, would enthusiastically point to certain parts of Jinx’s sketches or mimic explosions with her hands to signal she loves the idea of fireworks.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would be Jinx’s undercover operative, spying on your preferences.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would drag Isha into a crafting frenzy. They’d make mismatched decorations like paper chains and confetti cannons. Isha would quietly fold a bunch of origami animals to scatter around as subtle decorations, which Jinx would “improve” by adding googly eyes to practically all of them. Can’t forget the banner that says “YOU’RE THE BOMB” (because of course).

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would initially want to handle everything herself, believing that only she could make the party perfect. She’d get flustered when things went wrong but stubbornly refuse to admit she needed assistance.

⭑.ᐟ If things got overwhelming, she might swallow her pride and reluctantly ask for help in last-minute desperation, though it’d come out dramatically.

– “Okay, fine! I need backup.”

⭑.ᐟ To keep the party secret, she would assign ridiculous code names to everything.

the party = “Operation Boom Bash”

the cake = “Project Frosty Delight”

you = “Target Hot Stuff”

⭑.ᐟ She would treat it like a mission briefing, but she’d be annoyingly cryptic with her instructions.

– “Okay, so I need, like, three gallons of paint, a live shark—just for a minute!—and maybe some cupcakes.”

– “How is the live shark a must-have for a birthday party, but cupcakes are a ‘maybe’?”

– “No questions!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be offended if anyone tried to suggest a different idea. She was your girlfriend, after all, and she only wanted the best for you. But she quickly realizes that her demands are nearly impossible to meet, so she tones them down to avoid making the party a disaster. Accepting the help is her way of showing she’s trying to be a better person for you. She wants to show she can do something right.

– “I just want her to be happy, you know? I need this to be right.”

⭑.ᐟ DIY invitations. Jinx would hand-make wild, artistic invitations for the party, even if it’s just for you. They’d be chaotic masterpieces—probably involving glitter and graffiti-like design, with Isha sneaking a doodle of you, Jinx, and herself on the back. Jinx would only invite people she knows you like, even if it means threatening them to RSVP with notes like, “Show up or get kaboomed. <3 Jinx.”

⭑.ᐟ The day of the celebration, she might hand out “party favors” for any friends who join—small, colorful explosives or confetti grenades.

– “Take one! They’re mostly harmless!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly check in with you because she’d be genuinely worried about messing things up despite her confidence.

– “You havin’ fun? You like it? How ‘bout now?”

– “You’re smiling, so I guess that means I didn’t screw this up, right?”

⭑.ᐟ She’d pull Isha aside occasionally to ask her to “spy” on guests to make sure no one was causing trouble.

– “Okay, short stack, go check on the snack table and make sure no one’s hogging the chips.”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would quietly insist on getting a slice of cake to give you herself, practically shoving it into your hands with a big smile.

⭑.ᐟ During a toast for you, Isha would quietly raise her glass (even if it’s just juice) and look at you with a shy smile, gesturing a little “cheers” with her cup.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would be in charge of keeping guests entertained while Jinx set up bigger surprises. She would direct people with expressive gestures, and they would end up following her lead because she’s so animated and endearing. She’d shoo them away to the dance floor or hand out drinks with glow-stick stirrers.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly circle back to you to check if you need anything.

– “You still good, babe? Need more cake? A drink? Someone thrown out?”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would trail after you for a bit, helping out in small ways, like passing you a drink or brushing confetti off your shoulder, subtly showing her affection.

⭑.ᐟ If anyone tried to make the party about themselves or annoyed you, Jinx would intervene immediately.

– “Go eat some cake and zip it.”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would stick close to you during parts of the party, mirroring Jinx’s protective instincts. If someone approached who looked suspicious (in her eyes), she would cross her arms, glare, and shake her head like a little bodyguard. Jinx calls it “the Isha test”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would rope Isha into playful pranks, like sneaking up behind guests and tossing glitter at them.

⭑.ᐟ She would start spontaneous dance-offs, grabbing you and spinning you around just to hear you laugh.

– “Dance with me, birthday girl! Don’t make me embarrass myself alone!”

⭑.ᐟ She would be darting around and hyping up the crowd, while Isha acted as her silent shadow, handing out sparklers or checking up on the games.

– “Ladies and gentlemen, step right up! And by step up, I mean do what the kid tells you—she’s in charge of this one!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would stick to traditional party games and activities but add her own twist to them each time, no matter how trivial.

“bomb pong” ➪ her version of beer pong, where she’d paint the ping pong balls to look like mini bombs.

“truth or chaos” ➪ self-explanatory. She would make sure you only got fun or flattering dares, even being flirty and teasing with them.

– “Oh no, you chose chaos? That means you have to kiss the coolest person at this party.” And you both know it’s her.

trivia game ➪ Jinx would want to show off how much she knows about you. The catch? Half the trivia questions would also be about herself just to test you, too.

– “Okay, bonus round—what’s my favorite thing to blow up?!”

Glow-in-the-dark darts and lit up board just because she could. If you point out the dangerous side of the game—especially with little Isha running around—she’d groan loudly but relent, setting up a glow-in-the-dark ring toss instead.

She’d hang a homemade piñata filled with tiny trinkets and candy. Everyone would take turns blindfolded, with Jinx calling out unhelpful directions like: “Swing left! No, your other left!”. She’d make sure you got the first and last swing.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be cheering you on during every activity and heckling the opponents, while Isha would root for you by miming cheers and clapping her hands. If you won a round, Isha would leap into the air and give you a medal she crafted beforehand.

⭑.ᐟ Like the mini-Jinx she is, she would periodically check on you, giving you a thumbs-up or tapping your shoulder to make sure you’re having fun.

⭑.ᐟ If you seemed overwhelmed, Isha would grab Jinx’s arm and point to you, miming a timeout gesture. She would sit quietly nearby, offering her company without being intrusive.

⭑.ᐟ After the chaos of the party, Jinx would unwind next to you on the couch, resting her head on your shoulder while little Isha napped, curled up in your side, making you both grin.

– “Looks like you’ve got another fan, huh?”

── .✦ birthday girl!reader who wants a low-key celebration

⭑.ᐟ If you didn’t want a big party or over-the-top surprises for your birthday, it would definitely take Jinx a moment to recalibrate.

⭑.ᐟ She might struggle to understand why you don’t want a big celebration. She’d look genuinely puzzled, her mind racing to adjust her usual plans.

⭑.ᐟ Once she accepts that you prefer a low-key celebration, she would throw herself into making a quiet day special. It might take some effort for her to tone down her usual chaotic energy, but she’d do it because it’s what you want for your special day.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly ask questions to figure out what you consider “too much.”

– “Okay, so like, if I draw a heart on the wall in paint, is that over-the-top? No? Cool. What if I set the heart ablaze? …Too far? Got it.”

– “Would it be too much if I put your name in lights? Or not enough?”

⭑.ᐟ She’d be extra gentle and overly concerned at times, to the point of being funny. She’d fidget nervously, constantly checking in. She’s worried about getting it too wrong.

– “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean it’s cool, it’s chill, but like… you’re sure?”

⭑.ᐟ Super simplified decorations. After easing her anxieties, Jinx would decorate with a single balloon or one small banner just because she thinks it’s hilarious. She’d point at it dramatically, bragging about how she’s “reinventing minimalism”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would leave funny little notes in random spots to quietly show you she’s thinking about you.

inside your favorite book: “Reading? On your birthday? Wow, nerd alert. (Just kidding, keep being the smartest, cutest, book-loving babe ever.)”

by the light switch: “Every time you turn this light on, think about how you light up my life. Too cheesy? Deal with it, it’s your birthday!”

on a snack bag: “Munch away, birthday girl! Each bite makes you 10x more adorable. SCIENCE FACT.”

on the bathroom door: “Birthday bathroom breaks are scientifically proven to be 20% better than regular ones. FACT. Don’t ask how I know.”

The scientist behind the studies? None other than Jinx herself.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would give you small gifts throughout the day instead of all at once. She’d say it’s a “drip-feed of love” to “keep the birthday vibes alive”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would plan something like an art date. She would take you to a hidden spot where you could graffiti together. She’d bring spray paints and help you come up with a tag that matches her monkey one.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx might quietly admire you during the day, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with her feelings for you.

– “Y’know, I like this. Just us. You’re kinda… everything.”

⭑.ᐟ If you wanted to stay in, she wouldn’t mind just spending the day relaxing together in her hideout. She’d insist on building a “birthday pillow fort” and filling it with snacks, blankets, and fairy lights, creating a cozy little haven.

– “Just you, me, and some snacks. It’s a date. A birthday date!”

⭑.ᐟ Well, it was a date until Isha felt left out and peeked her head out from the entrance, which made you promptly pull her into the pillow fort.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would focus on spending uninterrupted time with you—talking, laughing, and just enjoying the day together. She’d cherish the calm moments, even if it’s not her usual speed. She might actually enjoy the slower pace, realizing it gives her more time to focus on you.

– “This is nice. I don’t gotta share you with anyone else today. Well, except short stack over here.”

⭑.ᐟ Since you don’t want anything big, Jinx would ditch the giant cake and instead stick a candle in a cupcake, donut, or even a sandwich.

⭑.ᐟ If you’re worried about Jinx not having fun with a quiet birthday, she would quickly shut that down.

– “What, me? Bored? Nah, babe. I’d sit in total silence if it meant hanging out with you.”

⭑.ᐟ By the end of the day, Jinx would be extra soft and sentimental, realizing she doesn’t need a big party to make you happy.

– “I don’t care what we do, as long as it’s with you.”

── .✦ birthday girl!reader who hates birthdays

⭑.ᐟ Initially, Jinx would be thrown off guard—she would be baffled. Expect a lot of teasing questions and remarks to test your boundaries or to try to make you laugh, diffusing the tension of the day.

– “What did birthdays ever do to you? Did a balloon pop in your face as a kid? Was there a cake betrayal I need to know about?”

– “If you hate birthdays, does that mean I don’t get to wear a party hat? Because I look really good in a party hat.”

– “What do you call someone who hates birthdays? You! Wait, no, seriously—is there a word for that? Birth-a-phobic? Cake-averse? Anti-balloonian?”

– “What do you want to do on your birthday? Oh wait—you probably want to boycott it. My bad.”

– “Can I still blow up balloons? Asking for a very sneaky clown.”

– “So, if we can’t celebrate your birthday, can I just celebrate mine again?”

– “What’s worse: hating birthdays or admitting it to someone like me? I mean, now I have to mess with you.”

⭑.ᐟ If you opened up about why you hated birthdays, she would actually listen and try to understand. She would struggle at first but ultimately stick to your wishes. She will try to come up with other ideas to make you feel cared about regardless.

⭑.ᐟ She would leave a card that says: “This is NOT a birthday card. It’s just me reminding you that you’re the coolest person ever. Luv, Jinx.”

⭑.ᐟ Subtle “not birthday” gestures. Jinx would sneak in small, low-key things to make you smile without drawing attention to the day. She would spend the entire day being extra affectionate without outright acknowledging your birthday.

Random hugs.

Leaving little flowers on the table without saying a word.

Bringing you your favorite drinks or snacks, then casually walking away like it’s no big deal.

Leaving a tiny, heartfelt note that says, “I love you every day, not just today.”

⭑.ᐟ However, it would be hard for her not to be suspicious at times. She would quietly slip a thoughtful little gift into your bag with a note that says, “Not a birthday present. Just because.”

⭑.ᐟ Accidental overstepping happens. Jinx might slip up and do something mildly celebratory out of habit, like throwing confetti or humming the birthday tune. If you got upset, she would immediately backtrack.

– “Wait, wait, wait—don’t be mad! It’s not a birthday thing! It’s just… a ‘you’ thing!”

⭑.ᐟ While you cuddle in bed at the end of the day, Jinx can’t help herself from wishing you a happy birthday but in a safe way.

– “You hate birthdays, but I love you. So, thanks for being born. Even if you hate me saying it.”

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