#like why is that the only place she really belongs?

[bucketsorbueckers]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 4

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, dumb sapphics not communicating (should be a perm tag tbh)

Dual POV - 10K words

A/N: sorry i am so long winded and each chapter continues to grow much larger than planned. i just adore these idiots and get lost in their little world. for this one, the plot moves forward, reverses, stays stagnant etc. all over the place but i promise in the updates to come, we'll really start cookin on the reunion we all want. happy ending guarantee <3

Paige's POV

Azzi.

Maybe not the center of the entire universe but definitely the center of Paige’s. Since they were sixteen. Probably before then.

Their paths didn’t cross until that year, but Paige had been watching long before. Following her stats. Her games. Her rise. She told herself it was research. That it mattered to know the names spoken in the same breath as hers.

But that wasn’t true. Not really. She was just drawn to her. The very pretty, curly-headed brunette with the quiet focus and sharp shot. Which is why Paige had been buzzing when she saw Azzi’s team on the bracket.

Finally.

She took her time that day: brushing her hair three times over,  swapping her shoes at the last minute, fidgeting with her socks like it mattered. Nervous energy crackled through her like static,  settling in her fingers.  In her chest. In the places she hadn’t even known could get nervous. Because this wasn’t just another game. This was her.

And Paige had already decided, before they ever spoke, that Azzi Fudd was going to matter.

When she got to the gym, she couldn’t sit still. Fidgety. Fractured. Like her body didn’t quite belong to her.

So she did what she always did. She talked.  And talked. And talked. People listened. But half the time, Paige couldn’t tell you what she was even trying to say. Only that if she stopped, if she let the quiet catch up to her, she might actually combust.

And then, Azzi walked in.

Paige nearly blacked out.

Because for all the game footage she’d studied, for all the photos she’d saved and secretly zoomed in on, nothing—nothing—prepared her for Azzi in real life. She was even prettier. Unfairly so. Like the camera hadn’t just failed to do her justice, it had lied.

Paige had, embarrassingly, gone into overdrive. Annoyingly so. And she knew it. Cringed every time her own voice echoed back at her. But she couldn’t settle. Not when settling meant stillness, and stillness meant Azzi might catch her staring. Might realize how creepy Paige actually was.

She was mid-story, some pointless ramble about team rankings, when she braved another glance. And to her surprise, Azzi was looking back.

Her face unreadable. Full lips pressed together. Eyes narrowed, just slightly.

Paige’s heart launched into her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing the grin threatening to split her face into something quieter. Closed-lip. Calm. Because while she couldn’t stop herself entirely, she could at least try to help herself out a little.

Azzi had immediately looked away. 

Eventually, they ended up playing each other.

And Paige? She went into that mode. Every possession, every pass, every drive to the rim. All of it just one long, desperate audition. She just wanted to impress Azzi. Just wanted the girl to acknowledge her.

What she didn’t expect was Azzi Fudd dropping a shoulder straight into her chest in the third quarter. A technical foul. Not that Paige minded. Not really. Because then Azzi bent down. Eyes wide, panic written all over her face. And she was so close. So impossibly beautiful.

Paige felt half-delusional. Which was the only explanation for why—when Azzi offered her hand—she didn’t just take it. She held it.Tugged her a little closer.

To this day, Paige still doesn’t know what possessed her. Maybe she just wanted a better look. Maybe she just wanted to see if Azzi was real. But sixteen-year-old, cocky, shit-headed Paige decided to shoot her shot with the first thing that popped into her mouth:

“If you wanted my attention, Fudd, you could’ve just said something.”

The line still haunted her. And yet, somehow, it had worked.

Azzi followed her on social media that night. Paige followed back. Liked a few too many photos. And then messaged her within the hour.

Because that was what Azzi did to her, made her feel like she was already running out of time. Like even if she had her every day for the rest of her life, it still wouldn’t be enough. Paige was pretty sure there wasn’t a world, or a lifetime, where there could be enough time.

Becoming best friends had been easy. Azzi’s quiet softened the edges of Paige’s constant chaos. Azzi taught her how to sit in silence. How to trust it. How to let stillness mean safety, not panic. And with Azzi, the quiet didn’t feel like drowning. 

Paige, in return, had probably taught her nothing— but somehow, she was still allowed to stay.

And that? That was all Paige ever wanted. To be part of Azzi’s life, in any capacity the girl would have her. Even if she loved her. Especially because she did. And so, as the hands of time carved away, Azzi and Paige remained. 

Remained even when Paige’s name grew unbearably large. When it stopped feeling like hers and started feeling like something the world owned. People stopped looking at her and started looking for her. For something to want. To praise. To criticize. To claim.

Being loved that way—the kind that comes with headlines and highlights and pressure disguised as praise—wasn’t love at all.  It was exposure.And it terrified her. In ways she still hasn’t admitted out loud.

Because fame doesn’t ask permission. It just takes. Her privacy.  Her peace. Her personhood. Until she was just the image. The name.The performance.

But Azzi?

Azzi never changed. Steady and sure. Azzi saw her before all of it. Azzi saw her beneath it. Never asked for anything. Never tried to shape her into something else. Azzi just sat beside her in the quiet, and let her be.

She was Paige’s only safe place. The only space that didn’t take or demand or consume.

Just…held.

And when the noise got too loud, and the pressure too sharp, Paige didn’t want the cameras or the trophies or the praise.

She wanted Azzi.

The way her eyes steadied Paige’s breath. The way her silence felt like home. The way she never wanted anything more than what Paige already was.

When it all became too much, Azzi would take Paige’s face in her hands. So gently it almost broke her. Thumbs brushing over her cheeks, like she was trying to wipe the overwhelm from her skin.

"You’re right here,” She’d whisper. Like Paige had somehow floated off, drifted too far, and Azzi was calling her back.

"You’re not what they say."

"You’re not what they want from you."

"You’re just you. And that’s enough."

And God, how dangerous that felt. To be seen so clearly. To be loved without conditions or applause. Paige used to think the scariest part was failing. But no.

It was this. Azzi’s hands on her face. Azzi’s voice in her chest.The unbearable, beautiful truth of being loved by someone who didn’t need anything from her except the part she tried hardest to hide. And for one impossible moment,  Paige let herself believe it.

That she could be just her, and still be enough. Not for the world. Not for the cameras. Just for Azzi.

And that was the kind of love you either run from or ruin.

Paige, of course, did both.

But still—despite everything, despite the distance and the damage— Paige watched out for her.

She couldn’t help it. Her brain had been trained, hard-wired to keep one eye on Azzi at all times. And that’s why,  even with Addie rambling beside her about something Paige didn’t care about, something she wasn’t even trying to hear, she saw the misstep before Azzi even took it.

Because of course she did. She always did. Azzi could’ve been across the country and Paige still would’ve felt it.  That sharp flicker of something not quite right.

Paige raised her hand, cutting Addie off mid-sentence. The words caught in her throat as she locked onto Azzi,  stumbling, off-balance, already falling.

“Sorry, I—” she choked, eyes still fixed ahead. “I need to… attend to something.”

And then she was moving. Shoving through the crowd, shoulders slamming, drinks sloshing. Someone swore behind her. She didn’t care.

“Azzi—shit—” Cam’s voice rang out, panicked.

But Paige was already there. She stepped clean between him and Azzi,  blocking his hand with her body. This wasn’t his moment. It never had been. This was Paige’s job. Always Paige’s job.

Paige almost blacks out. Everything goes a little sideways. Sound warps, time stutters.

She’s not even sure what she says next. Maybe a name. Maybe a prayer. Maybe both. She can hear is her heartbeat, a brutal, relentless thud. The same certain tune that she’d known since she was 16. 

Azzi, Azzi, Azzi.

And then, Azzi is in her arms.

Leaning into her.  Letting Paige carry the weight. She shoulders it without question, guiding her through the blur of bodies toward the back booth.

It was full, but the second Paige locked eyes with the group, they scattered—like they could sense the storm coming before it broke.She lowered Azzi gently into the seat, scooted in beside her, a bit too close. Their legs pressed together.  And just like stupid, sixteen-year-old Paige, she didn’t let go of Azzi’s hand. Even though she knew she should. Even though her chest screamed with all the reasons why she shouldn’t.

For a second, they existed somewhere else. Outside the noise. Outside the fallout. Just Paige and Azzi, in the echo of a moment that already felt like a memory forming.

Paige kept brushing her thumb over Azzi’s knuckles. Gentle. Repetitive. Like her body hadn’t figured out they weren’t allowed to be like this anymore. 

Azzi didn’t pull away. Didn’t move. Just cleared her throat.

“Paige.”

It sounded like an exhale. A breath Azzi had been holding for a little too long. A whispered plea or a damning admission. Paige swallowed.

She swallowed hard, dragged her gaze toward the only person who had ever truly leveled her.

Azzi’s eyes were rimmed red. Not the kind that came from a few tears, but the kind that said this had been going on for a while. Her cheeks looked thinner. Her curls a little undone. Still so stupidly perfect it hurt to look at her.

And Paige fought the urge to reach out. To trace her jaw, her cheek, the soft place beneath her eye. She should’ve done it more. Should’ve slowed down. Should’ve memorized every angle, every expression, every version of Azzi’s face she’d ever been lucky enough to witness.

But her mind had always been twenty steps ahead. Planning, chasing, running.

She’d thought it was fine as long as she held Azzi’s hand tight, as long as she kept her close. She thought that was enough. But now, with Azzi looking at her like this — like she was teetering on the brink of exhaustion — Paige wondered if she hadn’t just taken her along for the ride.

If she hadn’t dragged her through fire and called it devotion.  If she hadn’t pulled her over brimstone and expected her to survive it just because Paige needed her to.

Maybe that’s what love had always been to Paige. Need. Clutching. Never slowing down long enough to see who she was dragging with her. And Azzi had always been so quiet about the burning that Paige didn’t notice until the smoke was in her own lungs.

“You didn’t have to—” Azzi started.

Paige swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I did,” she said. A beat. “It’s you.”

Azzi sucked in a breath at that. Fidgeted. Her eyes stayed fixed on their hands longer than necessary, longer than safe. And Paige had no idea what it meant. Like she’d lost the ability to speak a language she used to know by heart.

Paige inhaled, quietly.

“Your foot okay?”

Azzi shrugged, not looking up. “Yeah. Just… irritated. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek. Careful. Hesitant.

“Maybe I should just look at it.”

Azzi’s eyes finally flicked up. She didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no either. But eventually, she shifted. Carefully lifted her leg into Paige’s lap. Paige stilled. Watched the way Azzi winced, just slightly, as her weight settled.

The bar hummed around them. Laughs and glasses clinking and bass vibrating the floor, but here, in this booth, it was quiet.

Azzi leaned back against the seat, eyes on the ceiling now, as if the overhead lights were easier to face than Paige.

And Paige pressed her fingers lightly to Azzi’s ankle. Familiar terrain. She’d done this a hundred times. On buses. In locker rooms. In hotel rooms with terrible lighting and too much history. But this time, it felt different.

Too gentle. Too reverent. Like she wasn’t just checking for injury. Like she was saying I’m still here, in the only language she remembered how to speak.

Her ankle was slightly swollen. The way it usually got, a soft, familiar puffiness just above the bone, the kind Paige’s fingers knew by touch alone. The inflammation in the arch of her heel pushed it upward, just enough to make Azzi uncomfortable.

“Has it been bothering you?” Paige asked.

Azzi shrugged. “Some.”

“You haven’t been in the training room.”

Azzi glanced at her, then away. “Yeah. Well.”

That was it. Just two words. But Paige knew exactly what they meant. I’ve been avoiding you. Paige was always there. Aching, sore, taped up like a puzzle half coming apart. She had noticed Azzi’s absence, of course, but had figured it was because she was feeling better.

Not because—

“I’m sorry,” Paige muttered.

She didn’t know what she was apologizing for. For keeping her from the training room. For the fact that her foot still hurt. For everything that broke between them and everything she still didn’t know how to fix.

Azzi finally looked at her, really looked at her, and it hit Paige like an adrenaline shot straight to the chest.

Her hands started to shake. She gripped the edge of the booth to steady herself, but the panic was already rising, lodging itself in her throat. And suddenly, she was fighting the urge to beg. To drop to the sticky floor of Ted’s, knees bruising, voice breaking, and say whatever Azzi needed to hear.

I miss you. I’m sorry. Please. I don’t know how to do this. How to be okay without you. How to live in a world where you don’t look at me the same. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please.

But she said none of it. Just held Azzi’s gaze like it might undo her. Like it already had.

“Paige,” Azzi said again, softer this time.

She leaned her head back against the booth again, swinging her leg off Paige's lap. Paige missed the contact immediately but, then, she felt it, the subtle shift. The way Azzi’s shoulder brushed hers, not by accident.

It was small. But the pressure was there. Real. Steady.

Paige didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Because she knew this part. This quiet, wordless permission. And it wasn’t everything. But it wasn’t nothing. 

She wanted to say something. But all she could do was lean back too, letting their arms press together. Paige closed her eyes. Breathed in through her nose, slow and quiet. 

There was a tightness in her chest, not pain exactly, but something close. The strange, sudden urge to cry. Not the loud kind. The kind that happened quietly, all at once, in the throat and behind the eyes, before you even realized you were breaking. 

But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Terrified that if she shifted even a little, if she breathed too hard, Azzi would pull away. And she’d lose this—this impossible, delicate moment that felt like balancing on a knife’s edge.

So she stayed still. And she let the silence settle. Let it fill the space between them like a held breath. A rare occurrence for Paige Bueckers. 

And, privately, maybe foolishly too, she let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, Azzi wasn’t done reaching for her.

Azzi’s POV

Azzi hadn’t meant to stay this long. Hadn’t meant to sit so close. Hadn’t meant to let Paige touch her.  And yet, here they were. Pressed together in the back booth of Ted’s, the music muffled, the room moving around them like they weren’t even there.

She could feel Paige’s breath.  Feel the heat radiating off her in waves, calm on the outside, but Azzi knew better. Knew what Paige looked like when she was trying not to come apart. Knew how it felt to be the thing she held onto.

And then her voice came. Tiny. Broken. So un-Paige-like it made Azzi’s stomach turn.

I’m sorry.

Just two words but the second they left Paige’s lips, they lodged between Azzi’s ribs, like ivy overrunning something long-abandoned. Quiet. Relentless. Twisting through the cracks.

They burrowed into the softest parts of her, the ones she’d tried to board up, shut down, leave untouched. And still, Paige’s words found their way in. Found their way home. 

Azzi sighed, eyes drifting toward the ceiling before finally letting herself look at Paige. Really look.

Paige was the kind of beautiful that didn’t flinch under pressure. The kind that didn’t falter with stress or lack of sleep. A face built for cameras and chaos. But Azzi knew better. She knew the difference between flawless and tired.

She saw the cracks now— light purple half-moons beneath her eyes, the telltale dryness of her lips from worrying them raw between her teeth. Small signs. Easy to miss. Unless you’d loved her. Unless some part of you still did.

Paige stared at her with that same feverish intensity. The kind that made other people shrink away. But Azzi never did. She’d always loved being the focus of that gaze. Loved how it pinned her in place, how it made her feel like the only person in the room.

Like someone Paige Bueckers could look at and decide she was worthy of it all.

And even now— with everything between them bruised and fragile— Azzi felt it again. That want. That gravity. That ache to be seen and chosen, even if it was just one more time.

Azzi was never foolish.

Since the day she understood it was necessary, she’d prided herself on being level-headed. Measured. Smart. She didn’t run toward the fire just to see if it burned. No room for impulsivity, No space for soft, stupid mistakes dressed up like hope.

She didn’t chase things that could hurt her. Didn’t reach for what wasn’t promised.

Except for Paige.

Paige, who had always been the exception to everything. 

Azzi had been steady. Cautious. Predictable. Until the blonde girl with the impossible smile and the voice that carried across gyms waltzed into her life like a dare. And Azzi, who never gave anyone the power to shake her, didn’t just let Paige in.

She let her consume her.

She let herself be tugged into Paige’s orbit. Let herself laugh when she should’ve stayed guarded. Let herself fall harder than she ever intended too. 

Even when she knew better. Knew what Paige could do to a heart left unchecked.

And still, she’d followed. Not because she didn’t know better. But because she did.  And wanted her anyway.

Azzi Fudd, who didn’t make mistakes, who didn’t break rules, who never chased the thing that could destroy her, was always, always, a fool for Paige Bueckers.

So, as they sat there in the dim light, staring at each other like a well-kept secret, Azzi supposed nothing had changed too terribly much. She slipped her leg from Paige’s lap, watching as the girl frowned at the loss of contact.

“Paige,” She said again, softer, more broken.

And then, just slightly, Azzi angled her body, offering the smallest window. The smallest mistake.

Touch.

Paige pressed her arm into hers. No hesitation. No question. Always on the same page. Always speaking the language Azzi had feared they’d forgotten.

They both seemed to exhale at the exact same time.

Azzi chewed on the inside of her cheek, wondering. Wanting. Fighting. But the truth was—she was never a fair opponent when it came to Paige. Never sharp enough to deflect the wanting. Never strong enough to hold the line.

And so, after a few long moments,  Azzi let her hand fall between them, palm up. An offering. A surrender.

Paige didn’t move right away. She stiffened, subtle, barely there, before her eyes flicked down to the space between them. Azzi watched her throat bob. Watched her take her bottom lip between her teeth, like she was biting down on a thousand things she didn’t know how to say.

And then carefully, like she was approaching something fragile, something that might vanish, Paige reached out. And gently, so gently, brushed her fingers against Azzi’s waiting palm.

Azzi sucked in a breath, sharp, like she’d been burned. Her eyes stayed fixed straight ahead, refusing to look. Refusing to flinch. But Paige wasn’t done.

Her fingers kept moving. Slow and reverent, tracing the soft inside of Azzi’s wrist, then up,  following the curve of her forearm  like she was trying to memorize her by touch alone. Goosebumps bloomed in her wake, rising on Azzi’s skin like something ancient answering an old, familiar call.

“Azzi,” Paige choked out. 

Azzi knew Paige believed in God. Knew she wore it like armor, spoke it like gospel, carried it into every room she entered. She’d heard her pray at night, murmured words slipping into the dark.

But the way Paige said her name, that wasn’t prayer.

It was something darker. Something deeper. Like confession. Like worship. Like Paige would’ve dropped to her knees if Azzi asked. It wasn’t her name, not really. It was a plea. A vow. A breaking. And for one unbearable moment,  Azzi felt like the altar. Like Paige didn’t know how to beg for anything else.

It struck Azzi, all at once, that she didn’t know how to beg for anything else either. Didn’t know how to want anyone else, no matter how hard she tried.

She’d tried. God, she’d tried. But Paige Bueckers had never been a choice. She was a current Azzi had been pulled into years ago—steady, relentless, impossible to fight.

And Azzi, measured, steady, careful Azzi, was toeing a dangerous line once again. The kind you weren’t supposed to cross. The kind that didn’t come with a return path. But she’d already taken the first step. And she wasn’t sure she remembered how to turn around.

“Pai—” Azzi started but then…

 “Az?”

They scrambled apart— too fast, too guilty. Azzi’s knee banged into the edge of the booth, her foot slamming against the wall with a thud. She winced. And then looked up.

Cam stood just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching them with an expression Azzi couldn’t quite read. Something caught between confusion and knowing. Like he’d walked into a room already halfway on fire.

They stayed like that for a second. All wide eyes and shallow breath. Frozen. Unsure. No one moved. And then, Cam shook his head, just once, like he was brushing off something he didn’t want to acknowledge, and stepped closer.

“Hey,” he said gently.  “I— I’ve been looking for you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Azzi looked at Paige. Waited. Just for a second, to see if she’d say something. But Paige’s eyes were fixed on the floor. Her jaw tight.  Her hands in fists, knuckles pale. will herself invisible. Or already halfway gone.

So Azzi turned back to Cam. Cleared her throat.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m okay.”

A lie. Too easy. She didn’t even have to think about it. Cam nodded, stepping in like he’d already decided.

“I’ll take you home,” he said. Not a question. A choice made for her. Like he knew what she needed. Like he didn’t trust her to make the decision herself. 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She looked to Paige, just once. One last, desperate look, in case there was something left to say. But Paige was still staring at the floor like she couldn’t bring herself to do anything else. 

So Azzi moved to go. And Paige finally shifted. She slid out of the booth to let her pass. Didn’t speak. Didn’t meet her eyes. Just stood there, too close and too far away all at once.

Azzi paused as they brushed shoulders. Waited for something, a touch, a word, a plea, but it didn’t come. So she kept walking. Cam’s hand hovered at her back,  guiding her toward the door.

As they reached the door, something in Azzi—stubborn, searching—made her look back. And there she was.

Paige.

Still standing by the booth. Arms crossed. Still watching. Eyes locked on Azzi like she was trying to memorize her from a distance. Like she wanted to scream but had swallowed the sound.

And for a second,  Azzi felt it all again. The ache. The fury. The want.

Because no matter how far she walked, no matter whose hand was at her back, she would always check for Paige. And Paige would always be there. Watching her leave. Too proud to stop her. Too late to matter.

It was the worst kind of almost. The kind that never truly goes away.

Paige’s POV

Nika stared at her. Paige stared at the pile of socks in the corner. They’d been like that for a while, maybe five minutes, the silence filling the space like something alive. Paige could feel the irritation rolling off Nika in slow waves. Tight. Inevitable. A fuse burning too close to the dynamite.

“Paige.”

The name dropped was a match. She licked her lips, dragging her eyes away from the laundry she had absolutely no intention of folding. Lifted a brow. Looked at Nika like she didn’t know what was coming.

“Talk to me.”

Paige stretched, arms above her head, bones cracking, then collapsed backward onto the mattress like it hurt to stay upright.

“There’s nothing to say.”

Nika exhaled sharply and crossed the room, climbing onto the bed with a graceless thud.

She looked at Paige the way only Nika could: like she was torn between hugging her and choking her out. And Paige met her gaze. Held it. Because she knew where this was headed. Knew the shape of the conversation before it started.

She just didn’t know what part she’d play yet.

Didn’t know if she’d keep everything buried, lock it all down tight and unbothered…or if she’d give in. Let the flood rise. Let it drag her under. Let it drown her slowly—painfully—until her lungs burned and she finally collapsed beneath the weight of it all.

“Stop your shit, P.” Nika’s voice was sharp. Final.  It sliced through the air like she’d been holding it back for days. “I’m done letting you act like this.”

Paige blinked. Not because she was surprised by the words, she wasn’t. But with Nika, no matter how ready you thought you were, you never really braced enough.

“Because there is something to say,” Nika continued, leaning forward now, voice rising with each word. “There’s a lot.”

Paige looked down at her hands, studying the callouses that had formed from years of workouts, from the game, from the life she’d built around control. She didn’t know what to say. That was the problem. Where do you start when the truth is everywhere? When the crack could split you clean in two?

She swallowed. Felt small. And Nika took the silence for avoidance. She groaned.

“Are you not tired of this?” Her voice was quieter now. Sharper. “Tired of being miserable instead of just opening your mouth?”

Something about that hit a nerve. Raw. Exposed. And Paige felt it surge. Anger. Foreign and hot and wild, snaking up her spine until it curled around her ribs like a vice.

“What do you want me to fucking say, Nika?” she snapped. “That I love Azzi? That I’m so selfish when it comes to her it’s destructive?”

Her voice cracked. Her throat burned. Tears blurred her vision, but it was too late. The dam had ruptured. The flood was here.

“Do you want me to say I should’ve stopped her last night?  Told her to stay with me instead of going with that fucking loser?”

Nika said nothing. She didn’t have to. Paige was shaking now. Sinking fast.

“You don’t think I wanted to do that?” Her voice was hoarse. Pleading. “You don’t think I wanted to take her hand and say—no. You’re mine. Don’t you see that? You can’t belong to anyone else.” She inhaled. Exhaled. Unsteady. Cracked down the middle. “Of course I wanted to do that, Nika. But Azzi…Azzi deserves better.” Her voice broke around the word. “Better than me. Better than what I can offer her. Dragging her behind me like she’s something on a leash. Forcing her into something she didn’t sign up for.”

Despite the alcohol in her system last night, Paige hadn’t been able to shake the image. Azzi—Tired. Quiet in that way that didn’t mean peace. Like she was exhausted by all of it. And not just physically. Paige knew the difference. She’d lived in Azzi’s orbit long enough to read the signs.

It was the kind of tired that lived behind the eyes. That settled in the bones. That said I’m carrying too much and none of it’s mine.

And Paige kept thinking:

What if that was me? What if I’m the thing wearing her down?

Her foolishness from last night still clung to her, but what haunted Paige more was how Azzi had looked with Cam. Normal. Like she wasn’t bracing for anything. Like she didn’t have to read the room. Her shoulders were loose. Her laughter unguarded. And for once, Paige wasn’t the center of her attention.

With Cam, Azzi got to exist. Got to be the one the world revolved around. Not the girl constantly reaching out a hand. Not the steady one. Not the anchor. And maybe that was what gutted Paige the most. That she hadn’t even noticed how heavy she’d made it all feel until she saw Azzi without the weight.

Paige dragged her eyes back to Nika.

“She deserves better than what I can give her.”

Silence followed. Not the comforting kind. The kind that settles between two people like a held breath.

Finally, Nika exhaled. “I’m sorry, P,” she said, voice low. “But that’s a bullshit cop-out.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

Nika leaned forward, elbows on her knees, gaze unwavering.

“No one in this world knows Azzi Fudd better than you.” Her voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t soften either. “No one gets her like you do. No one sees her like you do. And despite all the chaos that follows you, despite the spotlight and the pressure and the absolute circus of your life, you’d still be better for her than anyone else.”

Paige had to look away. Had to tilt her chin up like she could swallow the tears instead of letting them fall. But they came anyway.

Quiet. Stubborn. Unstoppable. Like everything else she felt for Azzi.

“You know what I think happened last night?”

Paige didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her. Just stared at a point on the wall like it might offer her a way out.

“I think you wanted Azzi to choose you.” Nika’s voice wasn’t cruel, just honest. “I think it’s easier to fall on a sword than admit your heart needed her to look at Cam and say no. I’m staying. With Paige. I’m choosing her. The hard, complicated thing.” She paused. “And when she didn’t, you shut down.”

Paige shook her head. But even she didn’t believe it.

“I don’t need anyone to choose me. I don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nika waved her off like she’d heard it too many times. “The world chooses you. Always has. Always will. But you don’t give a fuck about the world, Paige. You never have.” She leaned in, softer now. “You only want her. That’s the way it’s always been.”

Paige was crying. God, how long had it been since she’d let it happen? Since she’d stopped holding it in with both fists, like control could keep it from breaking through?

Her fingers twisted in the comforter, white-knuckled,  gripping the fabric like it might help her hold something together. But nothing could stop it.

The grief came anyway, demanding.  Like a penance she hadn’t paid. Like she owed something for every feeling she’d buried.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, even though she didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit it. “I didn’t know if I reached out…made if obvious…if she’d be embarrassed.”

She wiped at her face, breath stuttering. “We didn’t tell many people, you know? I don’t even know if she told anyone. And if I said something, what if it made it worse? What if she was mortified that I did?”

And there it was. Laid bare. The thing Paige never said out loud. Her deepest-held fear. The one that sank its teeth in after midnight and never let go.

That maybe Azzi hadn’t wanted to be seen with her. Not because of what she was — but who. That maybe she’d been too much. Too intense. Too Paige.

They’d never really talked about it. Not in a way that mattered.  Paige had loved her out loud. Always. And Azzi had loved her quietly. Carefully. Like Paige was something precious she wasn’t sure she was allowed to keep.

And Paige hadn’t pushed. Because loving Azzi had always felt like enough. Until it wasn’t. Until Azzi let go. Until she reached for someone easier. Someone simpler. And something about that—about watching Azzi slip so seamlessly, so publicly, into the arms of someone new—felt like a razor dragged slowly across her softest parts.

Not a rejection. Just a quiet rewrite. Like they’d never happened at all.

Nika shook her head and reached for Paige’s hand. There was a softness in her eyes Paige almost never saw. Something tender, earned through years of knowing exactly when to stop pushing and just hold still.

“Azzi Fudd is not embarrassed of you, Paige,” she said quietly. “There’s a difference between being a secret and being a private piece of someone they just want to protect.”

They sat like that for a while. No resolution.  No clean ending. Just the weight of things unburdened, shared in low voices and shaken breaths. It wasn’t healing, not yet.

But it was something. And for Paige, for now, that’d have to be enough. 

Azzi’s POV

The world felt drained of color.

She wasn’t surprised. Paige had that effect, leaving things a little dimmer in her wake. Stripping the bright and the beautiful like she took it with her when she left.

Azzi stirred the oat milk into her coffee, hand slow and deliberate, as if she could smooth herself out with each circular motion.

“Az?”

She looked up. Caroline was watching her from across the kitchen island, brow raised.

“You’ve been stirring that for five minutes,” she said. “It’s going to be too cold to drink soon.”

Azzi offered a small smile—grateful, apologetic—and dropped the spoon into the sink with a soft clink. She lifted the mug and took a sip, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the now-lukewarm temperature.

“I think we should talk about… it,” Caroline said, settling onto the couch.

“Caro, I just—”

“No, Azzi.” Her voice was firmer than usual, and Azzi blinked in surprise. Caroline flushed, immediately softening. “Sorry, I—well, I just think we need to. If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to, but…”

Azzi swallowed. She knew Caroline was right. And the truth was, she was tired of dodging the thing pulsing beneath her skin like a bruise. With a quiet sigh, she dropped onto the couch beside her.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Where do you want to start?”

Caroline didn’t hesitate. “What happened last night?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the cushions, letting her eyes slip shut.

She flipped through the night like a well-worn photo album: Paige, laughing too loud, flirting with someone who wasn’t her. The fall. The hum of pain. The blur of bodies that didn’t catch her.

And then—Paige. There. Hands steady. Voice soft. The kind of gentleness that unraveled something deep and dangerous inside her. The tension. The closeness. Her name, spoken like it meant something again. Arms brushing. Fingers finding their way back like they remembered the route on instinct.

And then Paige, watching her leave. Not calling out. Not following. Just watching.

Azzi opened her eyes, throat dry.

“Paige,” Azzi muttered. “Paige happened.”

Caroline nodded like she understood exactly what that meant.  Because of course she did.

“Did you guys at least talk about it?”

Azzi shook her head. Not really. Maybe in the way their eyes found each other. In the softness of hands brushing and not pulling away. But they hadn’t used words. They hadn’t cracked it open, hadn’t named it out loud.

“No,” she said softly. “We just…” She waved her hands, fingers fluttering in the space between them like they might summon the right word. “But then Cam came over. Offered to take me home.”

She paused. Swallowed.

“And I don’t know. I half-hoped Paige would step in.  Say something.  Let him know she had it covered.” Her voice wavered, just slightly. “She’s usually so… brash.  You know that. Never stutters when it comes to what she wants.”

She let her head drop back against the couch again, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“But she didn’t say anything. Not a word.”

 “Azzi…” Caroline said it softly, like she was laying the name down with both hands. “You know I love you,” she continued. “But… you showed up with Cam. You’ve been showing up with him. For weeks now.” Azzi didn’t say anything. Just stared into her lukewarm coffee like maybe she could disappear into it. “I think it’s a little unfair to expect Paige to push back on that,” Caroline said, gently. “To step in, to claim you, when she’s been watching you spend your time with someone else.”

She paused. Softened.

“Paige is a lot of things. Loud, brave, brash—sure.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “But she’s also…terribly unselfish. Almost to a fault.”

Azzi knew she was right.

Paige was unselfish. It was one of the things Azzi loved most about her and hated just as much.

She loved the way Paige made sure everyone had a seat at the table. Loved how she passed when she could’ve taken the shot, how she always looked for the better play, the kinder choice, the fairer outcome.

She loved that Paige thought about impact. That she didn’t just act, she considered.

But God, Azzi hated it too.

Because when it came to them, she wanted Paige to be selfish. Wanted her to plant her feet. To take up space. To look Cam in the eye and say no.

Mine.

Azzi had never wanted to be claimed by anyone. Not really. Not until Paige Bueckers.

But still, Caro’s observation landed harder than Azzi expected. Settled somewhere deep, just under the ribs. And as she sat there, mug cooling in her hands, she wondered:

Had she always been this unfair to Paige?

Had she expected too much from the one person who gave until she was threadbare and then kept giving anyway. Paige, who lived under a spotlight Azzi had never wanted. Paige, who bore the weight of being seen by everyone, always.

Azzi had acted like Paige should’ve known how to carry it all. How to be brave and soft and certain and hers— like she’d been born understanding how to do it. But she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t.

She was just trying to survive it. All of it. And maybe sometimes,  Azzi forgot that this was Paige’s first time too. Her first time learning how to navigate all of this. How to want something and not ruin it. How to hold someone in the light without letting go of herself.

Azzi had asked for too much. She could see that now. How she’d taken someone already stretched thin and pulled even harder, like love was something you could wring out of a person if you just squeezed tight enough. And when Paige couldn’t give her what she wanted...

Azzi had done the one thing she swore she wouldn’t. She left. Like it was noble. Like it was final. Like walking away was the answer instead of just… the easiest thing.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. God. When had she gotten so good at being cruel?

Beside her, Caroline shifted, their knees knocking softly together. When Azzi looked over, her best friend offered a tight-lipped smile—or maybe a grimace. It didn’t matter. Azzi wasn’t sure she could tell the difference anymore.

“What do you want her to do, Az?” Caroline asked gently. “And if she did it…would you let her love you again?”

Azzi looked away so fast her eyes blurred. She wanted to say she didn’t know. That there were too many pieces now. Too many sharp edges. That Paige had broken something in her. Hadn’t she?

But the truth was simpler. It always had been. She didn’t want a question mark hovering after Paige’s name. She never had.

Paige was a period. A full stop. The beginning and the end.

Azzi didn’t answer. She figured her silence was loud enough, said everything she was too tired to untangle. 

Instead, her mind drifted to the day she finally surrendered. To the ache in her chest she didn’t know how to name at the time. To the quiet terror of being seen so clearly by someone who, somehow, still wanted her.

They were twenty.

Not kids, exactly, but not old enough to understand how the tiniest choices could echo for years. Not old enough to know that letting someone kiss you in the quiet of a half-lit bedroom—forehead pressed to yours, breath trembling between words—could be a turning point you’d never come back from.

But even if she had known, she thinks she still would’ve done it. Still would’ve kissed Paige. Still would’ve chosen the fall.

It had started with shoeboxes.

Paige had this habit of reorganizing her closet when she was overwhelmed — something about the control of it, the ritual. Azzi had been sitting cross-legged on the bed, textbook open in her lap, not reading a single word.

Paige was chattering, as usual. Something about the pros and cons of alphabetical versus color coding. The boxes were stacked in uneven towers across the room, their lids slightly askew, some revealing polaroids and old receipts and friendship bracelets that had unraveled at the edges.

Azzi hadn’t meant to say anything. But something about the noise, the constant motion of it, had gotten under her skin in the gentlest, most unbearable way.

“Can you just sit still for five minutes?”

She’d said it too softly to be mean. Just… tired. A little frayed.

She hadn’t expected Paige to laugh. Or to turn and look at her with that mischievous glint in her eye—the one that always meant trouble, or tenderness, or both. But she really hadn’t expected her to climb onto the bed.

Usually, one of them took the chair. The desk. The floor. Always some careful distance, like they knew better than to tempt fate. Like they didn’t trust themselves if they got too close.

There were rules—unspoken, unacknowledged, but followed religiously. And Paige had just broken one. Just climbed up. Settled beside her, legs stretched out long on the duvet. Close enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of her, even without touching.

“I’m sitting still,” she said, smiling like she’d won something. “Gold star, please.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Because suddenly the room felt different. Or maybe she did. The air was too sharp, too sweet. Paige’s arm brushed hers and it was like every nerve in her body stood at attention.

She hadn’t planned it. That was the worst part. Or the best.

There’d been no music, no movie playing in the background, no dramatic swell. Just Paige, with her half-straightened ponytail and bright blue eyes, looking at her like it was the easiest thing in the world to be looked at.

She really was pretty. Azzi knew that. Always had. But there was something about her in private moments that was even more beautiful. The way the crease between her brows disappeared when she wasn’t thinking too hard, the way the tension melted from her shoulders when she wasn’t performing for anyone, not even herself.

She looked younger like this. Softer. And it did something to Azzi’s chest — some quiet unraveling she couldn’t stop even if she tried.

Paige shifted, their knees brushing, and Azzi felt it like a pulse. Paige didn’t flinch or pull away. She just smiled, all teeth and ease. 

“I’m seriously being still,” she whispered, as if the quiet mattered now. “You should be proud of me.”

Azzi huffed out a laugh, but it caught in her throat. Because Paige was close. Closer than she usually let herself be. And for once, she wasn’t pretending it didn’t matter.

Paige’s throat bobbed. Her knee began to bounce and Azzi sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on her thigh. Really it was to cease the shaking of the bed but also because she wanted too. And Paige sucked in a breath at the contact. 

Azzi’s other hand twitched against the comforter. She thought about all the times she’d imagined this. The moment before. The almost. The pause. She thought it would be louder somehow. Braver. But it wasn’t. It was just…this.

The hum of the fan. The scent of floral shampoo. Paige’s breath, soft and even. And Azzi’s heart, pounding like it was trying to speak.

“Az,” Paige said softly.

Azzi started to pull her hand away—instinct, self-preservation—but Paige caught it before she could. Her fingers closed gently over Azzi’s, holding them in place like something fragile she didn’t want to lose.

She turned Azzi’s hand over, studied it for a moment. Ran her thumb along the silver ring on her middle finger. Cheap, tarnished, already dulling at the edges.

“I like this one,” Paige said. “Can I borrow it?”

Azzi laughed, caught off guard. “Why would you want that? You have actual jewelry. The kind that doesn’t turn your skin green.”

Paige shrugged, but her gaze didn’t lift. Still locked on the ring. Still holding her hand.

“Because it’s yours,” she said simply.

Azzi’s breath caught.

Paige looked up then, eyes warm, a little too honest.

“And maybe,” she added, voice quieter now, “sometimes I like to have a piece of you with me.”

Finally, Paige tore her gaze away from Azzi’s hand, and their eyes met. Azzi swore her heart was thudding loud enough for the whole world to hear.

Paige reached out, slow and careful, her fingers trembling just slightly as she tucked a curl behind Azzi’s ear — like it was something she’d wanted to do a hundred times but never let herself before.

“Az?” she said again, quieter now.

“Yeah?” Azzi breathed, not trusting her voice with anything more.

Paige’s eyes softened. “I think you’re really beautiful.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly sixteen again, shy and burning and undone by the gentlest words.

And then, just as quietly, just as honestly, she said,  “I think you’re really beautiful too, P.”

Paige leaned in closer, slipping further into Azzi’s space until she was everywhere. The warmth of her, the scent of her , the low thrum of her breath. It was the closest they’d ever been, and from here, Azzi could see it all—the flecks of gold in Paige’s blue eyes, the barely-there freckle on the bridge of her nose.

“Is this okay?” Paige whispered.

Azzi nodded, heartbeat pounding like it wanted to escape her chest. “If it’s okay with you.”

That made Paige smile. Crooked and impossibly fond. 

“More than okay,” she murmured.

And then she closed the distance.

Their lips brushed, featherlight at first. Barely there. Like they were both trying to memorize it before it even happened, afraid to break it, afraid not to. And then Paige tilted her head, just slightly. Pressed in again.

This time, it wasn’t unsure. It was soft, but certain. The kind of kiss that says I’ve wanted this for so long I almost forgot how to want anything else.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut. Her fingers curled in the fabric of the comforter. And she let herself fall. Surrendered entirely. And nothing had been the same since. 

Still wasn’t the same. 

Azzi had no idea if that was a good or bad thing. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

1 week later

They hadn’t really talked. Not since the night at the bar. Not since everything cracked open again. But tonight, the team had traded in cheap drinks and packed crowds for something quieter. A movie night. Popcorn and blankets and too many people squished on one couch.

And Azzi knew, with the kind of dread that settled deep in her bones, that it was dangerous territory.

Because the movie night was at Paige’s place.

The apartment Azzi knew like her own. The one she used to let herself into without knocking. The one where she’d once kept a toothbrush in the top drawer, tucked behind Paige’s like it didn’t mean anything.

This time last year, she’d practically lived there — something Nika never stopped pointing out. Not in a mean way. Just loud enough to make Azzi squirm.

“You know your hoodie ended up in her laundry again,” Nika would say, smug.  And Azzi would roll her eyes, pretend it didn’t mean anything.

“You got everything?” Caro asked, cutting clean through the memory.

Azzi glanced down, mentally ticking off the list. Her favorite pink blanket, folded tight under one arm. Water bottle. Hoodie—thick and oversized—because Paige always kept the apartment freezing.

“Yep,” she said, voice a little too chipper. “All good to go.”

She wasn’t, not really. But there was no point in saying it out loud. Caroline would only give her that look. The one that said you don’t have to do this and you absolutely will anyway.

Caroline nodded, and they stepped outside. The walk to Paige’s was short, familiar in the way old routines always are. Azzi kept her eyes on the sidewalk, but she could already hear voices drifting through the door when they got close. Someone laughing, the buzz of a movie preview playing too loud in the background.

Caroline knocked. Azzi held her breath. It took a few seconds for the door to open, but when it did, there she was.

Paige.

Hair down, slightly damp at the ends like she’d just showered. Wearing the same damn gray sweatsuit Azzi was in which felt unfair, honestly. Like the universe wanted to twist the knife.

Their eyes met. And just for a second, the noise behind Paige seemed to fade. Everything softened. They took each other in. Matching outfits. Pink cheeks. The quiet oh of something unsaid lingering between them.

Azzi’s fingers tightened around her blanket. Paige blinked first. Smiled, tentative and uneven.

“Hey,” she said.

And Azzi, mouth dry, heart already spiraling, managed,

“Hey.”

Caro cleared her throat dramatically. “Hello to me too. I know, you’re thrilled I’m here.”

Paige let out a breathy chuckle and stepped back, holding the door wider.

“Hello, Caroline. Light of my life. Let me show you the sacred throne I saved just for you.”

Caroline rolled her eyes but grinned, breezing past her into the apartment like she hadn’t just defused a bomb. 

Azzi followed slower, dragging her feet a little, letting the weight of Paige’s gaze settle just behind her as she crossed the threshold. Same apartment. Same candles. Same couch. But somehow it all felt smaller. Like it had been waiting for her to return.

Most of the team was already sprawled out across the couch or curled into makeshift nests of pillows and blankets on the floor. The room glowed soft and amber, lit by a single lamp and the flicker of the paused TV screen.

Azzi hovered in the doorway for a beat too long, eyes scanning for a spot that wouldn’t feel like a choice. Somewhere safe. Uncomplicated.

She found it. A corner of the couch, half-shielded by the armrest and a pile of throw blankets. Tucked away, but not too tucked. Just enough to pretend she wasn’t hyper-aware of the girl who had just let her in.

“Perfect,” she murmured to no one, and slipped into the space, folding her legs beneath her.

She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and tried to focus on the screen.

“Paige! I saved you a spot,” Jana called out brightly.

Azzi’s head snapped toward the sound, just in time to see Jana patting the narrow sliver of couch between them,  barely wide enough for comfort, but apparently wide enough for Paige.

Her stomach flipped. The space had felt safe a second ago. Unnoticeable. But now it was a trap. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Across the room, Paige hesitated. Just for a second. Long enough for Azzi to notice. Long enough to wonder if she was hesitating because of her. And then Paige started walking toward them.

Paige padded across the room, mismatched socks silent against the floor, her eyes flicking to Azzi only once. A glance so quick Azzi might’ve imagined it if her pulse hadn’t jumped at the same time.

She sat down slowly, carefully lowering herself into the small space between Jana and Azzi, her thigh brushing Azzi’s for the briefest second before she shifted, just enough to say I noticed, but not enough to move away completely.

Azzi stared straight ahead at the TV, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Trying not to notice the scent of Paige’s shampoo again, or the fact that their knees were one careless movement away from touching.

Jana handed Paige a bowl of popcorn with a grin, oblivious to the quiet war unraveling inside Azzi.

“See?” she said. “Told you I’d save it for you.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured. “Perfect spot.”

Jana threw a large throw blanket over them, the kind that could double as a comforter, covering all three of them in one sweeping motion.

“I know you’re always cold, Fudd. I got you covered,” she said, settling in like this was just any other night. Like she hadn’t just casually trapped Azzi under a blanket next to the one person she still wasn’t sure how to look at for too long.

Azzi offered a tight smile. “Always so thoughtful.”

She kept her tone light, but her body was buzzing. Too aware of every inch of space. Or lack thereof. The blanket brushed her arms. Paige’s arm rested beside hers. Their shoulders nearly aligned. And no matter how much Azzi tried to stare at the screen, her peripheral vision betrayed her.

The movie started, the opening credits flickering across the screen, casting soft light over the room. Conversations dulled, bodies settled. Beside her, Azzi felt Paige shift slightly. A shoulder brushing hers.

“This okay?” Paige whispered, so quiet Azzi almost missed it. “I can move if you want me to.”

Azzi’s eyes darted to her. She didn’t mean to look, but she couldn’t not. And there Paige was. Not just beside her, but looking at her, like she cared about the answer. Like she wanted to be told to stay.

For a second, Azzi was sure she imagined it. The softness. The closeness. The question. But it was real. She swallowed, pulse thudding like it always did when Paige said her name or stood too close or smiled in that way that made it hard to breathe.

She shook her head.

“If it’s okay with you,” she said, and it came out steadier than she felt.

Paige gave a small nod and returned her eyes to the screen. As the movie played on, Azzi’s eyes kept drifting. To Paige. She told herself it was accidental,  just flickers in the dark,  but it wasn’t. Not really. 

Paige wasn’t watching the screen either. Not really. Her eyes were aimed in that direction, sure, but her jaw was tight, teeth clearly clenched. A tension Azzi knew by heart.

Once, she used to press her fingers gently to that spot, right where Paige’s cheek met her jaw, and whisper relax until Paige would smile, or sigh, or kiss her. 

Now she just stared at it. That tension. That ache she couldn’t soothe anymore.

The blanket still covered them both. Warm, suffocating. Every shift of Paige’s body beneath it sent static up Azzi’s spine. A knee brushing hers, the subtle flex of a shoulder when Paige crossed her arms tighter. She was trying so hard not to take up space. And failing. Because she was everywhere.

The movie continued, flickering across the screen like it mattered. Azzi couldn’t have said what it was about. Couldn’t name a single character or plot point. All she could focus on was the smallest bit of space between her and Paige—space that felt impossibly wide, like it might take a lifetime to cross.

She sat there, bones taut, breath shallow, wondering if either of them would do it. If either of them would be the one to move first.

Paige had always been braver. Bolder. The one who leapt without looking. The loudest laugh in the room, the girl who always said what she wanted. And Azzi had been okay with existing in the background.

And still, to this day, Azzi wasn’t entirely sure how to ask for what she wanted. Much less go after it in a room full of people.

So she stayed still. Silent. Ache buried beneath layers of practiced calm. The movie droned on, forgotten. And beside her, Paige moved.

Not much. Just enough.

Her hand shifted beneath the blanket, slow and tentative, until her fingers brushed Azzi’s — the lightest touch, like she wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed. Like she might pull away at the first sign of hesitation.

She didn’t say anything. But after a few seconds, her pinky curled, barely hooking around Azzi’s. Holding there.

And Azzi, who had always waited, always watched, always wanted, let her.

They stayed like that for the rest of the movie.

Even when their teammates started groaning at the plot holes and bad acting. Even when someone got up for more popcorn and bumped the couch hard enough to jostle them.

They never spoke. Never acknowledged what it meant. What was happening beneath the blanket, between their hands, in the quiet rhythm of shared breath and too much history.

But neither of them let go. And for the briefest flicker of time, it felt like being them again.

Not healed. Not fixed.

Just suspended in that strange, familiar space where wanting wasn’t enough, but letting go wasn’t possible either.

[keepingitformyself]

nothing gentle lives here

A/N: shauna shipman fic BOOYAAAA!!!! also first time writing smut pls go easy on me guys.

synopsis: she’s blood, ash and girlhood burnt at the altar.

pairings: shauna shipman x reader

genre: fluff in not its usual fluff form but more rough edged and dangerous.

warnings: typical yellowjackets violence, smut, sexual themes, sadist sex kinda, cannibalism, shauna shipman being shauna shipman. cutting people open, vegans/vegetarians dni tbh.

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

you were all just girls before this. so, what are you now?

you find yourself asking this same question over and over again. constantly racking through your brain how you’ve all become so unapologetically mad, and cruel. if what you’ve done has crossed some invisible line of morality that you can no longer go back. if you can even go back.

shauna still kisses you with a fire you’ve never known before. something you’re sure would have never existed to you had you ever been on that plane. she touches you like she’s never been more sure of something in her whole life.

like, she’s never actually existed until now. as if being out here is the best thing that could have happened to some of you.

you hate to say that there’s some truth in that. in some twisted and haunted way.

when she decided that everyone must stay behind, instead of accepting rescue, she left no room for argument. you watched in disbelief, the grief slowly flowing through you as it’s decided that, no, you won’t go home. not today.

shauna finds you crying in front of the small lake, just a few hours later.

she pulls you in as if she isn’t the reason why you’re hurting. she kisses all your tears away, shushes you, tells you it’s okay. it isn’t.

“we can’t go back, baby,” she whispers into your hair. her words make you cry even harder into the warmth of her neck. “we’re better off here,” you think, maybe that’s okay.

maybe it is fine. because truly, something this ugly, this violent, and beautiful doesn’t belong in the world out there, anyway. that maybe the wilderness is where you’re meant to be.

because even if you’re scared to admit it to yourself, a world outside of this place is just a thin guise you’re all pretending isn’t close to cracking.

and you love her. you love shauna. every dangerous, violent, grief-ridden side of her. you’ve seen her kill, seen the way she doesn’t even flinch at the sight of barbarity anymore. she smiles at it instead.

she’s kissed you with the blood of others on her lips, and you loved the taste of it. she’s handed you her blade and led you through skinning the fur off of animals you’d later eat. you’d see the way her eyes would gleam at the sight of your innocence being continuously stripped away. she loves that she’s the reason for how you unravel.

you used to only be able to cut through meat with your eyes closed. used to cover your ears so you wouldn’t hear a deer cry as it took its last breath. only able to feel the way the muscles spasm beneath your fingers. you never looked, never listened.

now, your hand no longer shakes at the weight of her knife in your hands. now, you meet shauna’s eyes as blood pools out.

but you still let out shaky breaths when she licks the blood off your fingers.

“you’re getting better and better,” she murmurs, taking the blade from your hands and finishing off the dead carcass in front of you. “i’m proud.”

you smile at her words.

you were all just girls before. you know that. you think you’re something more now. maybe worse. you don’t know. you don’t really care.

because you’re feral, you’re violent, you’re messy, but you’re loved.

and shauna loves you in ways that couldn’t exist back home.

she loves you roughly, madly, and on purpose. like everything only exists for both of you. like you’re the only thing that exists to her.

and that version of you that existed before her? the one before the crash. she’s gone now.

sometimes you hate her for it. but you love her for it more.

because being with shauna feels like you’re finally real. and whatever is left of you is hers.

even now, as you watch with your mouth agape, natalie is forced to slash open the corpse of your dead friend. mari. you’re scared. grief-stricken. you want to cry. but you want to feel shauna’s cold hands in yours more.

she watches as you stare at the way mari’s blood pools onto the snow-covered ground. you’re breath is shaky.

she doesn’t say anything. she wears a proud smile and lets you exist in the moment instead.

later, when she’s in her antler queen cloak and has finished leading everyone through a feast, she catches your wrist as you return to camp.

“say something,” you think she’s pleading for it. like she wants the reassurance that this is what she’s like now, and if you still want her this way. it hits you all then. mari. your teammate. your friend. is dead. and you ate her.

the hot tears in your eyes feel good against the cold of the air. you still don’t say anything. shauna lunges forward and kisses you. your eyes well up again at the taste of iron and meat on her lips.

her hand grips the back of your neck, her fingers tighten in your hair. she pulls back again, breathless, eyes wide and blown.

“this is the only way love can exist for me,” she breathes. “can you live with that?”

you nod. and kiss her back again. all teeth and bite.

shauna leads you back to your hut, and you let her stake her claim. she deserves it, after all. she’s your queen now.

you let her press you into your cot on the floor.

she drinks in your sighs, and you feel your body burn up at having her breathless on top of you.

you give her exactly what she wants when you feel her fingers press crescents into the inside of your thighs.

you spread yourself, soft and obedient, not because she asks you to or because she expects it, but because you want to.

and you smile at her sadisticness when she bites down on your neck, and praises you when you let out sounds for her. you revel in the feel of her. you try to ignore the biting cold just beyond the thin fur that covers the entrance.

it’s easy to when every time she touches you it burns. and it feels fucking amazing.

you gasp when she gets down to that spot right at the apex of your thighs. you try to trap her there. like if you close your thighs, maybe she’d listen.

she does. thank god, she does.

she laughs at your neediness. and pulls you open wider, rougher. like you’re hers to claim, to shape, to ruin.

“i love you like this,” she says fondly. you think, i do too.

you whimper immediately when her mouth finds you. it’s obscene the way you buck into her, the way you ground yourself by threading your fingers into her tangled hair.

there’s only her now. her mouth. her hands. the burn of her name caught in your throat as she pushes you closer and closer to unraveling.

she holds you steady when you start to shake, groaning into you like she’s starving and you’re her salvation. like you’re the last good thing left in this godforsaken wilderness, and she intends to consume every part of you.

then, just as you’re about to, she replaces her mouth with her fingers. and pushes her lips towards yours as she swallows your moans.

“you know, if you died out here,” she pants against your lips. “i’d eat your heart first.”

maybe you should be scared, or turned off at the kind of joke she’d make in such a crude moment, with her hands between your legs. but you’re too gone to care. too blissed out. even if you know she means it.

“you’d keep it safe?”

she smiles wicked and beautifully. the kind of smile you know you’d never forget. the kind of smile that brings you that much closer to the edge. “i’d keep it in me forever.”

and at her words, at the terrible truth in them, you let out one final shriek. your body arches, and you let out a silent scream, anchoring yourself on shaua’s shoulders.

she watches you with that same look she wears whenever she’s cutting into flesh and meat. the one that’s all teeth and grin. you hear the trees start to howl, the cold starts to bite, but she still doesn’t move. she’s still inside you, palm pressed to your chest.

and you let her take from you again.

[mandarinmoons]

Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gender neutral reader Summary: Being stuck in a closet with your best friend evokes some feelings you hadn't felt before, leaving you both confused and questioning where you stand Words: 877 Warnings: None A/N: This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins "Stuck Together Challenge"! It's also my first time taking a part in a writing challenge and I really enjoyed it <3

“Whoa, Emily, careful!”

Emily snickered behind you as she pushed you along to the closet, Morgan trailing behind her while doing the same to Reid. Morgan laughed as Spencer nearly tumbled to the floor because of the force he used to push the lanky man ahead, causing Spencer to huff and regain his balance.

The two of them had been teasing you and Spencer for a while over how close you both were, constantly telling everyone that you were going on a date whenever they heard you make plans to see each other after work and making kissy faces when they saw you talking to each other during work hours. It was something you could easily brush off, but now it was getting ridiculous.

After a long case, Rossi invited everyone to his place for a get-together and a few hours later, Penelope suggested playing some party games. Of course, Emily and Morgan being the evil geniuses that they are, threw out the idea to play seven minutes in heaven and it ended up with them rigging the game to make sure that you and Reid were stuffed in the closet together. You knew they could be sneaky, but this was hitting a new nerve.

“Have fun!”

Before you had a chance at a comeback, the door was slammed in your face and you and your coworker were surrounded by darkness. Blinking a few times to get used to the lack of light, you saw Spencer awkwardly looking from side to side, taking in his surroundings. To you it seemed as if he was doing his best to avoid eye contact with you, even if you could barely see one another.

“Rossi’s coats seem nice.”

“It’s Rossi, pretty much all of his belongings are imported from Italy.”

Spencer chuckled and lifted his head to catch your gaze. The smiles faded from both of your faces as reality of the situation set in. You were stuck in a cramped closet and the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You didn’t think you could ever feel unease with Spencer, if you were to ask who was the one person you felt most comfortable with your answer would always be him, but something about this situation felt different. It felt as though you hadn’t been this close to him before and it was unearthing some new feelings.

It might have been dark, but there was just enough light coming in from the crack of the door that you could make out the features on his face that you loved so much. The golden hue in his irises, the crows feet surrounding his eyes whenever he squinted, it was the things that came to mind at first whenever you thought of him. Why were you thinking of him this way?

“This was not what I meant when I said I wanted to be closer to you.”

“Oh really, genius, what did you have in mind then?”

“I don’t know, sitting beside you on the couch while we watched a movie?”

“Yeah and then have Emily and Morgan poke fun at us again throughout the film.”

“Well that certainly sounds better than being stuck here.”

“It’s only for seven minutes!”

“You never know if they decide to “forget us” in here.”

“That does sound like something they would do.”

Faced with the fact that your coworkers might play a prank and keep you locked up for longer, you sat on the ground to be more comfortable and Spencer followed suit. As he sat down, the tip of his shoe hit yours and you nudged him back gently, making each other chuckle by continuing the action.

“You know behaviour like this is what makes them tease us.”

“I know but it’s hard not to do.”

“What? Not getting on my nerves?”

A chuckle leaving Spencer’s lips again, he moved across the closet so he was now sitting next to you, his shoulder brushing yours and feeling his breath on your face. Your eyes locked once again and the tension felt as strong as before.

As you kept your sight on him the hotter the closet seemed to get. It was hard to look away, you swore you saw Spencer’s pupils dilate and you were arguing with yourself in your head whether it was true or not. 

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I um…”

Before Spencer had a chance to finish his sentence, the door unlocked and you winced at the sudden light pooling into the room.

“You two seem comfortable.”

Shaking your head at Emily’s comment, you stood up and offered Spencer a hand, feeling your cheeks heat up feeling how warm his hand was in yours. 

With Emily striding back to the kitchen to the rest of the team, you and Spencer stood there for a moment taking in the situation, holding hands and trying to look away to hide the obvious blush on both of your faces.

“After you.”

Smiling at his manners, you let go of his hand and made your way back to everyone, leaving Spencer to stand by himself for a second, cursing Emily in his head for the intrusion, and for not letting himself finish what he wanted to say.

You can find my masterlists here! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 13

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 7.1k words

Chapter Warnings: smut, Dean in rut, garage sex, pregnant sex, dirty talk, fluff, angst, language

A/N: Yeah, I had fun with this one!

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

How ironic. Exactly like that stupid song, with the crappy Canadian singer, who would’ve thought it? It certainly figured, and Dean kicked the ground beneath him like a petulant child. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “Not my Baby.”

But he quickly drew that kick back in as he realised just as quickly that the jackass Casper they’d been hunting was not only in the driver’s seat of his beloved car. She’d stepped on the gas and floored it.

Fuck.

Baby’s engine roared and her tires screeched as she took off straight towards him.

Fu-u-u-u-u-ck.

There wasn’t much time to think, let alone scratch his own ass. He spun on his feet, though. Twisted his torso, almost tripping over but then bolting in his boots over the pavers of the shonky old bridge. 

It was always a bridge, always in the middle of the night. Always up high with nowhere to go but forward or down if you felt like swimming. 

Which he did not. He’d tried that once before, and he’d found river slop stuck in the crevices of his sack days later because of it. 

So, he raised his knees higher, only for his bow legs to jolt them again and again on the downward. Thump after thump after thump. Yard after yard after yard. Each breath, more and more haggard as his beloved Impala inched closer and closer with every new inch he took. 

His old bones creaked beneath his weight. The wood and steel did the same, yet still he ran and it was a wonder the whole damn thing didn’t come tumbling down under him. It would seem luck was on his side until he reached the end where the suspension turned to gravel road and the sides were no longer railings and he flung himself off a la Superman with arms stretched out.

Then he rolled. Then flailed those same arms in the air, attempting to stop the inevitable. Of course, it did jack and his face planted into the dirt with an “urgh.” Or something close to it came from his mouth as he spat out all that had entered it. 

That’s when he heard the loud thunk, the crash, and the definitive crinkle of shattering glass as your words from the Salina diner eight weeks ago repeated in his mind.

“What would you do if Baby got totalled?” you’d asked him.

Well. He’d fucking flip his lid is what he’d do, but “Please, Baby, please,” he said in the moment. His eyes, wide shut in prayer as his elbows lifted him up off the dusty grass. 

To Dean’s horror, the transmission shifted, and the car moved again. Followed by the crunch of a tree and another shift that had him leaping up just in time to run - again. 

Why did this always happen to him? Why did it have to happen to Baby? Why did you have to go and…say all that crap you had about her getting totalled?

Yeah. You. This was all…

…your fault.

Well, not really. 

How could it be when you were five hundred miles away in Kansas, awaiting his and Sam’s return? You weren’t psychic. You certainly didn’t know this would happen when you’d compared your mate’s most prized possession to your own loss. Something you regretted since the moment the initial shock his car had attacked him delved. 

Your phone pinged with another message from Sam, and you looked down to see a simple thumb emoji flash over the map you had opened on the screen. 

Thanks for the warning…

Dean may have been in a foul mood, but now, three days after the incident on the bridge, his pin had moved to right outside, signalling their arrival, and thank god. He’d assured you he was okay. You just weren’t sure you believed him. 

“Daddy’s here,” you said sweetly to your bump. What little there was of it.

At fourteen weeks, your pup was the size of a peach. Or a kiwi, an apple, or a nectarine, depending on the chart you looked at. 

You had no idea which was correct when an animal one you’d found online said they were the same size as a hedgehog, however big they were, and another mentioned a scoop of ice cream. 

Whatever the comparison, it was safe to say you’d likely eaten all of it all together at once. What with the waistband of your jeans rather tight against your skin, leaving ugly marks that continued to irritate the spaces long after you removed them.

Not that you were complaining. 

Things had gotten better with you on that front, for sure. In fact, right until you smelt the first whiffs of citrus and bitter chocolate coming from your growing stomach, you’d been freaking out every other day.

But the more they grew, and the more the weeks passed, the more you became comfortable. Still cautious, but comfortable. 

And two more visits with Doctor Cameron in between Dean’s ‘pest control clients’ had helped.

You stood up from where you’d leant against the stair railing and felt the pressure ‘round your middle subside. Baby’s distant rumble had filtered down through the darkened tunnel, and you noticed a squeak accompanying it. That did not sound good.

Sam warned you it was bad. It just hadn’t crossed your mind her engine was in trouble too when Dean could still travel close to his usual speed. 

You tried to catch glimpses of your mate behind the wheel as the Impala rolled out onto the polished cement, but the dim lighting only made the one remaining headlight brighter. it wasn’t until he pulled her up in front of you with a very obvious jerk that you got a good look at everything. 

Her hood was bent. The roof caved in the middle like someone had tried karate chopping it. Her windscreen, gone. How he hadn’t been pulled over for having marble sized clusters of glass in its place was anyone’s guess. Yet, here she was, mangled. And here he was unscathed with a pout frowning his handsome face and a single scratch framing his cheek on its side.

You scented the air, making sure nothing else was going on; finding traces of oil and regret amongst the despair and frustration lacing his underlying buttery aroma.

All that you were expecting. Well, the regret, not so much. Especially when teed with sex and that muskiness that only came when he did, leading your mind into conclusion jumping. He made it worse when he turned to Sam in the passenger seat before turning to greet you. 

‘There has to be an explanation,’ your inner omega whispered, soothing the hurt that was trying to rear its ugly head. 

And she was right. She had to be. So you put on a brave face with the warmest, cheeriest smile you could, which wasn’t hard when Dean was involved. With Baby’s current state, he needed you to be his rock for a change and you scooted back a step, waiting for him to shut the ignition off and open the door. 

It took not one, but two shoves of his elbow, and a creek that rattled your ears worse than nails on a chalkboard for him to free himself. But the second he did, you leapt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing them tight.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean chuckled into your ear.

“Welcome home.” You grinned before pressing your lips to his and sampling the remnants of coffee and powdered sugar on his tongue. 

“‘S good to be back,” he said as you pulled away. 

Unlike you, he wasn’t convincing.

There was a strain in his voice that told the opposite. He hadn’t even kissed you back, and though you tried your best to hold the tears, truly you did. It became obvious it was a losing battle when you realised he’d tensed under your touch.

You unhooked yourself, took a step backwards, and swiped at your eyes before anything could fall. 

“Woah. Hey.” He cupped your chin and gripped your elbow, stopping you from moving any further when you scowled. “What’s wrong, omega?” he asked. 

What was wrong? You should’ve asked him that, but you didn’t. No. Oh no. You jumped right off the deep end with a decimal loud enough for Sam to hear from the other side of the car, and said, “Why do you smell like sex?” 

You didn’t care that he was there. You were all adults, and part of you hoped, if anything, he’d clue you in on what was going on, especially after all those warning messages he’d sent on the way home. 

Funny that he hadn’t told you about your mate’s change in scent.

But the acoustics in that throat clear of his caused you to huff and Dean’s brows to crinkle in the centre. “I’ll, ah, catch you two later,” he said, sauntering off down the stairs with a spring in his step, into the main part of the bunker behind you. That traitor. What the hell?

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean grumbled. The regret you’d noticed in his scent, coming in tenfold, with another chuckle, only after Sam’s footsteps trailed away and he’d looked over your shoulder to make sure. 

“There’s no need to get jealous. It was my time of the season.”

Your eyes opened wide, catching the smirk that would’ve had you falling head over heels in any other circumstance.

Now though? Now you wanted to punch him as he’d shown you months ago. A good knee to his knot wouldn’t go astray either.

“You had a rut, and you didn’t tell me?” 

“No. Hey. No, no. I got my hands on some suppressants.” Said hands raised in the air to placate. 

Suppressants? “But that’s worse!” Though the implication that he went out and dealt with it with someone who wasn’t you was just as bad. 

“How? You were here. I was on the road dealing with Miss Daisy’s ghost.” He thumbed behind him to Baby’s mangled, no longer sleek on the side metal. “And I can’t risk coming home to you like that.”

His eyes flicked down to your bloated stomach, fingers tracing the waist of your pants as he took you in further, igniting tingles down your spine. They hopped, skipped and jumped through muscle and tendons to pull a familiar warmth between your legs as his mouth stretched up into those brilliant greens of his. “When did this happen?”

“Don’t change the subject.” You smacked him on the shoulder, but Dean wasn’t listening. 

He dropped to his knees, much like he’d done the day he’d pointed out your pregnancy to you. Placed both palms on your firmer, popped out belly. He couldn’t contain himself. He shucked your shirt up and his nose soon tickled your navel as he pressed a tender kiss over the obvious dip there. 

“Well, now I’m jealous.” You grinned down at him, running your hands through his travel-blown hair. If you weren’t pregnant already, your ovaries would’ve self-combusted.

“Least your mom’s no longer mad,” he whispered against your skin. 

He wished.

Alright, mad, like the word hate, was a stretch. Frustrated. That fitted. Just as he had been, and still was over Baby two days later. 

It was going to take him weeks to repair her. At least, that’s what he’d told you the last time he’d resurged from the garage. But, hey. It meant he wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon, and you’d no longer be stuck alone reading dusty old books. 

There’d be no more hours with no one to talk to other than the pup, because you had Sammy to keep you company. Or Dean, if you wanted to hang out with and watch him go through the effects of taking the suppressants he’d “found” in Wyoming. 

Yeah, nope. You were still working on that. Something needed to be done if you wanted him to live long enough for your pup to present as an alpha as he’d predicted. 

The problem was, he was worried he might harm you or them on account of his rut being abnormal. Years of suppressant taking had led to heavier ones when he’d allowed them, but he wouldn’t take into account this one had come on naturally, and therefore was different. No. He was adamant he wasn’t risking it. Even when you insisted, his instincts wouldn’t allow him to get rougher than you could handle.

He was stubborn. He knew it, you knew it, and it was unfortunate you were also above dumping them down the toilet while you emptied the contents of your stomach. 

Him hovering over you while your head hung low in the small bedroom sink wasn’t the most opportune of times, either. 

“You okay?” His fingers smoothed over your hair. 

Urgh, no, though you didn’t have the energy to say it. If anything, you were helping his stolen suppressants do their job because who’d want to touch you like this?

One hand twisted the tap on full force to wash away the mess. The other patted the cool porcelain surrounding it in search of the cloth you’d replaced that morning, only to knock it off. 

Dean swooped down beside you and picked it up, manhandling you next. He straightened your back with a gentle nudge from the front and behind. Supported you and your body with a firm grip, soaking the cotton under the bubbling water and your heart in waves of serotonin. It was the most he’d touched you since coming home.

“You heard me?” you said as he dabbed the newly damp cloth to your forehead with the gentlest of touches that didn’t match the grease coating his hands.

“Only ‘cause I had to hit the head.” His crow’s feet framed his eyes as he shrugged. “Good thing I didn’t hold it.” He moved his hand to your cheek, puffing out his own. “I thought you’d stopped throwing up?” 

You bit your lip. That little detail was just another notch on the growing list of erroneous things you’d done to make your lives easier, and your jaw clamped harder before it let go. 

“Just when I think it’s gotten better,” you said, shaking your head with a slight jiggle. “The juice I had with lunch didn’t sit right.” 

Dean frowned. He pushed those cheeks of his into a full pout. Nothing like the one he’d given you in the garage, but accepting enough until he said, “You wanna come hang out with me?” 

Did you? When you knew there was an ulterior motive to keep those crow’s feet of his on you?

Even if you hadn’t wanted to, Dean didn’t give you a choice, and you soon found yourself watching him as he worked on Baby. Which was fine. For your own motives.

From the comfort of a picnic blanket he’d placed on the hood of an old-timey car, you tapped your foot to the beat of Highway to Hell playing on the stereo. You were livin’ easy, but you weren’t lovin’ free because queasy and overly emotional pregnancy symptoms aside, your body craved your alpha. His delectable scent, his touch. More so when he stood before you, in the form-hugging t-shirt that highlighted his pectorals and worn jeans that fell from his hips. 

Yeah, the grease monkey look wasn’t helping. Neither was the way he showed just how good he was with his hands. Soon your teeth were chowing down on your lip for another reason altogether as your lower ones flooded with their own kind of lubrication.

Okay, you had it bad, but he was flaunting it all in front of you by bringing you down here. And after two days of him hiding away with Baby and his scent lingering throughout the rest of the bunker, taunting and tugging you into some weird denial loop, how could you be blamed?

You squirmed in your spot, stretched out and fanned your legs with the skirt of your dress for some much needed cooler air. Not only did the breeze work a charm, it drew Dean’s attention to you, too, and you loved that. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” He looked up from his lean over the engine. With the angle hiding his face, you relied on your nose to read him. 

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded, tantalised by the musk you’d found wafting through the gap of the cars. He was sex on a stick, and he’d kept it from you for too long.

What the hell were you doing over here, when he was right there? 

You slipped off the edge and closed the gap between you. “How’s it going?” you asked, resting your palm on his lower back where his muscles tensed again.

“Can’t do much without the new parts.” He sighed and twisted something.

Well. His arm shifted up and down. Metal scraped against more metal, and there was definitely a clunk or two as he worked with whatever tool he was using. 

So your hand moved from him to the lip of the engine cavity and Baby’s not-so-black-anymore paint. “The dent’s gone,” you commented. What else could you say? You had no idea what he was doing there, and if Baby held his attention, you’d use her as a way to his…heart.

“Yeah. First thing I did. And here.” He pointed to the underside of the hood, tracing his fingers over the middle crease with pride. You were more interested in his arms as the muscles underneath his skin rippled with the stretch. “Got rid of all the glass, too. Now it’s just a waiting game.”

He pushed himself up, dropping a featherlight kiss on the crown of your head as he stood tall. 

And…was that it?

No. 

God. 

Wait.

Really? 

You were gonna complain about that? At least he’d kissed you.

Barely…

“How long?” you said, leaning yourself back against Baby as he dug through his toolbox. You watched, more like examined, the rest of his skin that was exposed, and covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“Couple of weeks.” He chuckled, wiping his hands on an old rag. “Guess you guys are stuck with me.”

“Or you’re trapped here with us.”

He hummed at that. Lips pursing into a rueful smile as he pulled out another tool. “That won’t be a problem in a couple of days.”

“But it’s a problem now?” you said, and it was almost venomous. Almost because you were still the sweet submissive omega. The one trying not to burst yet again as your hormones took over your body in too many directions all at once.

Stuck was an insult. Sort of… Well, in that tone, it was.

He’d been so gentle. He always was. Washing your face and soothing your hair while you hacked your guts up. He’d held you close, then got you all comfortable on the other car. Made you the sandwich you’d washed down with that awful juice, but those things didn’t make up for the avoidances, the flinches and the sigh of frustration he wasn’t hiding.

“We’ve been over this.” He dropped the tool back down, spreading more grease over his brow with the other hand. 

Screw his tools. His car. The hairs on his head were getting more action than you were, and that was… this was… God, you were pathetic. But that thought didn’t stop you from tearing it up. “No. You made an important decision without me, and then holed yourself down here the second you got home.”

So he’d go into rut if he succumbed and ditched the suppressants? It was far better than endangering himself further with a prescription that wasn’t his. It was a miracle he’d knocked you up first time after years of…medicinal abuse.

Alright. Alright. You were his soulmate, and a little pissy. Okay, a lot. But you doubted his inner alpha would harm you if he took control. The pup was also his, technically, and you stood up and reached for his hands, only for him to pull them back. 

You were going to tell him you were worried about him. You would’ve begged him to stop. Would’ve. Were. Hah. Not anymore. You sure snapped instead. “You won’t even touch me?” May as well have been diseased with the way he was avoiding you, but he had no qualms about biting back. 

“I held your hair while you hurled.”

“Gee. Thanks,” you said, not caring that it sounded ungrateful and bratty. He’d only done it because he’d walked by, and the jackass blinked at your sarcasm. 

“I’m doing this to protect you!”

“And you’re hurting yourself in the process. It’s just sex, Dean.” 

“No. It’s a rut!”

“With your mate!” Again. His alpha knew you were pregnant. You knew it wouldn’t be as full on as he thought. They also taught you this in school, for fuck’s sake. Okay, maybe you were a little worried, and…no. No. He’d never hurt you.

But then he snatched at your wrist and took you by surprise. He pulled you towards him and dug his fingers into the soft, fleshy globe of your right ass cheek, and it was good. Very, very good. Especially when he pressed you into the growing bulge in his pants, and his hot breath fell into your ear.

“You think I don’t wanna bust my knot in you?” The aggression rolled off his tongue, landing smack bang in your core. “‘Course I do. I’d bend you over the hood right there and rail ya.”

“Then do it.” You reached between your bodies with what little space there was, gaze searching for any more opposing arguments. 

He jolted your arm, still in his grasp. The twang it caused rippled through the bone and into your elbow, but it didn’t stop you. Even when he warned you with “Omega,” you just purred.

Yeah, the submissive act contradicted your fingers looping round the fine metal detailing and worn leather of his belt, but he wasn’t challenging you. He never demanded you move your hand. His hips swayed with you as you tugged the end free, though, and that was a good enough sign he wanted this as much as you did. He’d told you himself. His alpha, so close to the surface. Only—

“I can’t,” he said in a pained voice. 

“You can.” He could, and you popped the button on his fly and undid the zip one - tooth - at - a - time. Testing, teasing, and, most importantly, proving him wrong, even as he twitched at the slightest touch of your palm. His cockhead straining against the denim confines had a life of its own.

“Help me down,” you said, and there was no shoving or pushing or rushing when you bent your knees. His hands just gripped yours and helped you lower with ease. Not letting go until you looked up and his fingers were brushing the strands of hair away from your face. Keeping them there against your temples, and god, he was beautiful. 

His sun kissed face from years behind the wheel and those sparkling greens would have captivated you for longer in any other moment. But in this one, your fingers brushed over him too. 

You took hold of his jeans and shimmied them off his hips. One side, then the next, loosening the belt loops and repeating the process until there was enough room to pull him free and meet him, face to…head. 

It was rare he let you do this. Blow jobs usually required catching him by surprise first. That in itself was hard to do when his senses went off at the slightest shift of the most minuscule things. Bed sheets moving. Your toes of your shoes squeaking on the floor beneath you when you shuffled your legs (that had you looking up to check).

The joys of being mated not only to an alpha, but one who thrived on acts of surprise himself. Ones you hoped to get out of him after he spilled down your throat. Maybe back in your bed, or in Baby. Didn’t matter. You just needed him to let go, and then some, for his health’s sake, and yours. 

You brought your lips to the slit, tasting the first drops of salt on your tongue. Widened them over the width of the crown. Wrapped your entire mouth around the tip, and looked up with a pucker. A certain air of innocence, even though you were far from it.

He grunted. His head fell back. You were certain his everyday conscience was no longer in the driver’s seat when his nails scraped over your scalp and clasped a sizeable chunk of hair, twisting and turning it through his fingers.

The pull urged you on. The resistance made you splutter until you relaxed your jaw and tried again. Down, down, down. Inch by hardened inch, thick and long, filling your mouth and throat with musk and more saltiness that dripped down into your stomach with a warmth like no other.

Your hand wrapped around him, warm. Your legs and between them. Fuck. Warmer still. Your cheeks and tongue that lay flat below the lip of his head. His swollen knot below your fingertips that throbbed and quickened as you attempted mimicking your walls when they clenched. It all left you tingling in need and in pride.

Your free fingers danced over his skin where they could. They scratched and embedded the tips of your nails into his freckles and battle scars. Along his spine. Up his chest and across his stomach.

That grunt was because you touched him there. That growl, thanks to that squeeze on his knot. The low rumble that reverberated in your ears as they passed below his navel and over the chiselled V directed you south to cup his balls, had you pretty pleased with yourself.

You fondled them. Rolled them in your palm, feeling the heaviness and the heat under the silky, rough texture. Another growl from above when you tugged ever so gently, stroking the sensitive skin at the base of his perineum at the same time. You needed to remember that.

“Omega.” He caressed your chin. “Need you.”

And you flattened your tongue and dragged your teeth along his underside in response. Over the vein, catching on the lip of his velvety head, releasing him with a wet pop as you caught his heated gaze. 

“You have me,” you said, but he was tugging you up, doing the same to your dress and bra once he’d pulled you to your feet.

From head to toe, he drank you in. His eyes, focused on your fuller breasts and rounded tummy on the second sweep, flushed your cheeks and had you feeling exposed.

Did he have to look at you like that?

Swallow? Clench his jaw. His hands were nowhere near you. The gap between you suddenly felt very wide. When you tried to close it up again and reached for the hem of his shirt to make things fair, he was pushing you off.

His own fingers moved to your bloat. That apple, peach, hamster and ice cream scoop beneath your skin weren’t as large as his calloused hands. Though it sure fit in them snug.

“Look at ya,” he said, but you were looking at him again. The fiery red tip of his cock twitched along with his lips as he stepped closer. “Getting all round with my pup. Shame I can’t fuck another one into you.” 

There went your already soaked panties. Your ovaries, blown.

“You can always try?” And this time when you went for his shirt, he didn’t stop you. Nor when you pounced.

Your mouth came over his free neck and shoulders first. With a strong desire to worship, you trailed nips and kisses over his jugular, Adam’s apple, and up to his ear, where you nibbled on the junction of his jaw. Everything you knew he liked, every piece of skin he found erogenous. Your mouth and hands were there, as were his. 

They kneaded your breasts with perfect pressure. Massaging and caressing the uncomfortable aches and itches out of them you’d been feeling for days. He smoothed down your sides, eliciting tingles that yanked the strings connected to your core. 

His tongue licked you there and his thumb pinched and pressed in that sensitive spot he knew with his eyes shut, working your body like he was fine-tuning an engine. 

Huh.

Ironic when you had oil on your hip from the perfect imprint of his pinky. 

He had pre-cum on his foot until he spun you around and swiped it all over your lower back, cool and wet, when he cradled his arm over your middle. 

Your heart melted and more slick pooled at your entrance, even as he pushed it back inside with two thick digits and a delicious squelch. The pad of his thumb circling your clit strained and stretched the remaining material covering your mound and ass. It accommodated him. Turned your insides to goo with the tickle, and another pinch you could definitely get used to. 

“I’m, ah, supposed to be taking care of you,” you said as he patted your juices back against your sensitive skin. 

“You will.” He chuckled, rutting his hips against you until you mewled.

How the hell did he do that? You were in control for all of five minutes, but now you were the one whimpering at his touch. Full of anticipation as he inched your thighs apart to make room for him.

It throbbed still. It warmed you again, only now from your entrance in. Your muscles clenched over him, trying to draw it in and push his fingers out, because you needed him ploughing into you. Needed that full feeling. Needed his knot.

Whether he took the hint of you adjusting to catch the tip at your entrance or he decided he was ready to thrust into you was neither here nor there. He pushed your shoulders into Baby, and your aching tits, the cool glass that wasn’t broken. 

He lined himself up, and you caught it all in the side mirror. His hips as they shoved up into your tight hole. Knot and all, in as far as your body would allow. Forehead as it thumped onto your upper back. His jaw dropping and mouth opened wide in a beautiful display of lust and relief.

That sublime stretch and sweet friction of his knot already catching on reentry each time had the skin there buzzing and fluttering under the surface.

Fuck.

You could almost come undone there. All that energy convincing him to fuck you had you fit to burst and desperate. 

So when he pulled out and forced himself back in on trembling legs that shook against your clit, you drenched him. Crying out, shaking and trembling yourself as the little shockwaves flooded your nervous system, and you were grinning like an idiot. Unable to close your mouth, unable to hold still.

“Fuck. Is all this for me, omega?” He paused and gave you a feral smirk when he caught your reflections and you raising your head to stare back at him. “Guess you like what you see?” And with his fingers resting on your ass, he leant back and watched, too. His chin, down and smirking as he pumped with languid strokes, in and out, slower and slower. 

“Alpha,” you begged ‘cause fuck, his ego could wait. You needed more. 

“All knocked up and still needing my knot, huh?” He snapped up, and you whined at the sweet, sweet fullness. Whining again when he pulled all the way out. Legs still shaking beyond belief.

“Dean?” you said the moment you could, but he was guiding you to spin around and face him with a grin you wanted to smack off of his. Before you knew it, his hand had lifted your leg by its knee, tucked your heel snug behind his ass and pressed into you, and you into Baby’s side.

“Can’t knot ya like that.”

Your back arched over her metal. 

“Gonna give Sammy a show.” Wait, what? You slid back down, still twitching. Breath staccato’d in your throat and nose. A whimper following. 

“Walk with ya still on my cock…and…”

But you didn’t hear the rest. You weren’t even sure he’d said anything after you still being on his cock because, next minute he’d pulled your tit into his mouth, and all coherent thoughts went out the window. 

Yup. Mm-hmm. That wet soothed the ache. Every bump on the topside of his tongue felt as he swirled it round and round. Suckled and sucked with expertise until your budding nipple and surrounding skin strained. 

And then his hips found their rhythm. 

Tension. Tingles. Titillating tugs and nips. You grabbed onto him for dear life as that familiar euphoria bubbled up and down the base of your spine. 

His knot swelled, yet still he pumped, grunting, growling, forcing it in and out of your tight cunt. Catching on the seam where your body ended, and he began. So good. So…so…just so. And just when you thought you were about to pop again, his teeth were on his claim and they sunk down deep as he popped himself and stilled. 

The pulse of his cum quickening out of him, pulled you from the sting and doused your inner walls with more warmth, flooding you with a high like no other. 

You’d float away if it weren’t for him, looming over you. Hearing every pant next to your ear as he licked the fresh wound. The tang of blood on your tongue when he pulled up and kissed you with such force, his lips squashed yours back. 

That’s the kind of kiss you’d expected when he’d arrived home. The fire you needed. Such passion and intensity, that had you sniffing the air and breathing all of him in. 

He was in full blown rut. 

Cum, slick, sweat. His earthy undertones and musk against butter, whisky, and the motor oil he’d been using. Your apple mixed and collided with it. But the sweetest and best of all? 

Bitter chocolate and sweet citrus still laced the air under everything else.

They were okay. Just as you knew they would be. Still safe and sound, if only feeling them kick to be certain wasn’t weeks away. 

Your hand slipped down between you and stroked the side of your bloat, though. Your gaze flicking down away from him to see the swell where your tummy and his toned muscles pressed together. 

“You happy now?” he said, cupping your chin to look into your eyes. “Got yourself all full of me?” 

“Mm-hm.” You hummed, wiggling your hips until he growled lowly. “I need more.” 

“No. You need rest,” he said, scooping up your other leg under the knee and digging his fingers into both of your ass cheeks. 

Next thing you knew, he leant back. Let you fall into his warm chest as he moved towards the stairs like he hadn’t just busted his nut in you, and something about Sammy getting an eyeful crept into your mind. 

He wouldn’t…

…but he did.

And when he next came to be in control, however many hours (or days) later, Dean remembered it all. Only unlike the beast within, he held remorse. You were both lucky you hadn’t run into Sam as he trailed both your naked asses through the bunkers’ halls and given him an eyeful. 

No doubt he’d smelt the ruckus. Or at least, no, definitely heard it. 

The garage had great acoustics, and the halls echoed every damn footstep, boots or no. Even here in your bedroom, noises carried because of the stupid grate in the door. 

Sammy would’ve heard everything. The grunts. The snarls. The slap of his sack swinging against your clit when he took you from behind, here on the old bed. His alpha, railing you in the shower after you’d insisted you needed a bathroom break, telling you to “take it,” against the bathroom tiles. 

He hadn’t even had the decency to get you into a stall first. Although, come to think of it, what had transpired was safer. No chance of complications, including slippage from leftover water by the drain.

Besides, Sam was the first to tell him he was a fool to take the suppressants before you’d even figured it out. Sam being so smart would’ve known to stay clear. Probably put you up to all this.

Not that you’d had any complaints regarding the four knots he’d given you.

No. You purred in content now. Snuggling next to him on the memory foam. Your head further into the fluffed pillow and his arm, not so fluffed under that.

Yes, you were pressed into his chest, warm and snug in his embrace as was his pup in your belly. His cockhead, still catching on the natural dip your walls made as they relaxed, spilled inside of you on each twitch and pull.

He sniffed the air and his claim. Nuzzled into it, giving another lick to soothe the inflamed skin there. His hand caressed the tiny bump below it, as he looked over your shoulder and surveyed your face for any distress.

Of course, you were still recovering from all the sex, but a piece of him still held concern for you. What if he’d been too rough? What if he’d hurt you or…him?

Hmm. Him. 

Those lips of his curled and his torso swelled on the inhale as he breathed it all in again. Apple, orange, chocolate, and traces of motor oil, still on his hands.

Spendings.

Home.

His family.  

Even though he missed you warming his bed and the shower pressure of the bunker. Going out into the world to deal with witches and dead grandmas was all worth it, knowing he was coming home with less of them out there to harm you both. 

Even if Baby suffered.

“What d’ya say to a bath once we’re free?” he said. Hopefully, you’d add some of that perfumed salt crap you liked that got all up in his cracks and tingled him delightfully.

“Probably a good idea, seeing we didn’t get that far last time.” Your fingers stroked his topmost arm. 

“You had to take a leak.” 

“Yeah.” Your hands moved into pinching the hairs on his arms. “And I had you hovering over me.”

Technically, that was his alpha, but he was at attention, too, making sure you stayed upright on account of the jello legs from all the fucking. “Well, you poked the bear.” He chuckled, but… shit. Screw bears Your scent flared, and he was about to deal with one released kraken.

“I had to.” Your body tensed in his arms.

“And I didn’t wanna hurt the pup,” he said, knowing any mention of him would calm you right down.

You may have hid it. Even convinced yourself you weren’t still worried about losing him though you were in the ‘safe zone,’ but he saw the constant checking. The way you scented for him every morning before you got up and every hour after. Through each knot and subsequent refractory period. You did it again now, as he just had.

But this business over his rut was getting old, and he sighed, more in content than anger. “We had some good sex.” You couldn’t deny that.

“Yeah,” you said again, but the quiet in your tone had him wary. You’d better believe what he said next was to keep the conversation light and not piss you off any further.

“Should make the most of it before we’re dealing in diapers and zero sleep.” He hummed.

You looked up. Turned your head so he could see your pout and eyes boring right back into the other side of his skull. “Does that mean no more suppressants?”

“Well, no more stealing them.” His tongue peaked through his lips.

You smacked his hand, and his body jolted in reflex. He felt his knot pull. But it didn’t hurt, and you didn’t have any grievances. Not for this, at least. 

There was no gasp of pain. No flinching or jolting yourself. So he looked down to your join, leaned more into it and tugged, just a little, able to slip out with another. 

The added spillage of cum and slick oozing out onto your leg had him raising his eyebrows at the sight and he smirked. He fisted himself and, with his still sensitive tip, pushed it back in before rolling you over and pinning you down in one swift movement. His weight, on his elbows. Knees and ankles caught in the fray of sheets.

“You want me to knock you up first heat after this one? You got it.” He grinned. and took your breath away before you could say anything against it. Mouth locked on yours and tongue dipping in for the kill with his signature move. He soon had you keening again.

It’d be one kid at a time, for sure. Contrary to what he’d just said. He needed to survive you through the rest of this first, only slightly worried about his hand and the future of his sack. He’d be at your head end during the birth if he could help it.

All jokes aside, he pulled back and gazed over at you, licking his lips. The swell of your stomach. The glow. Your scent. This suited you. Your fuller rack suited him, too.

But he could do without the frown. Those lines between your brows only looked good when he hit your g-spot.

Your hands came up, splaying over his chest, stroking over his skin and tattoo with delicate slides and eliciting tingles. “That’s not what I meant,”

Well, obviously. “I know. But the job… it’s dangerous. It’ll probably kill me first.” His tone was lighter on purpose, even though it was a harsh truth, no matter how many times he’d tell you. 

“That’s…not helping.” 

“You want me around ‘til I’m old and grey? Missing teeth and driving you to hurting innocent cars?” He didn’t want to end up like Seymour. You wouldn’t end up like his mate Alice if he could help it. Crazy. Most likely from him. Dean would have to make sure Baby passed to Sammy or the pup instead of you, just in case. 

“I want you around.”

“Well, you have me for at least a month. Maybe even here for the next scan.” He smirked. Then stole another kiss.

He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t imagine leaving you and him alone and early. But what could he do? He was a grunt, remember? He’d go stir crazy like old Alice. Driven to despair, and attempt murder that wasn’t provoked.

No. He was good. He loved his life, for the most part. He loved you. He just had to find a way to not get ganked too early, and stick around.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Gah. Friday snuck up on me and I was frantically getting this one ready to post here. Oops.

Coming soon- Dean in a baby store. See a little tid bit below 👇❤️

Chapter 14: Announcement - 22/05

Where to start? The music with its whiny drone and high-pitched piano? The mish-mash of colour, dominated by rainbows and construction truck yellow? The smell of snotty noses, diapers and Cheez Doodles? Had every kid pooped in here or was there something wrong with the plumbing?

Alright, a salvage yard would’ve had none of these things (might’ve stank a little), but the pup store had the upper hand for worst, simply on the fact you were there, amongst people he didn’t know.

He’d slung his arm over your shoulders and directed you around the other shoppers with the widest of gaps possible between you and them, following the signs to the wall of strollers on the left. You passed the conveniently located nesting section right by the cash registers on the way, of course. Full of all things fluff, including stuffed animals.

Dean may have glared at another alpha who got too close when you stopped. He may have sympathised with another who also found himself stuck while you and his omega eyed one fugly looking cushion, but he said nothing. Neither did the other guy. Though there was an eye roll when your scent peaked in full delight as you ran your fingers through the fur that could’ve passed for a muppet.

Oh god. His world was going to be full of Elmo and Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? Or that blue thing with the Australian accent he kept seeing as you walked by older pups sitting in the main part of their parents’ carts with eyes glued to their screens.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[hockeytwittereats]

Because of my rant? lol to @stuckinthistaydream: I really think there is so much to explore AROUND love and a relationship for Taylor she has never gotten to before. The idea of having someone there as your soft place to land when you need it and getting to be the same to that person. The idea that someone doesn't look at your past as a warning label, but loves the idea that you will write about him (Travis was just itching to claim any song about him on TTPD). It's the idea of love without feeling used or having to hide. Love while being given space to heal and support to do so. Love with security, belonging, and frankly being welcomed. Travis made sure Taylor was welcomed and felt safe in KC which is why every time one of his teammates is asked about her, they can actually answer: she is welcomed into team gatherings like every other partner.

People have boiled down the idea of love songs to like "omg I love this person so much" when there are so many other feelings around it that Taylor hasn't gotten to exploring. And they started in some of her mashups like her big-brained YAIL/FOTS one that is actually one I think might be a big theme-hint for TS12. It's the idea of coming home to your person and knowing that you're wanted there.

And I think she's been feeling like she was only with men because they tolerated parts of her and embraced other parts. And for the first time in her adult like, she is fully embraced for who she is and all she is without being made to feel bad for it. Her ambition is encouraged. Her love of taking care of people is also encouraged. All of her is embraced and it has made her life safer than ever emotionally.

[cinnamon7girl7]

"THROUGH THE SILENCE, I WILL RETURN TO YOU – PART 4."

♡ — Summary: I thought I had it all — Satoru’s love, Megumi’s warmth, and Suguru’s trust. But even the strongest love can break when truth hides behind silence. One betrayal changes everything; pain drives them apart, yet memories and a love still alive won’t let them go. Now, Satoru fights for a second chance, and she must decide if, after all the hurt, love is still worth it. ♡ — Author's note: This is the fourth part of this story. I recommend reading the first three chapters (one, two, and three) so everything makes more sense. Thank you so much to everyone who has been waiting for each part of this story. It was really hard to write, but it was a dream I’ve always had. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Silence Hurts More

Silence had become a constant guest in the house. There were no more laughs in the kitchen when someone messed up breakfast. No more hurried footsteps in the hallway, or that soft sound of muffled laughter coming from the back room.

Only the echo remained—of what was once a home full of light.

I sat at the edge of the bed, in the room I once shared with Satoru. The blanket was still neatly folded, but his side remained untouched, as if I hadn’t had the strength to undo that half of the world we had built together.

—"Mom…" —Megumi peeked through the doorway, his voice barely a whisper.

I looked up, trying to force a smile.

—"Yes, my love?"

—"Can we have breakfast together…?" —he asked with a new kind of shyness, as if the pain had made him quieter too.

—"Of course. I’ll be right down."

Megumi nodded. He didn’t ask about Gojo. Not since that night.

Not since he saw the suitcase in the hallway, and heard his mother cry for the first time.

The kitchen was quiet.

She was making tea while Megumi watched her in silence, his chin resting on the table, his eyes a little dull.

—"Do you remember when he tried to make us daifuku?" —he asked suddenly.

She froze mid-movement.

The memory hit her like a cold wave in the stomach.

—"He left everything covered in flour… even you," —Megumi said with a small smile.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Because she also remembered how Satoru came over with flour-covered hands and drew a heart on her cheek.

How he said he would make daifuku every day just to see them smile like that.

But now, the daifuku tasted like lies.

Like silence. Like all the things he didn’t say.

Later, I was walking through a park I used to visit with Satoru.

The cold wind slipped through my coat, but what hurt the most was the habit of looking to my side and not finding him there.

—"Why didn’t you trust me?" —I kept thinking over and over.

—"Why did you look me in the eyes all those days and say nothing?"

I remembered a moment with Suguru, weeks ago.

The three of us were having coffee.

Satoru had that calm smile, but his hand wouldn’t stop gripping the cup.

Suguru looked at him with concern, and when we asked what was going on, both of them laughed and said they were just talking about missions.

Now I knew.

Now I understood.

That afternoon, I found Megumi in the small garden we used to take care of together.

—"I'm planting new flowers," —he said, digging the soil with force.

—"Why?"

—"Because the others didn’t grow anymore. And I don’t want the garden to die too."

I approached slowly, kneeling by his side.

—"Thank you for taking care of everything, Gumi."

—"Are you okay…?" —he asked, without looking at me.

I took a while to answer.

—"I’m learning to be."

He nodded, biting his lip. Then he pulled something out of his pocket: a small, wrinkled drawing.

It was a cartoon of the three of us: Satoru, him, and me, hugging.

—"I didn’t want to throw it away," —he said— "But I don’t know where it belongs anymore."

I took it gently between my fingers, like something sacred.

—"Keep it for now. One day we’ll know if it still has a place."

The nights were the hardest.

When Megumi was asleep and there were no more tasks to keep me busy, I was left alone with the weight of my heart.

I would go through old messages I had never deleted.

Voice notes filled with laughter.

Photos from trips, from dinners, from ordinary days where Satoru hugged me from behind while I cooked, saying things like:

—"You know what I want for dessert? You."

I closed my eyes and pressed the phone to my chest.

"How do you move on from something that was part of your soul?" I thought.

Several days went by. One afternoon, someone knocked at the door—someone you didn’t expect.

—"Suguru?"

He looked up, wearing his usual expression, though a bit dimmed.

—"Can I come in?"

I nodded.

We sat on the balcony, where we used to have tea when he visited. The air was cool, and the sky was painted a soft gray.

—"Has he been trying to reach you?" —Suguru asked, direct.

—"Every day," —I answered without looking at him.

—"And you haven’t replied."

—"I don’t know if I could, honestly. I don’t think I could do it without breaking again."

Suguru stayed silent for a few seconds, then said:

—"He didn’t tell you anything because he thought protecting you was more important than trusting you with the truth. I’m not justifying what he did… but I also can’t let you believe it was all selfishness."

When I looked at him, there was restrained sadness in his eyes.

—"Did you know everything from the beginning?"

Suguru lowered his head.

—"Yes."

I pressed my lips together. It hurt, but I wasn’t surprised anymore. What hurt most was realizing that everyone around me had made decisions for me.

—"I thought at least you…" —I whispered.

—"I know," —he interrupted, his voice hoarse— "And I’m sorry. But you have to understand something: Satoru loves you like I’ve never seen anyone love. He was destroying himself to keep you safe. Even if he got it all wrong."

I closed my eyes, holding back tears.

—"He never thought the truth could also make me feel safe. He didn’t get that. He never let me choose."

Suguru nodded.

—"Maybe you can still choose what to do with it."

That night, I stayed in the living room with Megumi watching a movie. He fell asleep with his head on my lap.

I gently stroked his hair, remembering the early days with him. When he came into my life scared, trusting no one, and how little by little he started getting closer to me… until one day, with a trembling voice, he said:

—"Can I call you mom?"

I closed my eyes tightly, holding back the tears.

Sometimes it felt like it was all too much.

And yet, there I was.

Alive. With Megumi.

Moving forward, even though it hurt.

On the other side of the city, Satoru sat alone on the rooftop of a building.

The wind tousled his hair, but he didn’t care.

His eyes were red, his hands trembling, his cheeks stained with dry tears, the beautiful engagement ring in one hand and in the other, an open letter.

A letter he never got to give you.

One that began with: "If I ever hurt you, I just want you to remember how much I love you..."

And for the first time in days, he lifted his head with determination.

—I'm going to win her back —he murmured—. Even if it’s the last thing I do.

[maxdibert]

You mentioned that JKR doesn't really understand poverty and I don't fully agree, because she was able to portray it well with Severus' home life. But well, perhaps he's just the exception. She got that one thing right about poverty.

And it's a bit confusing to me. Because while it seems that JKR is aware that kids in a context of social vulnerability are more likely to fall into radicalization... I feel like she still acts like it was a moral failing on Severus' part. Like it was still his fault for not being stronger or better.

I don't know how to explain it, but I feel like she never offers Severus much sympathy. Because the narrative constantly brings him down. Because he's the one character who constantly has to make up for his mistakes, the one who never stops feeling guilty. It's like the narrative is saying we can feel bad for him, but not TOO BAD, because he was still a death eater and it's all his own fault. And I don't agree. In my opinion, it's much more about the system of society that failed him.

That’s exactly why Rowling doesn’t understand poverty or the consequences of growing up in an environment with zero economic or social resources. Rowling constantly blames characters who have experienced genuinely awful childhoods for not miraculously overcoming their trauma and becoming moral paragons, completely ignoring what that kind of trauma means for children and adolescents, and the impact it has on their lives and cognitive development.

Take Harry, for example: he’s a traumatised boy with a background of abuse, but he’s still able to choose the “right path.” Rowling elevates him precisely because, despite his turbulent past, he’s able to see the light and follow it. Leaving aside the fact that once Harry turns eleven, he gains not only financial support through inheritance but also emotional support via the adults around him who form a solid safety net, the truth is that you can’t base a general sociological opinion on an exceptional individual case. This is why I say Rowling has a deeply neoliberal mindset, she falls straight into the narrative of “if you’re poor, it’s because you want to be,” which can be extended to any other area. That is: if you take the wrong path, it’s because you chose it. It’s an easy thing to say, but how much of a person’s ‘bad choices’ are really down to free will, and how much are dictated by their environment? Is it fair to say someone made the wrong choice without first analysing the context and whether they ever really had a viable alternative?

In Harry’s case, it would be easy to say that he chooses the right path “despite everything” because where there’s a will, there’s a way, but is that really true? Didn’t he inherit a fortune that gave him financial stability? Didn’t the Weasleys practically adopt him and offer him the family and emotional support he never had? Didn’t he have friends who would sacrifice anything for him? Didn’t he benefit from the favour of his Head of House, McGonagall, his Headmaster, Dumbledore, and many other adults throughout the saga who acted as a support network he could rely on? Didn’t he have guiding authority figures who nudged him towards the morally ‘right’ path?

Rowling blames Snape for his mistakes and tries to convince the audience that he made all the wrong choices and must atone for them. But is that fair? Snape didn’t have Harry’s financial privilege. He never had a Weasley-like family to lean on, and his teachers turned a blind eye to the bullying and abuse he endured. It’s not a fair comparison, their material conditions were completely different.

How can Rowling claim to understand poverty when she blames a boy who was just publicly humiliated in the worst possible way — his naked body exposed to everyone — for overreacting and saying something he shouldn’t? How is it fair to hold him responsible for “choosing the dark side” when that was literally the first and only place in his life where he was offered a sense of belonging, security, and a glimpse of a future? Rowling doesn’t understand what it truly means to have nothing, to be completely without resources. That’s why she makes Snape pay for his ‘sins,’ which were nothing more than clinging to the only people who ever offered him a place in society.

Having social awareness means understanding that when someone has absolutely nothing, they’ll hold on to whatever and whoever gives them a sense of safety and a future. That’s exactly how cults and criminal gangs operate: they target vulnerable youth with promises of belonging and stability. And that’s what happened to Severus. And yes, it’s true that he fell in with the wrong crowd and those people did terrible things. But there’s a difference between committing crimes out of malice and doing so out of desperation, and ignoring that distinction is profoundly classist.

[eveningspirit]

If Trinity and Frank are indeed the same, why did I connect with Frank so hard, while Trinity is only the character I appreciate? I've been wondering about it from the beginning of the show, because Trinity definitely has some of the characteristics that make me go *.*

And yet..

It's not a gender thing, I analyzed it back and forth, left and right and in all other directions for a long time. I freely admit, that I haven't yet come across a female character that I would feel as strongly as I do about many male characters (the closest comes La'An Noonien-Singh from Star Trek: SNW). However, I chalk it mostly to the fact that well-writtem female characters are a relatively new concept.

BTW, it has to be said that The Pitt has so many fantastic and multidimentional female characters.

About Trinity, though. And Frank

--and why he has my whole heart mind, while she doesn't.

I think it's a matter of masking. They are the same at the core, yes. Both ambitious, both proud and both seeking connection and approval. And both deeply hurt, to the point where they have to hide parts of themselves behind A Mask.

They go about it in very different ways, I think.

Frank tricked everyone (including me) with how competent and strong and yappy--and happy--he is. It's the surface, the projection.

Trinity, meanwhile, is abbrasive, she doesn't try to make people like her, quite on the contrary. Oh, she wants to be liked, just as Frank does. She soaks up Garcia's niceness like a flower in the drought. But she's not going to try extra hard. She doesn't trust people and she doesn't want to trust people, she can saunter through life all on her own, thank you very much (this is a lie).

Whereas Frank... Frank asks Robby, "Are we still friends?" Frank clocks a *sunshine* newcommer and (it's important) a resident, who will most likely stay in this ED. He gets out of his way to befriend her. He tries to impress an MS4, who may potentially end up in this ED, but then, he may not, so he doesn't put in much effort. And he is professional, but nothing beyond that, toward an MS3, who, most likely, he won't meet again after her rotation here is over in three-to-four weeks (or a couple months? I'm not sure how long student rotation is.).

Frank needs to have people around him, people who would give him the sense of belonging (all that praise kink talk is a lil' too much for me, but that's just me. you do you). Having a wife, kids, now also a dog is a part of it too. It's the "white picket fence life" that's supposed to be so... normal. Oh, make no mistake, he loves Abby and he definitely loves his kids. But the goal of the family is normalcy.

He doesn't want to be different than the rest of the world. Bigger, better, more shiny. Except maybe in medicine, but that's probably the only authentic thing in his life. His love for medicine. It's not means to an end. Besides, he likes Robby's approach, that this is a teamwork. Frank is a part of the team--again, belonging.

Trinity wants to shine. She has The Ego, and the means to show it. On the surface she doesn't care about belonging anywhere. She cares, she really, really does, about other people, but, oooh, allowing someone to see that? It's something she will fight to the bitter end. I'd say she was truly exhausted after this shift, when she let that fasade slip for a blink of an eye, and offered Whitaker a place to live. She imediately put it back up with that deflection about Krav Maga.

She's wonderfully complicated, that woman.

So, to sum it up. Yes, they are the same underneath. And they both project something that is not entirely true about themselves on the outside. But their masks are vastly different.

Oh, one more thing. The jokes, the jabs at other people. They both use sarcasm, but Frank aims it at his peers (Collins, Garcia, Princess is maybe not a peer, but she can hold her own) and only "belittles" Garcia, who gives as good as she gets, if not better. Trinity starts with jabs at those who are inferior to her (Victoria, Denis and Mel, who is not inferior--in fact she's superior as an R2--but her social skills are lacking and Trinity sees that), and those jabs hit the sore points of those people.

So, Frank's teasing is used as a bridge toward other people, without showing that he wants to build that bridge. While Trinity's teasing is a shield meant to keep people at a distance, so they don't see her vulnerability.

Yeah. Second attempt at a summary. ;) I want to say that them masking in different ways is most likely the reason I identify with Frank and only appreciate Trinity. Not that it's important, but my overthinking this bias led to the above analysis of their characters, so.. There you go.

Thank you for reading. :)

[ilovefredjones]

the frozen ii ending makes me soooooo angry like the whole POINT of frozen i was that elsa learned that she could rule arendelle with her powers and with anna by her side!!! literally in the bway musical she sings ‘i know i’ll never see that sunny day / when this trial is finally through / and it can just be me and you’ like. elsa WANTS to stay with anna

and they try and explain this somewhat in into the unknown, with the ‘who knows deep down i’m not where i’m meant to be’ but. WHY isn’t she where she’s meant to be. all of the first film was her learning that she belonged in arendelle and her powers/herself wasn’t something to be afraid of. why isn’t she meant to be with her family? with her sister who’s been desperate to reconnect with her? why doesn’t she belong where people readily love her and accept her and want the best for her?

and then, what about anna? there is no mention of her wanting/being ready to be queen in either two films. we don’t even see the offer on screen; we don’t get the sisters’ quiet, vulnerable conversation where elsa admits to wanting to live with the rest of the nature spirits and anna offers to take her place as queen. we don’t see anna begging elsa to stay in the forest because she can rule if elsa’s happier there. we never see their dialogue. it’s just so sudden. is anna once again just going along with what her sister wants? is elsa isolating herself all over again? we just don’t know. they both seem happy, but there’s barely any indication that it’ll lead up to that point.

it just makes no sense for either of their arcs, or their previous wants/needs. if they were meant to stay together, why separate them again? they just got each other back. and now they’re alone again.

[might-forget-this-blagg-exists]

i wonder if i'm treating it so much like a joke that i'm not getting across that i think Zato's character arc should be that he's homophobic, or at least he was acting in a homophobic way. I'm saying this based upon how he conducts himself around the other two, how repressed Venom is, how Millia and Venom grew so apart and hostile that they were only able to see each other as opponents, how he fixates on maintaining his relationship to Millia and yet assumes that their bond will remain unbroken until he can't deny that Millia has genuinely abandoned him, and then when he comes back from the dead he just bounces right back into the denial stage. I think the relationship between these three has been strained and torn because Zato was wary of Venom getting too close to himself (and thereby make Zato look gay) and Millia (and thereby make Zato look like a cuck).

But Like,,, obviously they won't put a character beat like that in Strive, right? this is just what I'm gleaning from how they've acted up until now. Interested to see how Venom's addition will change this weird notion of mine, if Zato's a part of it at all.

[xervn]

melatonin

two-shot | enemies to fuckers sevika x reader

pt. 2

ao3 link

summary: you're forced to go on a business trip with your least favorite coworker and share a room with her. now you can't sleep.

18+ MDNI | 4.1k words | tags; canon divergence, sevika is a little mean, sevika is nonchalant fr, reader is a brat, very light sub/dom, vaginal fingering, scissoring, begging kink, praise kink kinda, porn w/ plot-ish, no use of y/n

new record; took me 4 days to write. i don't know who possessed me. i love enemies to lovers so bad FUCKKKK!!!

“One room.” The motel owner, an old, short, and grotesque-looking woman with a thick accent, says. 

 “One room? Clear another one out then?” You insist, mildly threateningly. The woman’s eyes glaze over as she blinks. She’s not moved.

“There are two beds; who cares?” Sevika grumbles, clearly over your antics.

You shoot a glare in her direction, lip forming into a scowl. “I’m not sharing a room with you; you look like you snore.” 

She tells you something along the lines of go fuck or kill yourself (you weren’t really listening) before pushing past you and replacing the room keys on the counter with a stack of silver cogs. 

The owner collects the cogs with a grunt before adjusting her small reader glasses. Sevika strides off towards the rooms, and you quickly turn after her.

“Couldn’t you have tried to help?” You ask. Your eyes burn a hole through the side of her face.

She doesn’t spare you a glance. “You’re dramatic, and I don’t have the patience to deal with your bullshit right now.”

You hate her. You fucking hate her. You’ve been working alongside Sevika for two years now, yet you can’t shake the feeling. It started when you first met; Sevika was cold and critical, reprimanding you even though you were young and starting out. That’s not even what drove you to hate her, though; at least back then it felt like she was looking out for you, but you were painfully mistaken when you got promoted within the year. 

You don’t know what it was; jealousy, doubt, but her distaste for you only grew more apparent. There were fewer critiques and more insults about how you work or about your intelligence. Insufferable. She was insufferable.

There hasn’t been a day she’s been likable since then, so imagine your reaction when Silco tells you and her to go on a little business trip to Bilgewater. No matter how much the both of you wanted to protest, you didn’t. Instead you two argued amongst yourselves the whole trip there. 

Why would you want to spend even more unnecessary time around her?

The minute you guys enter your room, you don’t speak a single word to each other, let alone look each other’s way. You take turns using the restroom to get ready for bed, and then you find a place for your belongings, and Sevika ejects her bionic arm for the night. Although you two definitely don’t like each other, it doesn’t mean you don’t trust each other. You know she won’t rob you; she knows you won’t (can’t) take advantage and kill her. That’s the only semblance of peace you share.

— 

A faint amber light soaks through your eyelids, and you blink them open to the popcorned ceiling. You toss and turn in your bed, rustling around, unable to find a good position, and it doesn’t help that the cheap mattress is, well, cheap. You can’t sleep. You’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it’s never been a real problem before; you’d just stay up. Yes, you have permanent eye bags because of it, but it’s not like you can choose otherwise. You‘re from Zaun; any aid for it is not exactly accessible. 

However, the meeting you have tomorrow is important, so it’s important that you find a way. You can’t afford to slack off or doze off during it; you’re the negotiator, and tomorrow makes or breaks a trade deal that will be most beneficial for Zaun’s income. 

You rustle in your bed sheets again, and Sevika immediately groans. “Can you stop? And turn the lamp off.”

You look at her and you’re about to apologize, but you hold your tongue when you remember who you’re talking to. “I can’t sleep.”

“Turn the lamp off and fucking figure it out.” She snaps, turning her back towards you.

“Can’t you hear?” You squirm around, making as much noise as possible to get your point across. “I’m trying.”

“Find a different way. Count poros. Turn the lamp off.”

You scoff, eyes back on the ceiling, “I’m not five; counting poros doesn’t work, and I’m not turning off the lamp.”

You can hear Sevika shifting in her bed. “I knew you should’ve stayed back,” she sighs, “and you’re scared of the dark? Grow up.”

“Wow, fuck you. If you had asked nicely, I would’ve turned it off, and what do you mean I ‘should’ve stayed’? You’re not my boss. I’m more valuable than you are.” You angrily rant. 

“Alright, you are talking way too much right now. Cut it out.” 

“…No.” You reply. It sounds unconvincing with your lack of words, but it was the best you could come up with.

“Do you need calming tea or something? What will get you to shut up, because I’m about to hold a pillow over your head and call it a night.” She growls.

“Nothing. I can only sleep if I get a concussion or if I drink my pants off.”

She says your name like a warning, “If you ruin this deal, I’ll make sure to see you off myself.”

You bite back, “Sevika, if I could sleep, I would be sleeping. I don’t want to ruin it either, but your scolding isn’t helping.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Sevika grunts stubbornly. It’s followed by sheets moving and a dull stomp on the floor. You turn to look, and you see Sevika sitting at the side of her bed. 

You glance at her muscular thighs in those gray shorts—you couldn’t help it—before staring back at the ceiling. “Are you going to make me tea?”

She pushes off the bed with her one arm. “No.”

“Switching rooms then?” You ask as your eyes follow her shadow’s movement on the walls. 

“No.”

“Then... What is it?“ You turn, flinching a bit when you find Sevika peering down at you. 

She looks hesitant, timid; the first time you’ve ever seen it. “I’ll help you.”

Your defenses go off, and you quickly sit up. “Wait. You’re not going to kill me, right?”

“Over sleep? Are you stupid?” She pushes you back down, and not with much force, obviously.

You lay there, defeated. “So?”

“I said, ‘I’ll help you.'” She restates.

You stare up at her with slight annoyance, “Well, you have to tell me how?”

She has an indecisive frown before exhaling, “If you come, you’ll shut up.” 

Your head shakes in confusion. “Come? Where are we going?” 

“You’re an actual idiot.” She groans.

You gasp in offense. “You’re the one being fucking cryptic—“

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.” 

“What?”

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

“I heard you; I’m just,” you laugh nervously, “are you serious?” Your ears must be playing tricks on you. 

“We’re not close enough to joke around with each other.” She says plainly.

Baffled, you reply, “We’re not close enough to fuck either?” 

“Do you really care about shit like that? Sex is sex.”

You think about it for a second. You’ve never been in a proper relationship, and you’ve only had a handful of hookups, but you’ve never slept with someone you dislike, and you definitely don’t like Sevika. Even if she is hot. “Well, I guess not—“

“—Then what’s the issue?” Her eyes bore into you.

You gulp at the sudden weight of her stare, but you don’t crumble. “The issue is that I don’t like you. At all.”

Sevika scoffs, “I’ve seen the way you stare at me. You’re not subtle. At all. I saw you do it a few minutes ago.”

How embarrassing. It’s true, between all your hate are moments of admiration. Sevika is “cool,” she’s respected, she’s feared. She’s also full of herself, naggy, and blunt. Both things can be true. But on top of that, she’s hot to the point it’s frustrating. 

One time, while she was sitting in her designated booth at The Last Drop playing poker, she locked eyes with you after a big win. There was that sexy, satisfied grin she always gets after every win, and she had the audacity to lock eyes with you. 

Your thighs pressed together. You beat yourself up over it for the rest of the night and the following day; you couldn’t even look her in the eye without getting unreasonably angry.

Your face is turning warm, but there’s no point in turning away—you have to fake it until you make it. “Okay? What’s your point?” You ask, even though her point was very clear. You’re running yourself into walls.

Sevika already deciphered that; her face reads, ‘Where the fuck are you right now?’ “Listen, I don’t like you either, but if you want to sleep, I’ll help you, and if you don’t, I’ll get another room.” She explains.

You can tell it’s her final offer. You chew your bottom lip until you remember Sevika is still looking at you. Hiding your face behind your hand, you can’t believe you’re considering it. Sex with Sevika. Sounds mad when you repeat it in your head. It’s just sex, though, right? You knew she loved Zaun, but you didn’t know she loved it this much. Sleeping with you, practically her arch nemesis, for the betterment of society. That sounds insane. This is insane.

Sevika kisses her teeth, “Forget it—“ 

“—Okay,” you interrupt, “help me.” You’re unable to look her in the eyes. 

She looks at you dubiously, and her lack of doing anything unnerves you, so you continue. “Please?” You slowly look up at her, and you swear her eyes darkened. 

“Please?” She mimics. “Didn’t take you for the submissive type.” 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You reply, although it comes out like a whisper.

“Mhm,” she hums apathetically, pulling up the covers draped over you. Her knee makes a dip in the bed. “Make some space,” she asks. You sit up, and you have no idea what to do. Looking left and right, you'd think you were trying to cross the road. She stares blankly. “Just spread your legs.” She commands.

You immediately do as she says, and she chuckles to herself at how you continue to prove her right. You’re clearly not a fan of that, your frown prominent. “What’s funny?” 

Sevika kneels herself between your legs, using her arm to help balance her in place. “Man, you love to argue.” 

You shrug. “I’ll stop when you fuck me to sleep. If you can... Don’t you think you’re a little overconfident?” 

Sevika slowly blinks at you, unsure of whether she should be turned on or irritated. You take it as the latter, and now it’s your turn to chuckle to yourself. But your self-satisfied giggling stops when she leans over you, inches away from your face, “You’re about to find out.” 

You never took the time to process Sevika kneeling between your legs, and now you can feel each exhale from her on your face. Your body starts to process it too: your breathing gets heavier and your heartbeat gets faster. You don’t have a crush on her or anything, but this is an unusual, unsurprisingly hot experience. Your eyes flicker to her full, uneven lips before they squeeze shut.

Sevika flicks your forehead. “Wh—ow?!” You whine, rubbing your head with your hand to soothe it. 

“I’m not kissing you.” She clarifies.

Your face warms with embarrassment, fingers gripping at the fabric beneath you. “How was I supposed to know you wanted a staring contest?” You grumble.

Sevika rolls her eyes, barely shaking her head in disappointment. Her face moves on from yours, and her lips attack the exposed curvature of your neck, licking, biting, and rendering you speechless. She gives you no time to regulate your emotions, and you let out a soft groan you would’ve otherwise swallowed down. Just what she wanted: less talking, more moaning.

Letting her guide the tilt of your head, you awkwardly rest your hands on her shoulders. You’re unsure of whether you can or should touch her. She pauses. “Sor— I… uh…” You stammer and put your hands up. You decide to just stop speaking to save yourself.

“Relax.” She tells you, gazing at you through her loose, dark hair. It stirs something below you. 

You place your hands back on her shoulders, albeit reluctantly, and try to maintain eye contact so you look composed. 

Sevika doesn’t buy it. She glances at your hands, very tellingly. “…Relax.” She repeats, softer than she did before, and your heart skips a beat like you’re in a cliché. 

Hesitantly, you slide your arms around her shoulders, linking your hands together. It feels intimate, too intimate, and looking at her is getting harder by the second. Sevika chuckles in a way that borders on a scoff. “You wanted to do that; don’t be shy about it.”

You huff, “I didn’t know I was being teased to sleep…”

“Is it working? It’d save me time.”

“Fuck off...” 

“You’d hate that.” She replies, as if it’s undeniable. It is, but she’s way too cocky about it. You look like you’re about to curse her out, but you’re holding it back. 

Sevika grins smugly, and for a moment, she considers kissing you. Your arms are wrapped around her shoulders, your eyes are yelling, ‘Fuck me already,’ lips practically begging to meet hers.

This is intimate, too intimate. It’s fucking with her logical reasoning—not that this is logical to begin with. It sounds stupid, but it’s worked for her so far; she casually fucks on the regular, and she doesn’t kiss them ever. Never really felt like it. Yet, here you are, making her feel new things. She knows there’s no going back if she makes an exception with you, and quite frankly, you still piss her off. It’s conflicting.

You impatiently perk a brow at her. You had to stop yourself from flat-out asking her to continue; your ego can’t afford you coming off as begging.

For a millisecond she looks like she got caught, then a millisecond later, she’s on you again. 

She attentively kisses the skin below the curve of your jawline, her tongue making frequent warm appearances. It’s much more fervent, but rough in a way that makes you tremble. She always makes sure you feel her teeth gliding over when she moves to the next spot. Your legs move on their own, one leg curling up against her side. You’re already pooling where you’re seated, but now it’s getting uncomfortable to sit this damp. 

Experienced is how you can describe her right now. You heard rumors of her activity, but you never believed it. There was no way her ol’ grumpy ass was getting laid, no matter how incredibly sexy she was. Then again, you never got along, which makes this situation, this fucking feeling, even crazier. 

She was being extra careful not to bruise you at first, but she seems not to care anymore, only driven further when she hears your little gasps or feels your arms tightening around her. She’s getting carried away, but she’ll figure out how to play it off some other time.

 Sevika pulls back. She throbs at your dazed and confused expression.  “Come closer.” She ushers as she transitions to sitting rather than kneeling on the bed. 

With no hesitation, you don’t let go of Sevika as you push yourself forward on your hips, sitting your ass comfortably on the edge of Sevika’s lap. Her hand lands on your waist. She says, “Lay down for me.” 

You nod shyly, removing your arms from Sevika’s shoulders and descending onto the mattress. Sevika tries to ignore how the loss of your arms around her made her feel. Her hand travels to the waistband of your joggers. “You’re going to have to move these for me too.” She asks, shrugging her shoulder that’s missing an arm as a reminder. 

She doesn’t move; she waits. Your insides do a flip. She’s waiting for you to remove them how you are now: legs diverged around her, hips pointed towards her. You think about how vulnerable you’ll look and feel when you slide them off, showing her the sopping mess she unknowingly made between your legs. You know she’s going to see it eventually, but from you doing the honors? That’s tearing you apart. She notices a shift in your demeanor, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. “Hurry up.” 

“Can’t you move back…?”

Sevika rolls her eyes. “No.”

You whine in embarrassment, briefly shielding your face in your hands before hastily pulling at your waistband. You wish you had turned the lamp off.

Sevika’s hand clasps over yours. “Slowly.” She scolds. Scolds. You’re fucking flabbergasted. She’s doing this on purpose, you can tell. She’s barely holding back another signature, smug smile. 

“You’re such a dick.” You curse. A direct juxtaposition in your actions that don’t defy Sevika at all. Hell, it juxtaposes your body because of how you’re aching for her.

“Yeah, yeah. Off.” She pulls at the band of your pants, letting it slap down when she releases it. 

You mutter out a few more curses that she fully grins at before you silently begin to remove your joggers and underwear simultaneously. You lift your hips for mobility, and Sevika’s eyes are glued to the fabric making its way down your thighs, and you’re forced to watch how intently she’s watching you. You can try to insist this is humiliating and cruel, but you can’t stop throbbing just from this; her eyes anticipating your reveal, like you’re a self-opening present.

The clothing starts to bunch at the middle of your thighs, and your arousal is halfway there to being exposed to Sevika. The scent is what hits her first; it makes her want to yank your pants down and give you what you want, but watching you do it so much better.

Once it reaches above your knees, she partially moves out of the way so she can help you remove them properly. While she tosses it elsewhere, you debate pinning your legs shut. 

Sevika looks back at you—your legs, actually—and you do flinch them closed. She tsks. “Don’t be stubborn. Not now.” She didn’t sound like she was insulting you, even though a small part of you wanted to be offended. 

You let out a shaky sigh and avoid her gaze, slowly parting your legs. Thighs slicked with arousal, folds glistened with the same, you’re undeniably soaked. You prepare yourself to look at Sevika’s shit-eating grin, but when you do, it’s nothing of the sort. Her eyes are low, shaded, and memorializing, and her bottom lip fully disappeared between her teeth. 

Then she grins; she even laughs, just as you expected. You groan, not at her, but at how wet you got from it. “I didn’t even do anything yet.” She teases, her eyes still locked on the ego-stroking mess she made of you. 

“Such a di—“ You cut yourself off to moan sharply. 

Sevika’s thumb came in contact with your swollen clit, the rough pad of her thumb making perfect circles; the rest of her fingers positioned in the patch of hair crowning above it.

“How fast do you think you’ll come? I’m thinking,” she pretends to, only to press her thumb over your clit. Filthy words flutter from your lips, and you instinctively grind into her touch. “Three minutes?” 

You look pissed between your bouts of pleasure; it molds together attractively. Sevika can’t wait to make it break, make you cry, and fuck the attitude out of you. “What? You should see how wet you are; you’d think I already fucked you.” 

She feels the way you twitch at her words, and it makes the pressure between her legs unbearable. She should just strip and grind her cunt into you, but she knows she won’t be able to stop there. Fuck her stupid life; she’s losing the plot. 

Her thick forefinger collects your slick as she paths towards your entrance. You twitch as she slides it in, making you gasp. She chuckles as your walls clench around her finger, and she starts pushing it in and out, painstakingly slow. 

It’s not enough, yet you can’t bring yourself to beg her for more. It’s at the tip of your tongue, but Sevika was right; you are stubborn. She reads you like a book, and she can read you now. She angles her finger in a way that brushes against your g-spot, but at the same mind-numbingly slow pace. 

Your body doesn’t know what to do; you can’t find friction anywhere; you can squeeze against her finger, but it doesn’t change her speed; all you can do is writhe in place. “You look like you need something,” she says, almost like it’s a thought in her head, so condescending, so fucking hot. Your pussy tenses around her finger for the millionth time, and you almost, almost, cry. “You’re gonna cut my finger off at this rate.” You tense again. She chuckles. 

“Sev—Sevika,” you bite your lip to hold down a sharp inhale, but it fails miserably. “Sevika, you’re not helping.”

 “Should I stop?” She asks with the tilt of her head. Her finger does stop regardless of the answer. 

Your hands reach out for her wrist, weakly clawing at it. “No! No, pl...” You mildly cringe at yourself, turning away. 

Sevika’s brows lifted. “What was that? Pl...?” She begins her pace again, and you realize you didn’t appreciate it enough before. “You said it once already; come on.” 

Your lips tremble, “Plea—se—?” She barely lets you finish the word before slipping another finger into your drooling cunt. Her pace increases, and you let go of her wrist as you succumb to pleasure. 

 Your arousal coating her fingers makes the most obscene noises; she wonders if the entire motel can hear it. You try to suppress your moans with your hand, but you can never do it right, not with the way she’s fucking you. Sevika’s glad you can’t; having one arm would’ve been even more inconvenient otherwise. She needs to hear you sob out her name at least once. “Please what?” She leans over you as she slams her fingers into you, pressing them against your wet, ridged, gummy walls.

“You’re— fuck, you’re pushing it,” you groan, and just like that, she slows down. But you’re weak, and you crumble. “Wait, wait, wait—please. Please, fuck me... Fuck me to sleep.” You ramble loosely, back to scratching at her wrists again. There’s that smile you were thinking about earlier, the one she gets after a big win. She broke you, and she lost the plot ages ago. 

—

It’s been an hour, and you’re already on the brink of your third orgasm. Sevika folded and ended up, verbatim, stripping and grinding her cunt into yours. You should be asleep right now, but Sevika said you have enough time to catch up on it before the meeting. You hope that’s true, but you don’t care. You can’t get enough of her or her abs flexing with every desperate hump. 

So intent on getting her rocks off, practically using you for her own pleasure at this point—you already came twice now; any more is a bonus, just like the one building up right now. Your eyes are pressed shut, trying to envision your release so it comes quicker. “Just like that. Keep fucking me, please, Sev.” You beg through your teeth and quiet sniffles. Sevika’s fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh.

She murmurs, “You,” her movements get sloppier; you can tell she’s close, “feel so fucking good.” Now you’re close—no, you come at her praise. 

You’re shaking, grabbing at the sheets that have since slid off the mattress. You forgot how to breathe; all you can feel is your orgasm coursing through you. Your mind is turning fuzzy, and even fuzzier with Sevika still grinding into you. Your moans are pitchy and pornographic; you’re making sounds you didn’t even think happened in real life. “Sevika...” You sob out from overstimulation, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

She loves it. “Shit…” Sevika moans, followed by several more curses as she shudders out her orgasm. Her vision goes blurry for a second from how hard she came. She tries to control her labored breathing as she comes to, breathlessly calling your name. 

When she focuses in on you, you’re passed out, fucked out, and peaceful. Sevika’s pupils dilate at the markings she left on your neck, then to your lips, which she’s yet to have the chance to kiss. She lets the sleep weighing on her win and carefully collapses beside you. 

>

[ambrosiagourmet]

I've been thinking about Laios' succubus lately. Mulling it over a bit.

Because I've seen these pages brought up a fair bit, but almost entirely in the context of shipping (on all sides, really). And I really want to understand what they are doing for the story beyond that.

When I went back to reread the scene and section, a few things caught my interest: the way Laios responds to both forms of his succubus, the themes of the volume the chapter is found in, and the other events of the chapter itself.

So let's dive into those three things, and what I think they say about the succubus scene's purpose.

Laios is never fully frozen by the succubus

So. If you compare Marcille and Chilchuck's reactions...

to Laios':

-

There is a difference. Sure, the basics may look the same once it turns into Scylla Marcille, but even then, it functions differently.

Chilchuck and Marcille are completely frozen once they catch sight of their succubus. Izutsumi, as well, isn't able to look away, and completely freezes up once her 'mom' starts talking to her. As Chilchuck describes, "just looking at them makes you unable to move."

And yet, Scylla Marcille has to actively convince Laios to comply. He even looks away from her at one point!

Laios accepts this succubus, but he is never actually helpless to it in the same way. Taken in? Convinced? Sure, at least enough to let things happen that he probably should question more than he does. But magically compelled? Not really. Not the same way as everyone else is. So that's interesting. But let's move on for now.

2. Volume 9 is all about drive and desire

I don't often look at chapters within the context of the volume they are included in, but I think there's some really fun things to be found with that perspective in mind.

For one, volume 9 starts with an exploration of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

And ends with a question of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

It's also very concerned in general with questions of why people do what they do. Why they are in the dungeon, why they are with the people they are with, why they stay, what they fight for.

In addition to Laios, we see it with Marcille...

Izutsumi

Kabru

and Mithrun

Hell, we even get it for the demon!

It's certainly not the only volume concerned with desires and motives, but it is particularly focused on these ideas.

The succubus scene fits quite well into the ongoing question about desires, especially Laios' desires. It is even placed at an interesting spot within the volume. The volume is six chapters long, and the scene takes place at the start of the 4th chapter. It's almost smack-dab in the middle.

With all this in mind, it is interesting that, with both versions of the succubus Marcille, it's not totally clear which parts of her Laios is rejecting.

The first version of Marcille looks human, but Laios attacks when he identifies her as a monster. The second Marcille looks like a monster, but he seems to believe that she is the real (human)(ish) person that he knows. So is he rejecting the monster at first, and then accepting the person? Or is he rejecting humanity and only interested in the monstrous?

Something to consider as we look at the next point...

3. the rest of the chapter is a seduction, too

This is one of those things that might not be apparent on a first reading, but is crystal clear on a revisit. We see the succubus try and charm Laios over 7 pages, and then see the Winged Lion do the same thing for the next 19.

Much like the succubus, it offers the mingling of monsters and humans. Much like the succubus, it offers belonging.

(and this is the point where I absolutely must also link this post by fumifooms on the succubus, which has some great ideas on how the scene is informed by Laios' trauma and desire for acceptance!!!)

But, back to the point. The Winged Lion wants to feed on Laios just as much as the succubus did, and it uses similar strategies to try and make that happen. Though this chapter isn't really the turning point for the next Lord of the Dungeon (it is Marcille who will, eventually, become the Lion's next victim), it certainly behaves like it is.

Laios is convinced. The succubus gets its meal. By the end of the volume, the reader begins to understand how concerning his desires are. Together, it is all very good at building up that sense of dread and pending disaster, as we see exactly how and why Laios might just fall into the Lion's open arms and bring about the end of the world.

-

So that's the three things I noticed. But there's still something I want to touch on by looking at the way these observations overlap, and what they reveal, together.

As I said, by the end of the volume, you can feel the tension growing. Just as Kabru and Mithrun do, you look back for an answer to the questions that have been built, chapter by chapter: why is Laios here? Where will his loyalties fall? This chapter, and scene, seem to prove the inevitable truth: he will choose the monster, of course. He will choose the seductive, easy power of the Winged Lion.

But the details of what actually happens tell different story: one in which the Lion is wrong.

First, as a reminder - even in Scylla Marcille mode, the succubus never fully entrances Laios. It convinces him, but it doesn't have him completely under its thrall.

Similarly, in the dream, the Lion does convince Laios to embrace the world he is offering. But even within that dream, Laios continues to ask questions that will be vital to him later. It is because of those questions that Laios comes to a new understanding about Thistle.

And it's this realization that he cites later as part of his reason for refusing the Lion's offer.

He is thinking through things the entire time, just like he continues to question the succubus even after it turns into Scylla Marcille.

Laios also expresses an interesting reason for why he wants to see the future of this world. He's not just invested because it would mean people liking what he likes, or him getting to spend time with monsters. The thought that comes immediately before his acceptance is about what he wants for monsters and people.

I don't think it's a coincidence that this statement - "we're living beings that share the same world, but all we can do is keep killing each other" - can apply to the various humans races just as much as it does to humans and monsters. The thing he is thinking about here isn't just a matter of his personal daydreams. It's an idea that underpins every conflict in the story.

Laios caring about how people as well as monsters in this manner is something that the Lion gets wrong every time. Even at the end, he still frames Laios' desires entirely around hating people and loving monsters.

The Lion has heard him express an opinion about the future of the world! It happened right there in the dream, right in front of him! He just didn't take it seriously, and didn't view it through any lens other than "Laios likes monsters more".

He's convinced that he understands how to get to Laios. Maybe the Lion can't truly see everything, or maybe his vision into everyone's deepest desires has made it hard for him to realize how much choice still matters. That people can, and do, choose which desires to act on, and how to act on them.

Whatever the case, he's wrong about Laios, and the story shows us this over and over again.

After all, look at how the succubus interaction plays out:

A monster uses Marcille to appeal to Laios...

He realizes that something about the situation is wrong, and rejects her.

It changes strategies, and makes new offer: to turn him into a monster.

It also assures him that his friends are, or will be, taken care of.

He accepts. Or rather, allows the monster to have its way with him.

But Laios is not as helpless as he initially appears, and what the Lion thinks is a successful seduction also contains the seed of an idea that will allow Laios to later resist him.

We even get to see Izutsumi playing a similar role in both instances, as the one person fully able to take action in the face to the illusion.

The story lays out what is going happen, and then explicitly tells us that the demon and the succubus are thematically related.

The chapter performs a great sleight of hand here - everything about it seems to indicate that Laios is doomed give in to the option to have his deepest desires realized. But if you look closer, it also contains the evidence that he won't. There's a lot more going on for him.

Yes, he still falls for obvious tricks. He is still extremely into monsters, and he still doesn't feel like he fits in with other people. He may, deep down, crave to surrender to the monstrous - to let it absorb him. But he questions more than he seems to. He considers more than people realize. He cares so much more than anyone gives him credit for.

And I think this is part of why we see the succubus called back to so many times, especially with the wolf head addition to his Monster Form, which he specifically added due to his encounter with the Scylla Marcille.

This all stays with Laios. It doesn't just foreshadow the path of the story, it is fundamental to how and why he walks that path. It's not about him choosing monsters, and it's not about him choosing people. It's about how he considers both, and cares about both.

And it's about the forces that think they already know his answer. Mithrun and Kabru. The Winged Lion. The succubus.

It's about how they are wrong.

[thehmn]

I wanted to make this post because we don’t see a lot of asexual characters in western media and despite him being from a hugely popular show (Seaside Hotel) you’re unlikely to know of his existence if you’re not from Denmark.

His name is Hjalmar Aurland and he’s one of the more sympathetic and realistic asexual characters I’ve seen. He lives in a time and place where asexuality as a concept doesn’t exist yet so he’s never labeled as such but rewatching the show made me realize that he acts exactly like the asexual people I personally know. Asexuality can mean a lot of things but his specific brand isn’t naive to sex nor is he repulsed by sex, sexual desire or thoughts simply doesn’t come naturally to him.

He can be convinced to have sex with his wife Helene but only if she appeals to their emotional bond. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, he’s not being forced or emotionally blackmailed to sleep with her. It’s simply that he understands sex is a way to show emotional love too and he wants to express that love for Helene when it’s important to her, and seeing as sex isn’t unpleasant to him, just kinda boring, he’s willing to do that for her.

Unfortunately that isn’t enough for Helene and despite her love for Hjalmar she starts an affair with the dramatic and emotional actor Edward Weyse. He has a string of relationships, marriages and divorces behind him because despite what it may look like from the outside Edward doesn’t really want shallow sexual relationships. He just can’t help himself and keep falling in love with women left and right, fully and wholeheartedly, only to be dumped or dump them once the initial excitement has passed.

So Helene and Edward’s affair that was only meant to satisfy their carnal desires quickly becomes romantic. Helene feels torn between him and Hjalmar who she still loves and Edward understands the difficult situation they’re both in while also feeling jealous of Hjalmar. And Hjalmar? He doesn’t catch on for years. He’s not stupid but his brain just doesn’t jump to sex. He just assumes they’re good friends and why shouldn’t his wife be allowed to have friends, even male ones? Things get really complicated when Helene gets pregnant and she has to have sex with Hjalmar so he won’t wonder how it happened. Edward even has to join in on the seduction, reminding Hjalmar how much Helene loves him, even though it breaks Edward’s heart to do so.

But like I’ve said Hjalmar isn’t stupid. He saw the signs but chose to ignore them until one night when Helene accidentally says Edward’s name. It breaks the dam in Hjalmar’s denial and he has to face that deep down he always knew. Overcome by sadness and betrayal he wanders off into the night in nothing but his nightgown and gets a room at a different hotel where he can think in peace. Eventually he agrees to return to the first hotel with Helene and Edward and decides to take control of the situation.

He sits them both down and tells them that he understands that the three of them share a bond and that there are things he can’t really do for Helene so from now on he wants their relationship to be open and honest. He wants Helene and Edward to keep seeing each other and Edward is welcome in their house, but Hjalmar wants to be allowed to call Edward by his first name and makes it very clear that Helene and Edward’s children “belong to him” because he still thinks of himself as their dad and loves them as his own children. Both Helene and Edward agrees to it, though the emotional Edward is very flustered and confused by the acceptance and love he’s being shown by Hjalmar.

This is obviously a very tv drama situation but I was so stuck by how much Hjalmar acts like my asexual friends. Having a lover for your partner isn’t the most common solution but it’s an idea I’ve heard a lot of asexual people be open to under the right circumstances and of course that’s the most dramatic solution for a romantic tv drama.

Hjalmar is defined by so much more than his sexuality though. His main characteristic is his passion for social justice and equality, and other than some early show weirdness before they really cemented the characters, Hjamler is the only character who floats freely between the men and women. He’s just as likely to sit with the men as he is the women, often appearing in otherwise entirely female spaces. It’s never questioned or even brought up, not because he’s a “safe asexual” but because he cares and think their worries are as important as the men’s. He’s often called a pessimist by the other men when in reality he is determined to be hopeful and compassionate and spread the love he feels the world is lacking as WWII draws closer.

So yeah, I just wanted to share this sweet ace guy with you because you probably wouldn’t have known about him otherwise.

[be-xkyy]

Is it bad that I wanna have the yandere men’s babies? 🫣 Cowboys, Sugar Daddy, etc. I’m curious though how some of them would react if reader was enthused to settle down with them and start a family? 🥰

Please don’t stop the breeding/pregnancy kinks

Hi! that's a good question anon and I'll answer it right now.

Yandere reactions to a reader willing and happy to be with them and have their babies.

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Masterlist

Yandere Farmer link

This grumpy man doesn't jump for joy or anything, in his mind he doesn't understand why he would be elated by the simple fact that you know your place and where you belong? You belong beneath him receiving his fat cock in your greedy pussy. End of story.

He already thinks he's old (maybe just a little...) and that he's running out of time to have a family and you accepting your place without making a fuss takes a huge weight off his shoulders, he takes you to live with him that very day and oh... you'll realize that this man has the stamina of a bull and the same softness.

As soon as you arrive he already has you bent over the kitchen table with your cheek pressed against the oak wood while his fat cock abuses your pussy, his fat balls slapping your plush ass with a dirty sound while a large hand holds you tightly by the back of the neck squeezing the little hairs deliciously.

From that day on you will have your poor pussy sore and overstimulated because he will fuck you all the time and at all hours.

He fucks you in the morning when the rooster wakes up and doesn't even crow yet but he's already buried deep in your pussy, he fucks you in the barn on a pile of hay when you go to feed the horses, he fucks you in the afternoon when he takes a break after hours in the field under the sun, he fucks you in the shower when you go to bathe to clean off the dirt from a productive day of work and he fucks you when you go to sleep with his calloused hand squeezing your throat, your eyes are rolled back as he fills your fertile pussy with his thick cum for the eleventh time that day.

That repeats itself every day so it's no surprise when just a month later you find out you're pregnant, did that soften it? No really I keep fucking you mercilessly and squeezing your throat until you see stars but you notice him rubbing your flat belly from time to time.

"The children in my family are big— when the baby grows up you may feel a little uncomfortable at first but don't worry, you will feel better during the seventh or eighth pregnancy."

Yandere Cowboy link

Well, reader actually does like yandere Cowboy (since she doesn't know what a bad person he really is) so from the start she wants to be with him and does what he asks her, she stopped taking birth control when he asked her to, she let him fuck her where he wanted and kept her legs up with a pillow underneath for half an hour so his semen wouldn't leak out because he asked her to.

Besides the fact that he knows how to take advantage of her, she's too young and naive and believes that besides her father he's the only one who loves and values ​​her, so it's normal for her to let him sneak into her room (secretly from her father obviously) to fuck like rabbits, he squeezes her in a tight mating hold that barely lets her breathe keeping her legs pressed down almost touching her ears.

He pumps his fat cock into her pussy frantically as she lets out low mewls, he uses a calloused finger to rub circles on her tiny clit that tightens around his member from the overwhelming pleasure she feels and he lets out a guttural growl as he watches her delicious tits bouncing right in front of his face, with one final thrust he cums deep inside her womb flooding it with his swimmers.

"That was so good baby doll, ugh— ha! I bet after this I'll get you pregnant with twins, and if that's not the case we'll try again and again until it works."

Yandere Dilf link

I'd be over the moon, really. He already believes you're his wife, he's believed it since he first saw you holding his son (very delirious) and for you to accept that fact so happily and willingly to be his, to have his babies, would only increase his already enormous delusions.

You won't be going to college anymore, of course not. You'll stay home to take care of his son and prepare everything for when he comes back from work, as a reward he'll make love to you every night without exception, he'll fuck you fervently with one of his hands covering your mouth, muffling your high-pitched moans while his cock drills your swollen pussy mercilessly.

He'll kiss your tits and neck before licking the salt off your skin as he tells you how much he wants to fill you with his babies, that you'll be the prettiest mother ever, all fat and round with one baby in your belly while you hold the other on your hip, he keeps repeating those things over and over again until he finally reaches the limit by cumming deep inside your swollen pussy just like it should be.

"Darling— let's do it again, what if once isn't enough...? Come on spread your legs."

Yandere Sugar Daddy link

Honestly this man is arrogant as fuck when he sees how happy and willing you are to be his and have his brats, he'll end up gloating while pinching your cheek telling you how proud he is that you came to your senses and are his good little girl.

Obviously he'll take you to live with him in his mansion a big one so his future children can have fun running around all over the place, you'll drop out of your law career after all now you have him and his kids soon so why study? He'll fuck you anywhere, he'll fuck you on his private jet forcing you to ride him while the embarrassed stewardesses serve champagne without making eye contact, he'll fuck you on all fours in front of the fireplace filling you with his cum over and over again scolding you playfully when his cum comes out of your pussy staining his 50 thousand dollar carpet he sticks two fingers in your pussy plugging you.

He doesn’t stop fucking you when he finds out you’re pregnant, he doesn’t stop fucking you when you’re 7 months along and your stomach is all big and swollen, he lays you down on the bed making you ride him you bounce up and down as best you can while his hands rub your ass before moving up to your belly heavy with his child, his child, just the thought of him doing this to you turns him on so much, he ends up cumming inside you every time, without fail.

“Fuck— I wish I could put another one of my babies inside you right now, see you even more swollen with my children. Shit— move again.”

[heyysteven]

Playing Dangerous

Pairings: Hwang In Ho x Wife!reader

Summary: Mr. Hwang does not like it when his wife ignores him. He decides to show what happens when you upset him.

Warnings: Smut (18+) mdni, Yandere behavior, In ho is obsessive and controlling, dub con, public sex, breast play, mentions of captivity and stalking, a bunch of rich assholes.

Take the driver with you.

Did you reach yet?

I'm waiting for your answer.

Swirling the glistening champagne in your claw you leaned into the conversation, feigning interest into whatever story was being told. Mr. Richie, the President of a luxury brand of perfumes was bragging about his most recent visit to Luxembourg; how he surprised his wife by renting one of the castles for the week and how much money he burned through to make her happy.

He stood surrounded by some of the most powerful and elite people in the country as he drawled on and on about his stay. Bit overkill with how much money he spent for your taste but you were used to it by now.

From rare antiques to color vomits on canvases, these were awfully boring people who always talked about the same few conceited experiences. But you indulged in their conversations. You had to appease to them after all.

You had to play the perfect wife.

Nodding your head you smiled, as if you hadn’t zoned his story out completely. It was easier attending events alone. No one paid much attention to you without the loaded man beside you. You prayed that no one asked about why your husband was missing because frankly you didn’t have an answer.

As if sensing your thoughts Mrs. Richie asked, “Will Mr. Hwang not be joining us tonight?” interrupting her husband’s museum story.

“Oh yeah, I’m afraid he won’t be able to make it. He has so busy these days with meetings and that big launch coming up.” You replied.

They raised their heads oh in understanding. In truth, there was no launch. You just lied so they wouldn’t pry too much.

Mrs. Richie clutched her pearls, “That makes me so upset! He has such a strong aura around him, always brightens up the room with his presence.” She talked as if his absence was her personal loss. As if another moment without him would cause her to wither in physical pain.

In hindsight it should have really bothered you. Hearing another woman yearn for your husband should have had you pulling her hair and throwing her to the ground. But your relationship with Mr. Hwang wasn’t like that. It was all only for show; a signed inconvenient obligation. You two didn’t even looked at each other unless there was someone watching.

 “Yes, it is quite upsetting.” You said with the most heartbroken smile you could muster. ”But sometimes you have to sacrifice time-”

As you spoke a shiver ran down your spine. Your heart started beating faster as a knot formed in your stomach. It was as if your body was warning you.

You could feel his presence even before you could see him.

Every single person in the room had turned their heads towards the entrance. His black polished shoes clicked as silence fell around.

Mr. Hwang was the kind of man who commanded unwavering attention. It was impossible to ignore him. Not when he walked with a sense of ownership. As if every living and breathing thing belonged to him.

He was the kind of man who could will mountains to move on their own; the kind of man who could make a ballroom like this feel like a cramped elevator. Dressed in his signature black look he walked in with a sense of control. Every stride oozed power.

Alarm bells started ringing in your head as he walked towards you.

“Oh look he is here!” Mrs. Richie exclaimed. She looked seconds away from rolling her tongue out for him to walk on.

Color threatened to drain from your face as he slipped his long cold fingers around your waist and placed himself beside you. His touches always made you nervous, no matter the months you’ve spent with him. The haunting scent of his strong cologne filled your senses as his towering body pressed into your side like this was the most natural thing in the world.

You dragged out a surprised smile as he bent down to place a lingering kiss your cheek.

“You’re here.” You said finally, a ghost of a whisper.

He tilted his head to look into your eyes and smiled back at you. “When your wife doesn’t respond to your texts, you just have to come find her, am I right folks?” He turned to the group as they all threw their heads back in roaring laughter. It was kind of pathetic how much they seemed to want his approval.

Your eyes widened as you realized your mistake. You acted to feel around for your phone and said, “Really? I don’t remember checking my phone. I must have missed them.”

He just continued to stare down at you with a frown, “You know how worried I get. Should have just gotten you the phone with an inbuilt tracker” he said with a chuckle and people laughed again. But you both knew he wasn’t kidding. Anything this man couldn’t control drove him crazy.

You playfully patted his cheek and laughed. “He is so silly sometimes.”

He simply pulled you closer and squeezed you in his embrace, “I just want my wife to be protected that is all”. People took that as a hint to slowly start dispersing. When the last person left you tried to move away from him but he held still. “Don’t. They’re still watching.”

“Why are you here?” You asked with an accusatory tone.

He didn’t bother answering that. Instead he asked, “Why did you ignore my messages?”

So that’s why he came. The minute you refused to play along like his little doll he had to show up.

Fidgeting with the strap of your watch you replied, “I was preoccupied.”

“Were you avoiding me Mrs. Hwang?” His voice dangerously calm as he drawled on the possibility. He knew how much you hated it when he called you that. It felt derogatory. It was a reminder that you were just another one of his little slaves who had given into his power.

When you stayed silent, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Next time, I will hunt you down and drag you out by your hair if I have to.”

“Just be very careful with your actions love.” he kissed your shoulder and left towards to bar.

To everybody else he was the perfect husband; the one who showered you with jewels and admiration. Who blindly bought you everything you touched. Your brain itched every time they would congratulate you and tell you how much you lucked out.

How you wished it was true.

The tap water trickled as you stood counting the droplets one by one. You had excused yourself to the restroom, thinking a few silent moments would help you find the energy to go back and attend the event with your husband. But the more time you spent here, the more this little bathroom started to feel like your refuge.

Just five more minutes and then we go, you thought for the 8th time.

The door slowly swung open.

“Occupied!” you called out. But the intruder continued in. You turned around to tell off whoever entered but stopped when you saw those black polished shoe.

Your heart started hammering as his shadow came into full view. He invited himself inside and locked the door in one quick click.

With each step he took forward, you took one back; moving back till you felt the cold ceramic sink hit your back. The look in his eyes was animalistic. You felt caught. Like one wrong move and you’d be engulfed in a huge trapping net.

“So you are ignoring me I see.” Mr. Hwang concluded.

“I just feel a little tired from all this.”

He scoffed, “Do you find pleasure in defying me?”

You looked around at everything but his face. You were afraid of what you might find if you looked at him right now. Placing his palms behind you, he gripped the sink, locking you in front of him. His breath fanned your face as he said, “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

“I am an honorable man. I have been as patient as I can be but you just make it so difficult” he rasped.

“Do you remember what you said before you signed our papers?”

His jaw clenched as he ordered, “Answer me.”

“I said I would do anything if you saved my brother.” Your body had started shaking.

His eyes sparkled as he grinned deviously; finally getting the answer he was desperately waiting for. “Anything? Are you sure? A lot can happen with anything.”

He dropped his head into your neck and traced a slow line with his tongue, painting your bare skin with his saliva till he reached the top of your neckline. You clenched your eyes shut, your hands closed in a tight fist as his mouth roamed your chest.

“The question is how far are you willing to be pushed my love?” He sucked on your sweet spots as you turned into an unstable block of mass in his arms. He knew you wouldn’t fight him.

He had pulled that one string to puppet you, that one weakness you would lose to every single time. He had you right where he wanted you. Digging his fingers into your hair, he pulled your mouth near his and started devouring you with his soft mouth.

“I hate this dress." He said between kisses. "I hate that everyone saw you looking this fuckable.” His hand glided up your thigh, slowly massaging the smooth skin up and down with his palm.

His teeth hooked around the strap of your dress and pulled them down. When the sleeves fell down, his mouth attacked your already sensitive nipples. He sloppily circled around them through the fabric of your bra. Your hand tugged his hair as he continued to suck. It became impossible to stop the moans escaping you.

 “You have no idea how much I’ve been holding back. I have been nothing but a respectable man to you. But I’m beginning to think that perhaps you do not like it.” His words scared you. He seemed to have taken this as some sort of challenge. The look of terror between your eyes made him rock hard. He forced your legs open with his knee. You could feel his cotton trouser pressing into you through your underwear.

“Perhaps you don’t deserve my restraints anymore.”

Your head fell back as his knees started rocking. He almost came right there when he felt your juices starting to drench his pants.

 “You have no idea how far I’m willing to go. Trackers? Trackers are nothing. I will tie you and gag you till no one can hear your screams. You will be at my complete mercy and no one will come save you.” He moaned as tears started falling uncontrollably from your eyes. He continued rocking till you were a complete sobbing mess.

You should’ve known better than to displeasure him.

He pulled back right before anything progressed further. Straightening his coat he kissed the side of your head. “See you at home Mrs. Hwang.” And with those six words he left, leaving you half naked and dazed. In that moment you realized you had started a very dangerous game in just one evening and you weren’t sure if you could handle playing against Mr. Hwang.

A/N: I wanna play his wife so bad

[baepsays]

High School Oblivion ⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

description ᯓ★ while going through his high school yearbook when helping his mother clean out their storage, Gojo's hands get stuck on a page with a picture of this one particular person. he cannot help but reminisce about the past as now a 30 year old and wonder how things could have turned out if everything went down differently.

cw ᯓ★ fluff, sfw, implicated angst, really mild angst, enemies to friends, one sided love, pining, academic rivals, lowkey bully Gojo, teasing and name calling—nothing really extreme, high school au, frenemies really, usage of fem oriented pronouns, reader is depicted as a fem presenting person, reader is depicted shorter than Gojo, written basically from Gojo's pov, time skips, nosebleed, sorry but use of y/n l/n i know that can be cringy but whatever.

𐙚 Playlist I used while writing this.

Satoru is a good son. In fact, he's kind, diligent, genuine, obedient, and- "Stop trying to slack off and get back to work." Well, his mother might disagree.

"You cannot be asking me to help you and also boss me around mom." Satoru says with a signature pout. Having Gojo Satoru as your son and raising him, doesn't really immunize a person to his pouts. Or maybe his mother is biased because he looks exactly like his father when he's trying to sway her as well and he pulls out what seems to be a Gojo family weapon. But naturally she has her own defenses. 

"I'm only making you do this because you left all this behind yourself Sato, why didn't you take some of this or clean it when you moved out?"

"Wow just because I am a grown adult I cannot believe my own mother is treating me like one. Wow, what has the world come to." Satoru exclaimed like the drama queen he is. 

"Stop being dramatic and help me properly you know I can't lift up all these boxes you have essentially filled with garbage. Clean out these last 3 boxes piled up in categories of what you need and what to throw out, I'll go check on your father."

It seems his whining doesn't always work on his mother the way it does on his father. Oh well. Though this has been such a nostalgic Sunday, being back in his childhood home, well second one, the neighborhood he grew up in for the better part of his teenage and young adulthood, getting forced into helping out his mother, and the smell of his father's cooking  on a weekend. Time might as well revert back.

While cleaning out one of the, what seems never ending, boxes of childhood belongings— Gojo Satoru stumbles upon something he hasn't seen in probably 12 years. His high school yearbook.

It is a natural thing to go into the realm of nostalgia when stumbling upon things like this. Flipping through the pages he really grasps how much he has already forgotten. I mean that is given, it's been 12 years since he graduated. It takes him 12 months to find his lost socks.

Looking through the pictures he realizes how much everything has changed. The length of Suguru's hair has changed, as well as Shoko's. Nanami has gotten more chiseled or tired; he cannot say exactly, Utahime finally has a decent haircut.  And look at him! Oh how naive he was, look at those big blue eyes with nothing behind them, covered by those obnoxious pairs of shades. Maybe some things haven't changed, never mind. He's probably never letting go of his obnoxious collection of shades.

As he flips through the pages his fingers get stuck on a particular page. And the memories just come flooding in without any effort.

[BACK IN HIGH SCHOOL, fifteen years ago]

Gojo Satoru saw you for the first time at the school gates on his first day during first year, at a new high school. 

He was not very fond of the idea of going to school in a new city, away from the place he grew up in, unfamiliar people, and joining in the middle of the year when everyone has already somewhat settled down, it unnerved him. Unfortunately, throwing a fit about staying in a house his parents already sold and made all the arrangements to move to another place, couldn't help him much.  

Some random kid showing up in the middle of the year is just a recipe to be bullied, or at least be prone to such jabs. He had decided prior to his first day, that he would go in with a stone cold face and be brave through this. Or, plan B.

While he was heavily contemplating standing in front of the main gate, the last bell already rang, he was officially late for his first day. Well he arrived a lot earlier, then somehow everyone passed by him and the final bell rang and he just stood there. And he was thinking about making a run for it, that was the plan B, taking a train back to Tokyo, and from there on he will figure it out. His parents will definitely know, find him, maybe this ordeal will finally make them understand how serious he was about not settling in here, even if that came at the cost of being grounded for life. 

Satoru almost turned around to walk away from his new high school, his new city— his new home essentially— that is when a breeze of air gushed past him. When he looked forward, past the gates of the school, there was a fluff of hair, in the said school's uniform with a bag in her hands; dangling and teetering to fall on the ground, a key chain bouncing by one of the zippers— cute little orange cat, bouncing on her bag. She was running with all her might to make it, unlike him. That is all he saw of her, but he smelled much more. The lingering smell of her perfume, or soap or just- whatever it may be. 

Lemons? Bergamot maybe. Distinctly citrus, not the sour kind, or the room freshener kind— a sweet smell of ripe citrus in the summer sun, kind of citrus. And flowers, peonies to be exact, that was very apparent. 

Satoru, to this day, has never smelled that kind of tantalizing fragrance. To this day, he still remembers exactly how he stood there dumb; eyes wide open, mouth agape, and nothing but citrus with peonies haunting his chemoreceptors.

That day he tried to run after you, to put a name and face to the fragrance that in an instant hypnotized him, and to return that orange cat. Unfortunately, the teetering little cat keychain did fall off your bag, and when he ran after you to return it, he couldn't catch up to your haste. And since that day he didn't see you until a whole month passed. 

That month he met his lifelong circle of friends, his best of friends. But it wasn't easy for neither of the sides to become acquainted, he was in a broody depressed rage about shifting and had already made up his mind that ‘well everyone must hate me’ — teenagers. Anyway, the first day he sat beside Geto Suguru he barked at Suguru for no reason, poor suguru was just being friendly and kind. So yes that broke into a little kerfuffle, got a lot of scolding from their homeroom teacher, Mr. Yaga. Later Suguru still dragged Satoru with him to eat lunch with his friends. 

This is important to the story because, nostalgia and well, Satoru realized you were literally in the class next door, because of Shoko.

One day, when Suguru and him were irritating Kento, with a giggly Haibara, it took him only 2 weeks to drop his ‘you don't understand mom’ & ‘i am above you people’ act.

don't get it wrong, he still thinks he's better than most people, which isn't entirely wrong but god is it annoying. And that is exactly how you felt about Gojo Satoru upon your first impression of him. 

On that fateful day you went to look for Shoko, and found her, as usual at the school basketball court with her friends, with an addition of white fluff. You had heard of Gojo Satoru a lot at that point, the girls in your class went to gather out of their class to check him out, from what you heard he picked a fight with Suguru that day. Off the get go you did not think much of him, probably some pretty face with connections and money to spare by getting into unnecessary trouble. 

Satoru didn't see you entering the basketball court that day, but he smelled you. In the past month there had been few instances where his nostrils would be randomly engulfed by that citrusy peony smell, and he would halt in his pace to whip his head around to find the source. But alas, by the time he would turn around, you'd be nowhere to be found, and your perfume would slowly fade out. 

And here you were, in all your physical tangible glory, for a second Satoru was taken aback seeing you there—somewhere somehow, before your fragrance could reach him, something about you struck him right in his throat. Maybe it was his subconscious, but he halted right where he was, mid match with Kento and Suguru. When was the ball snatched away from him, or when your bergamot and peonies perfume took over his senses; neither could be pinpointed. All he knew was that— it was you. 

It was the girl with messed up collars and messy hair. Who smells divine. And the orange cat keychain!— Which has been sitting on his desk for a month. Satoru couldn't care less about Suguru egging him on about making a basket, nor did he see Kento slowly retire to the audience benches with Haibara— he stood there, staring at you, giving back Shoko some notebook; not important. He needed to go up to you. He needed to introduce himself! He couldn't let you slip away now. 

So right before you told Shoko you'd be taking your leave, he rushed over there, and haphazardly blurted out— “you smell.” 

“Excuse me!?” you looked at him flabbergasted. 

“Satoru, why are you trying to pick a fight?” Shoko had to intervene. Because what a horrible way to introduce two of  your friends to each other.

“Listen Gojo, I do not know what your problem is, but I'd advise you to keep yourself and your opinions to yourself.” You warned him before storming out of the basketball court with furrowed eyebrows and red ears.  

“Damn dude, do you even know her? Why would you even say that?” Suguru was honestly very entertained by this exchange that day, as he was thoroughly entertained by you two's interactions throughout high school. 

Satoru didn't mean to start off on such a contemptuous note with you, he didn't really mean it. I mean- he did mean what he said, it's just his phrasing was poor. He has always been reprimanded about this problem by his mother since he was a kid, his father did find it extremely funny. At times, he too found his poor choice of vocabulary funny, unfortunately it wasn't one of those circumstances. 

Later he had explained this to Shoko, telling Suguru anything was useless, he was too preoccupied with reenacting his failed attempt at making a good first impression on you. He then only revealed why he has been looking for the girl who smells like bergamot and peonies—which he didn't use as a descriptor of you, that much detail and all of them are on his neck about being a little obsessed creep. He didn't go into any details, he just told them he met you on his first day, at the school gates and you were late, also about how you dropped your keychain. After all that is why he ran after you that day to find you and give it back to you, but unfortunately he got blind sighted by your perfume, right? Well that is what he is willing to tell others and himself. At least he knew your name now.

And surprisingly you also knew him? Did you also see him at the gates that day? Or did you see him in the hallways? Or with Shoko? Or-Why was he so concerned anyway? All he needed was to return the keychain and get over this whole thing, you didn't seem like a very easygoing person. But maybe that had to do with his poor sentence structuring.

Next time Satoru saw you, you were in your class. It was before the morning bell rang, he showed up at the door by the end of your classroom, to seem more inconspicuous. He was looking around to find you in the midst of the flock of girls gathered around him to enquire about his sudden visit, so much for being inconspicuous. Fortunately, he saw you soon enough at the front of the classroom in a seat by the windows — “Y/N!” 

and everyone turned to stare at you, ‘great’—wasn't exactly what you were feeling. When you walked up to Satoru, you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at the guy. “Did not think we were on a first name basis.” 

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot, i-” Gojo tried to explain. 

“I think we got off on exactly the right foot, I mean who just gets all up into someone's face and calls them smelly?” Your voice was already going up quite a bit. 

“No, listen, that was a misunderstanding. I mean I did mean what I said, but-” he tried to, horribly, explain himself. 

“Seriously, your audacity is immense, not only did you call me smelly, but now you're showing up to my class to pick a fight!?” you definitely lost some cool at that point. Everyone who wasn't already congregated, also gathered around, inside the classroom and outside in the hallway. 

“First of all, will you stop cutting me off? I am trying to explain the situation here!” And now Satoru was also losing it. 

“Explain? Explain what? Explain how you are above everything and literal incarnation of God or something? Oh did my lowly perfume perhaps irritate your nose hair?” The sarcasm clearly entailed what kind of image you have already built in your head about him. Perhaps it was from all sorts of exaggerated rumours about him. Though you didn't seem like one to fall for such petty rumours, like how he was an undercover actor or prince. But he was sure what kind of a person you thought this guy was—an arrogant asshole. 

“Do you even know me?” said Satoru, now starting to become really irritated by your—in his opinion—unnecessary attitude. The last month has been hard enough as is. It took him time to settle down and not let people’s stares or baseless rumors get to him—some of them might have been funny if he was being honest. It was the friends he made in his first week who held him back from getting into more fights than he already did, and had his back against all the whispers. 

“Do you know me well enough to shout my first name in front of my entire class!?” Well Satoru didn't have a comeback to that. “Exactly. So why don't you keep yourself and your arrogance out of my sight.” You grimaced.

“Arrogance? Oh please shortcake. You sure have a lot of words to spout with that height of yours.” Now he was just being petty.

“Oh because being a streetlight is so gratifying!” 

“At least I don't cut people off mid sentence then talk shit!” and he has completely lost his cool.

“Oh don't put on pretence! Like you are some saint!? For who? The girls who flock you like some shiny stone?” 

“Oh don't be salty just because I didn't give you some attention shortcake.” He was trying to get under your skin. He's now losing sight of his actual motive.

“Yes, because I am dying to be acknowledged by your highness, and how my smell is bothering his expensive nose!” 

“Listen. That was entirely a misunderstanding, and you're not even trying to hear me out. You are the one picking a fight!” 

“Oh I am sorry, I just can't stand pretentious people.” you stab your last quip with a glare, stabbing right through his chest, all while maintaining perfect eye contact. 

“You know what. Nevermind shortcake, this was a waste of time.” 

“I didn't even ask for your presence in the first place.” Your eyes deadpanned, remained trained on him, bored yet bothered. Both of your faces mere inches away, when did it get there? No idea. He was cranking his head down to glare back into your eyes, losing all motivation to return your keychain. And before he could come up with any further retort, the bell rang. Thankfully.

Word of this interaction spread through the entire school like wildfire. 

A few things were instantly established in the passing months since Satoru’s arrival—he was going to be popular, he is good at almost everything, and that he got along with almost everyone; even the people he did not have a good rapport with at the beginning, now he seemingly got along with them perfectly. 

But, there was one person who could not stand him. And that person happened to be you. And everyone was aware of this. The students, respective and common friends, the teachers, heck even the principal knew.  

Yet in the next 6 months since Satoru joined the school, he found himself crossing paths with you quite often. First he really did just avoid you; he gave up on giving back the keychain, that he did out of pettiness. He really did want to return it, but unless and until you dropped your attitude he was not letting the cat chain go, but he did take good care of it— it sat nicely on his desk, gave it a little bed made out of a soft napkin he got from his mom. Once in a while he would dust it and give it pats, and also speak to it. Yeah, after dinners when he would be studying he would speak to that little guy. He was feeling real friendly with it, which made him feel more bad for it, because at the end of the day it belonged to you. 

In the instances where Satoru and you would run into each other; you could be laughing out loud and having a fun time and then, you would see him across the hallway and your face would morph into a scowl. It irked him, in a good way, it made him feel excited that he had such a sway on you. Even if he was convinced it was not that one single—incorrectly interpreted—comment about your perfume, which made you have such a poor opinion of him; there has to have been a deeper reason. From what he has gathered, you are the highest scoring student in the entire year, the teachers have a very good opinion of you, and you are helpful towards your peers— a straight A’s student, and their sophomore student body council secretary, a real model student. Even though you would mostly keep to yourself, you were still pretty well known by others. 

Yet when you saw him, you would lose your cool. In fact from what he heard, the biggest takeaway from the fight you two had was that, ‘woah she can be like that?’, because people apparently had never seen you speak over a certain decibel. That stroked his ego. Made him feel sort of special, got him all giddy. 

He was yet to realize the gravity of those feelings. The impact of the rush he felt when he smelled your sweet and citrusy fragrance when you passed by him, speeding up to lose sight of him faster. And he would always be left behind, to stand still, taking it all in.  

His little teasing remarks, pranks, and fight initiators started soon after the fight you two had that day; started small really. Calling you shortcake constantly, interrupting you when you would go to their class to make some announcement on behalf of the student body. Trying to get better grades than you. Going over to the student body room, using his class president Kento as an excuse, to annoy you. Stealing your spectacles on days you would not put in contacts, trying it on and copying your mannerisms. His personal favorite was to snatch away any books, notebooks, or papers in your hands; to then hold it over his head. The whole thing about you jumping to try and get it out of his hands—which was an impossible task for you—gave him the opportunity to smell your scent much better. 

During one of such instances, where he was holding one of the student council papers over his head, prolonging your work, he got a whiff of your shampoo. It smelled like fruits, strawberries and more citrus—it smelled like orange this time. This was fatal. The notes of bergamot and peonies were threatening his sanity as is, and now there were strawberries. He got so trancened by your presence that when his hand lowered involuntarily, you took the chance to grab onto his shoulder, to use him as a support to reach for your papers—he stood there looking into your squinting eyes as you retrieved the papers from his hand, until you walked off muttering curses at him. 

And he just stood staring at your back. His eyes lingered on you long enough to see you turn back and throw a glare at him as you made a turn to disappear from his line of sight.

This went on, the teasing and squabbling, the name callings, use of the words shortcake and streetlight became significantly more frequent in your respective lexicons. Satoru loved using his pretty privileges to get the girls in your class to do his bidding, and had them sending you off somewhere without mentioning his name, the naive enchanted girls would abide with no questions asked. And when you would show up, he would throw a fake snake at you, or jumpscare you—though this was a more rare occurrence than his regular teasing, just so you would not get too used to this sort of pranks that it would lose its effect on you. 

To him the idea of you was like this puzzling question nagging and straining on his mind, much like your physical self. But you got him excited and riled up. Also a little annoyed at the fact that you do not think of him worthy enough to spare any time. Which is why he came up with these mischievous ideas to elicit reactions out of you. 

Nothing was more satisfying than to see you break under his little ventriloquism.

The dynamics took a slight turn when you two became second year students.

On the fateful morning of the day when the results for first year’s finals came out—you found yourself standing dumbfounded, looking at your full name on the bulletin board, in second place. 

You came in second. 

Which is big! An amazing achievement. But it didn't feel like it. Especially when your name was displayed second to Gojo Satoru. He outdid you, he really did. Getting better grades than you in random tests and what not was one thing, then outranking you and ruining your plan for a perfect streak—was another thing. The horror and embarrassment of standing in front of the huge display of the grades, surrounded by everyone, having your failures announced in broad daylight, hearing everyone whisper about you—had you standing there like a cold unmoving statue.

So when Satoru got around to finally stroll in with ease, way after the results were announced, to come up to stand directly behind you—because as always the first person his eyes wander to find in a crowd is—you. He couldn't figure out why you glared at him differently, there was this underlying somber and a tilting glaze in your eyes. It was as if any moment you were going to break down into tears and his presence was anything but welcomed. 

Praise his tongue, because thankfully that day it held itself back. Thankfully his senses caught on to what was happening. Coming in first or second or last did not matter much to him, because what mattered most to him was to simply  get under your skin, essentially the very reason why he ended up on the top of the list—but you did not find this funny or amusing. And it wasn't your usual annoyance and dismay of his antics, he really felt like he had done something to actually hurt you. 

And which in return hurt him tenfold. Knowingly or unknowingly, Gojo Satoru bled himself a wound that he didn't know how to stitch close. 

He didn't know what exactly hurt more, the fact you ran away from there that day after he arrived, without a single word. Or the fact that you've been completely ignoring his existence since that day. It has been really painful for him, because everytime he would get a glimpse of you or a whiff of you—you'd disappear from his sphere, as soon as humanly possible. He made every effort to try to speak to you. The rejoice he felt about being assigned to the same classroom as you this year, was starting to wear off. Especially when you made it explicitly clear through your actions that you had no intention of speaking to him or acknowledging his existence, more than ever. If you were helping out class president Nanami Kento with distributing papers, you would hand over his papers as nonchalantly as possible. In one of such several instances, he gave up on giving you space to get back to your usual self, and grabbed your wrist to explain himself. 

“L/n, listen, i am really sorry alright. I don't know how it happened. I swear I did not mean to hurt you like that, I swear! I was just-” he blabbed on without making much sense, whispering as discreetly as possible. Even though the entire school was aware you two were not on even speaking terms anymore. He did not want to put you in a position where everyone made a spectacle out of you.

“I have better things to do, Gojo.” as always you would cut him off, without even sparing him as much as even a glare, then yank your wrist out of his grasp to go on your merry way. 

He really did whatever he could, following you around like a kicked puppy, leaving notes on your desk, which was fortunately assigned right before his own desk—he was not sure if it made things a little easier for him, or a hundred times harder. It stung to find those notes crumbled up and sitting on his own desk later. Stung to sit behind you, when you refused to spare a glare or two his way, even some sharp remarks, or curses directed at him. The smell of sweet citrus and peonies did not help. The teachers would call him out more often than not for being distracted in class. Poor guy was really going through it.

The nail in his coffin was, when it had already been three weeks since the new year started. Three weeks and three days of you completely ignoring his pathetic attempts at saying sorry to you. On the fourth day of the fourth week, he found you in the teacher's lounge, speaking to one of your subject teachers;

“Goodness L/n. The year just started and you are already slacking off? Forgetting to submit the student council work on time, then forgetting your class assignments!? Is there something going on? No surprise Gojo surpassed you, do you understand the gravity of that? That careless guy outranked you. And you are making no efforts to rectify that! If things go on like this, next year you might come second from last.” he really crossed a line there.

If it was in Satoru’s capacity, he would’ve probably gone in and punched the man straight square in the jaw. He never really liked him to begin with. It was not about the fact he called Satoru careless, or the fact he always finds the flaws in Satoru—it was entirely about how he treated you. And it was not just in this instance, the guy has always been harsh and judgemental towards you, from what he heard it started since one day you corrected his mistake during class. And he was known to be not tolerant of anyone being better than him, especially students. 

Satoru almost broke into the room, when his eyes locked with yours. You stood in front of the guy with your hands tightly gripped by your side, facing the door. Your already glossy eyes started to almost overflow with tears when your gaze fell on him, your body was slightly trembling. How you managed to blink away those tears, is beyond him. In the brief moment where you looked at him and looked away to control your emotions, making an effort to not break down into tears in front of the room full of teachers, the teacher who was scolding you, and your homeroom teacher Mr. Yaga who was giving you pitiful glaces—he knew interrupting will only make things worse for you.

More than anyone, you did not want to cry in front of Satoru. And Satoru was cognizant of that fact better than maybe even yourself.

So, he did the most sensible thing he could in that moment, for once, he simply stood outside with his back to the wall outside of the teacher’s room, and did not dare to look inside. And he just waited while remaining unnoticeable. Waiting for you to come out, he did not care for the looks thrown his way by the students roaming in the hallways, as long as they did not spare a glance towards you and try to snoop. What did he even want to say to you when you came out of there? He had no idea, and he knew he was the last person you would want to see right now, but for him you are the first person he wants to see everyday after he wakes up—so he could not just let you be on your own in this condition. Because he knew better than anyone, you were not one to wear your heart on your sleeves. 

Satoru essentially blended in there, to the point you did not even notice him standing there when you left the room in a hurry, and headed the opposite way from your class. Recess was already over, that guy kept you in there for the entire recess period. ‘Goodness did you even eat?’ was something that crossed his mind among various spiteful and angry words he was muttering under his breath directed towards that teacher. 

You were never one to miss a class, cutting classes without any valid reason was out of the question. But honestly if you tried to go in the class right now, he would have probably dragged you somewhere else himself. So he did the next best thing—followed you from a distance to wherever you were going. No one is going to care or notice if you two were gone at the same time, right? Well at least he could make up some excuse and take all the blame himself. He was not exactly known for his attendance record anyway, the sole reason why he made sure not to miss school was because you barely ever skipped school. 

That is how he found you in the school yard at the back, near the flower patch the students planted, against the big Momiji tree. Where you are found most times during free periods, reading whatever book you may be reading at the moment. This time you were just crying, well it is not that he could see you, but he could tell. You were sitting with your knees to your chest, face buried in your hands, your entire figure was clearly trembling even from afar. Soft sobs jabbed his ears as he got closer and made his chest hurt. He slowly walked up to the tree trying not to scare you. 

“Stop lurking like a creep.” You said with your head still down.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.” He said softly, and went to take a seat beside you, unsure if you were going to run away from him again.

You laid your legs flat on the grass and rested your back against the tree when he made his way over to you. When you looked up at him, eyes bloodshot red, glassy with tears, and more tears running down your cheeks, pooling at your chin— with your lips slightly jutted out and eyebrows bunched up in a frown, he just fell on his knees in front of you. Happerhazadly pulled out his handkerchief, and offered to take it. 

“Is this funny to you?” you said with a frown. He knew you were upset but he couldn't help but think, and mindlessly said it out loud—

“Cute.” 

“Ah so this is cute to you!? You are finding my misery and embarrassment cute. You seriously-” he cuts you off mid sentence.

“Will you ever actually let me speak!?” He takes a second and continues “Goodness shortcake, I meant you are cute. The tongue you've got on you, could wound thousands of soldiers and that brain of yours could beat Usain Bolt in a race.” He let out a short chuckle as he shook his head slightly and wiped your face with his handkerchief. 

He gingerly wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks and chin, and the accumulated tears in the corners of your eyes. With utmost gentle touch he cleaned you up, which was characteristically contradictory.

You looked away from him without any retort. Too occupied with the fact he called you cute, to even notice that little gesture. So you further leaned back onto the tree as if it'll engulf you and make you not sit here with him and confront this heavy air hanging between you two. But also, who is stopping you from getting up and walking away? 

Things have always been odd when Gojo Satoru was involved. Somehow after everything, time and time again you found yourself breaking down all your walls to let this guy have a peek at your most authentic self—someone who is envious, easily irritable, not the patient and tolerating soft-spoken girl everyone knows. And it irks you. It claws at your skin that he has been nothing but himself since day one; even before entering the gates of the school, he didn't think of the consequences but just turned his back to it and almost walked away. Yet you were rushing to make it on time, to not have any smear on your perfect record. Even if you were late only because you were up studying until late for the midterms looming over, you could not excuse one slip up.

Why didn't he run the opposite direction of the school but instead chased after you?—you couldn't pinpoint the answer. Everything about him just simply made your head scramble, enough so you didn't even realize you lost your beloved cat keychain until later during lunch. Even when you searched around everywhere, traced back your steps, and looked for it on the route back home; it was nowhere to be found. You cried yourself to sleep that night thinking how you lost the keychain, which had a cat who looked exactly like the cat you once loved and cherished. It was unfortunate enough to have lost him at such a young age, but the key chain helped to have his presence as if guiding you through obstacles.

And without him, things have been a mess. The only explanation you could rationalize was that Gojo Satoru was the one to blame for everything. If he hadn't turned back and ran in after you, you would've been more receptive to your keychain dropping instead of this giant guy running behind you, and wouldn't have lost it. If only he didn't become friends with Shoko and the others you wouldn't have to possibly interact with him. And then he wouldn't know of your existence and try to make it his mission to have your life fall apart. 

“I'm sorry.” 

What surprising words even for him. There have been very few people in his life he has ever genuinely apologized to. He could count them all on all his fingers, but he never expected to be where he was currently.

“I am sorry for saying that you smell, which I did not mean in the way it came off, I am just really bad with my words. I meant you smell really nice.” His face was completely serious and there was no trace of mockery or jest. 

“I just- not to be a creep, I saw you on my first day here. At the school gates.” His eyes softened and his body started to fidget. He almost seemed—nervous? 

“I almost ran back to Tokyo that day. I wasn't really, well to put it simply, happy about the whole moving thing. And if you hadn't rushed past me that day, I probably would've gone with my plan.” He throws an easy smile in your direction. “If you hadn't dropped this—” He digs around his pockets and encloses something in his fist. 

“Maybe it would have been much harder for me and my parents to start off here. I am almost glad you dropped this little guy that day.” When he opened his fist, in the space between you two, there rested your lost keychain with the cat who reminded you of your dead pet cat. 

Upon the sight of your beloved cat (keychain), your mouth opened a little with an audible gasp. Your hand went up timidly to touch it on his palm, actively sending shivers down his spine at the brush of your fingertips. All he could focus his eyes on was your hand, not even daring to look up at your face, afraid of the state of his own face.

He was sure the heat he felt rushing up to his cheeks and ears, must have evidently turned his pale skin into a blushing mess. If only he was not so preoccupied with his own emotions, he would have noticed the first speck of tear forming yet again in the corners of your eyes, before it could even fall down. Which he only felt when he saw the droplets of water that landed on the palm of his hand, effectively making him snap his head back up to look at your weeping face. 

If he asked you then why were you crying? You would have probably just cried harder. So you were thankful that he did not ask. 

He did not bother to ask any questions but simply took you in his arms, burying your face in his chest, actively soaking his shirt in the shivering winds of spring—letting you cry about nothing and everything, in the arms of the guy who has been the source of your annoyance since the day he arrived. 

“You make no sense to me” your sobs became muffled through the fabric of his shirt and sweater vest.

“That is a weird way of thanking someone for returning the keychain which you clearly care a lot about.” he let out a soft giggle, trying to put you at ease. You pulled away from him, much to his dismay, looking only at the keychain he returned in the palm of your hands. 

“Well you did take over my rank, and eavesdropped on me getting humiliated.” if it was in his power, he would kiss away that frown and pout.

With that one passing thought, Gojo Satoru had the first epiphany of his life that day. The answer to the inclination he felt towards hogging away all your attention.

“Satoru?” He finally heard from the haze of realization and panic that suddenly hit him. What was he supposed to do now? How was he going to ever face you with these confusing feelings?

“Are you alright?” you seemed genuinely concerned for him. Which melted him. Again, if only he was not so preoccupied with the mess in his head and chest, he would have realized much earlier you just called him by his first name. For the first time ever. 

“Did you just call me by my first name?” he asked in genuine awe. While you shied away from him a little, which he found more endearing—this is an entirely biased perspective. 

“Also! I really did not mean to outdo you! I swear! I didn't even try that hard, and I was sure you were going to do way better than me. Believe me it was just a fluke.” he blabbered on in a frenzy. “Wow, way to show off Gojo.” you said playfully with an eye roll and half smile, just impressed by the lack of imperious tone in his voice. 

“No, I swear! Also i mean you have been looking really exhausted these days, maybe that is why, or else how can i ever beat you? I don't know, maybe because I am new. So they were like—’let’s give him this so he does not go around picking fights again’. Also come on you just called me Satoru what happened! No take backs.” you let out a big laugh at his silly rambling. “Goodness. Alright Satoru.” 

And he's all smiles with the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. 

“I will be taking back my spot from you. Keep it warm until then.” With those final words you stood up and walked away, the hand you used to give him a final pat on his shoulder—dragged off his shoulder with each step enlarging the distance between you two. The agonizingly lingering heat that it left behind, surely left a mark on his skin. It burnt, or perhaps shocked him—he was unclear which was worse.

One thing was clear as he watched you walk back into the building—he is in deep waters. And unfortunately he doesn't know how to swim.

It is truly beyond current Satoru, how teen Satoru's thought processes worked. Because how do you come to the conclusion that ‘i need to do everything in my power other than confront these feelings eating away at me.’ 

So after the confrontational and very heartfelt conversation with you, Satoru felt more powerless than ever at the mercy of the feelings you provoked within him. His head would feel light, chest would feel heavy, feet would go numb, and every moment he would get a whiff of your scent he could feel a threatening nosebleed. 

Actually once during PE you sat beside him after running, sweaty and out of breath. You had simply leaned over him to grab the water bottle by his side—and his nose started bleeding. Until then he never believed in the whole thing about getting a nosebleed because of being overwhelmed, he genuinely believed one needs to be punched real hard in the face or hit something face first with good impact to get a nosebleed. 

And now he stands corrected.

He wasn't sure whether it was the citrus, peonies, or the new found smell of your musk and natural odor which triggered the whole thing. Or maybe it was the worry you showed, scrambling to stop the blood dripping down his nose with your sweat soaked towel, tilting his head back with your hands and shouting for your PE teacher to come and help him—if only you knew all of it helped less and less. 

The whole thing made him realize that he needs to get a grip! 

And how did he execute that— by confiding in his friends? Making an effort to confess to you? No. He decided that it would be a brilliant idea to accept every confession he got and date as many girls as he could—to forget you, of course. 

In his defense, he liked what you two got going right now. He gradually grew really close to you; started with simple conversations and jokes to then a fully established friendship. At least he liked the thought of being your friend. 

He liked when you’d lean back in your chair to whisper little jokes to him, how the teacher completely fumbled that sentence. Or when you would give him candies, because you always carried some with you, or when you would come to him first before going to anyone else if you did not understand a lesson. 

He particularly liked when you would share a rambling synopsis of the books you were currently reading or recently finished, it did not matter how little he cared about the books itself. Mr. ‘could not stop yapping for the love of god’, went completely silent when he stood before you. He loved when you would bring him your latest creation in the kitchen, because you were trying to learn how to cook and it did not matter to him how salty or half cooked and fully burnt the food would be. It was the effort you put into asking him about his favorites and tried making it. Like the effort he put into not letting you get a clue about how much of a digimon guy he was, because he would rather hear you talk about pokemons to him for hours. Did not matter that he thought digimon was superior. 

Satoru might have been a popular guy since he joined; being extremely good looking, witty, academically gifted, part of the basketball team and having friends who were equally well known worked in his favor of being probably the most sought after guy in school. But that never made him a ‘player’, as one would assume. Often he would return the gifts he would get or politely decline confessions. So to everyone's surprise when he accepted the first confession, rumors went around—’maybe he was waiting for her to confess this entire time?’ Well, the rumors steered a different direction when she broke up with him within a week, and the next girl also broke up with him within a similar span of time. And when this pattern repeated for the rest of the year, people started labeling him as a cliche popular guy.

Around his sixteenth relationship, you happened to see him getting slapped real hard by the girl he was going out with at the time. They were talking behind the gardening shed, close to the Momiji tree you loved oh so dearly. All that shouting and cursing she did before slapping him, reached your ears, and as a diligent member of the student’s council you could not ignore it. The slap was echoing. She really left a mark on his cheeks, others have slapped him before for being so apathetic about everything, to get a one last satisfactory reaction out of him. But they have all failed at that. But this girl slapped him harder than anyone else had before her— while calling him a piece of shit for leading her on and wasting her time. So he got broken up with again. And he did not seem even a little bothered by this, his face only started contorting in a panic when his eyes landed on you standing the opposite way from the route his ex took to storm off.  

Which ended up making him run away from you, a new occurrence for both of you. And this time you had to be the one to chase after him. You found him in the stairwells, where you silently just sat beside him. This must be what they call deja vu. 

“So. long day huh?” you dragged each word awkwardly. 

“You don’t have to do this Y/n.” he said without even looking at you, just looking down at his hands intertwined with each other, on his lap. 

“Unfortunately for you, I want to. We are friends aren’t we?” you asked him expectantly. 

And Satoru only ever wished to be your friend. He liked being friends with you. If you called him your friend the day he went to your class to return that keychain he would have been ecstatic, but right now? Being called your friend felt like yet another hit to his heart. He wants to leap out of the bounds of friendship and hold you, tell you how much he loves you. “Yes we are.” Those three words felt like gravel ripping his own skin. 

“Then just hear me out won’t you?” and how can he say no to you looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes, and smiling lips. You can ask him for anything and he would not dare to deny. So naturally he nodded a yes wordlessly. 

“You don’t seem like yourself these past few months. I am worried about you— we are all worried.” he stared at you as you took a pause to continue, assessing whether or not he was getting pissed off. “I know how much it sucks to hear that you have changed or something like that. But I do not mean it like that—you have been more distant, and just- well, you seem off.”

“You do know that you can tell me anything right? Is there anything bothering you? Are some kids bullying you? Tell me their names, I will take care of them.” you said with squinted eyes and a raised fist like you were ready to beat up some kids for him. And the sheer idea of that image tickled a laugh out of him. 

“Sure you will shortcake.” he said in a fit of laughter. And you have never been more glad to hear him call you by that nickname. It has grown on you, similarly as he has grown on you. 

“I am fine, at least now that I am sure about something, I am fine.” he said with a sigh, like something heavy lifted off his shoulders. “You sure right?” you enquired again just for confirmation. 

“Yesssss, now stop furrowing your eyebrows, you are bound to get wrinkles before you are even thirty.” he was helpless to the smile that grew on his face, “wow way to thank the person who just cheered you up.” 

“Stop trying to copy me shortcake.” he bumped his head slightly on yours, causing you to gasp and bump your forehead to his—some sort of retaliation if you will. Cannot let him get away with the last word, can you? “Don’t bump your big head with mine! What if I catch your dummy disease!?” you said with your forehead still on his forehead. Faces mere inches away from one another. 

“Uh huh? And what are you gonna do about it?” Satoru has no idea where this was coming from or where this was going. But having you in such close proximity was definitely messing with his head. 

“I will-” you cut yourself off, staring back into his eyes, unable to continue whatever you were trying to say—something about his eyes, the shades of blue, lapis and cerulean, making you incapable of continuing. It is as if there dwelled an ocean in his eyes, and unfortunately you never took your swimming lessons seriously.  “What are you going to do, shortcake?”

Well, no one found the answer to that question, as the bell rang and made the both of you flinch away from one another. In a moment of awkwardness about whatever that inexplicable tension was, you both did the most expected thing— laughed it off and headed towards the classroom. 

Rest of the year passed with Satoru coming to terms with his feelings for you, hyping himself up to confess to you, and spending time with you. And somehow the both of you ended up getting the exact grades at the end of the year, ending up on the first rank together—something that was bound to happen when you are studying together, giggling in class together, eating together, feeding the cats who took a nap behind the school, together. Even when he was more of a dog guy. 

And, Satoru really liked the idea of being together with you. 

When senior year rolled around and he was determined to make you his by the time you guys graduated high school. Which is easier said than done.

Especially when he is not making any efforts other than just moving his pupils frantically between your lips and eyes, as you go on and on about the student body president’s new dumb mandate. His mind is probably looking at you with heart eyes, lying on its stomach, kicking its feet. Because it keeps repeating,

 ‘everyday baby, please say you're mine.’

It is a little embarrassing when he has to hide behind the bookshelves when you turn to look his way, because he would be piercing his longing gaze in the back of your head. Why did he not go up to the seat you were occupying at the library? Strike up an easy conversation; and have you offer him a seat with a smile, or get annoyed at him for talking too much and too loud in the library—he does not have the answer himself. All he knew while peeking at you from between the books in a nearby shelf, that his heart was palpitating like it may burst out of his chest any moment, and have the librarian come scold and shush it. 

Walking by the hallways near your favorite Momiji tree, to catch a glimpse of you under it, by skipping on practice was the usual at this point. His teammates and coach have given up. Does not mean he doesn’t have to face consequences for these acts of stupidity. Especially on the off chance you visit one of his matches and he goes full statue in the middle of running up to the basket, then as he gains his composure back, he goes full throttle on his opponents. To show off his shots and dribbles during the match. The team and the coach let it pass sometimes, only because it guarantees that they will win the match. But they always make sure to lecture him about abandoning them to push past the hoard of people congratulating him, to only get to you. With groans of collective clamour going, “just confess already.”

Satoru, to this day, still wishes it was that easy. It is not that he never tried.

First time he tried to confess, you two were simply sitting in class, at your desks. Your chair was turned around, so you could sit facing him. He had stayed behind with you after classes ended, to help you with council work. But the yellow, orange and pink hues of the setting sun on your face, was leaving his usual talkative demeanor to be tongue tied. And when you leaned forward on the desk to snap your fingers in face to hopefully get him out of the trance where he was drowning—in those milliseconds between you moving off your seat, looming over him, and looking straight into his eyes; he almost blurted it all out. If only it was not for Kento to walk into the class and enquire about the progress you made on the work, he would have laid it all out for you. 

That was not the only time he was teetering over the edge. One time you dragged him to the garden behind school during PE to feed the cats who take naps around there. He actually blurted out “I am in love.”

Which naturally had you snap your head in his direction, your surprise also had the cat lying in your lap surprised, that it also looked in his direction. So he backpedaled, defending his words by rephrasing them, “No! I mean, I am loving this. As in, like, not having to do PE class!” you laughed it off, joking that his poor choices of words and phrasing will definitely get him in deep trouble one day.

There had been so many instances he just almost verbalized his feelings, almost found that serenity in having you know the reason behind the ache in his chest, and the foggy fuzz clouding his judgment around you. But he only wishes he actually followed through with his emotions. Often he found his emotions to be stuck in a battle between his tongue and brain. 

After many such (failed) attempts, he finally decided to just lay it all out after the graduation ceremony. As he could not burden you with his feelings when he spent the entirety of the year dilly dallying so much that the finals and entrance exams were near enough to have students lose sleep.

Sometimes in his dreams, Satoru still dreams about the day of his high school graduation ceremony. He dreams of the very events that took place that day, and different possibilities.

He woke up much earlier than usual that morning. He did not want to be late at any cost. Not because he wanted to be there to hear the principal give the same old speech she gives every year or hear the student body president, Kamo Noritoshi, give out yet another speech, he has had enough of his boring speeches as well. He really just wanted to hear your valedictorian speech. 

He was glad he did not earn the highest GPA in his year— no, it was not because he did not want to give some stupid speech, though it was part of the reason. He was beyond happy for you, instead of gloating over his own GPA which made him come in second to you, he was more thrilled over you beating him to the first spot. He was so happy that day he literally hugged you so tight, your inner organs almost spilled out from the looks of it, going as far as to lift you up in the air and making a whole show out of it. Honestly from afar it would be confusing to conclude who exactly did better, though anyone who has lingered their eyes a bit too long on Gojo Satoru knew better, which was practically the entire school, it was not surprising to see him act as such. It was rather surprising he did not tie ranks with you, considering his capacity to ace anything and everything, especially academics. But it was ordinary to see him celebrate your wins much more loudly than everyone combined.

When you asked him the question how he did not get a higher GPA than you, later over celebratory ice cream with your friend groups. He just shrugged it off and simply told you that, “Eh. I just goofed around and had a fun senior year, considering these are the most memorable years of one’s life.” with a smug smile stretched across his face, accompanied by his raised shoulders. 

“Sure, it was totally not because you were feeling too lazy.” at this point you were all too familiar with Gojo’s pattern. And unlike in the past, you found it more fun to banter with his silliness than getting angry at his conceit. It was still annoying, but not as annoying as it used to be.

“Tch. Tch. Shortcake, you just do not get the concept of fun as well as you get the concept of natural selection. ”

Despite his claims he knew why he did not surpass you, well not because he granted you that position out of pity or his obvious feelings towards you. He respected you too much to one day have you find out your achievements were not well earned, it would eat him up otherwise. Though the reason still was you, or perhaps it was his pathetic attempts at winning you over and expanding the definition of your relationship with him. 

Anyway, currently he was sitting unsteady in the back of his father’s car, stuck in a jam, not giving ear to either of his parents reassuring him from the front that they will get there in time. But unfortunately for the Gojos, their son was not the patient kind. 

Which is exactly why they didn't object much other than a few shouts when Satoru ran out of the car, with his gown and graduation hat tucked under his armpits. Thankfully they were not stuck too far from the school, but Satoru was unfortunately late for his own graduation ceremony. When he ran inside the auditorium, the hall full of parents, students, teachers, and peers alike, were staring him down— maybe for rudely interrupting the principal's speech, or for looking drop dead gorgeous while sweating buckets; it was unclear.

He silently walked up to where his class was standing and took his place in the empty space left behind for him. The principal resumed with a cough, continuing whatever faux inspirational speech she may have been talking about. His eyes roamed around frantically to land on yours, staring back at him, scrunching and raising your eyebrows in a comical way. While pointing at your watch, silently reprimanding him for his tardiness, all Satoru could do was smile and shrug like a helpless kicked puppy. But as if that has ever worked on you, so you rolled your eyes at him with the shake of your head and mouthed at him to focus on the speech.

After that very boring speech, and handing out the certificates, followed by another boring speech by Kamo Noritoshi, it was finally time for your speech. 

When you stood waiting in the left wing of the stage for your cue, he could clearly see you nervously playing with your hands. Fortunately his intense stares had you looking in his direction, so he waved his hand a little to get your focus, and just wished you a silent ‘goodluck, you got this!’ through exaggerated mouth movements.

Was it cute? Or weird? Either way, it made you smile and ease up, and that's all that matters to him. He was probably the one cheering the loudest for you among everyone in there, your parents or friends or anyone, couldn't have dared to match his voice echoing through walls, to the point the teachers had to shut him up by the very end of your speech. Because he kept clapping or whistling really loud in between every pause. 

“At the end of the day, these years we've spent here will always stick with us. For better or for worse, and all I want, is to thank those people who made it bearable through all of it. And I hope you all have a future filled with achievements, celebrated alongside those people around you, who make it bearable. Thank you very much.” 

Satoru did not cheer the loudest this time around, his silence was drowned out by the loud cheers or the flying caps around him. He was too busy standing there, a hostage to your teary eyes, and a smiling face coming down the stage.

After a few very busy hours of hugs and pictures with family and friends, and some supportive words as well as teasing lectures from the teachers; Satoru went off to find you surrounded by few people. 

“Hey!” he came behind you and spoke in a breathy whisper in your right ear.

“Ah! Satoru! Oh my goodness I've been looking for you!” You slapped his arm lightly as he tried to say, 

“Listen, I-” “I need to speak to you. Come with me. Sorry, will you excuse us?” You dragged him by his left hand, tangled with your own right hand. It is not that he has never held hands, he's done plenty more than that, but your hands meant more. And he hopes you heard his heart beating through his hands, as you held onto it and dragged him to a random empty hallway.

“I suppose this works, I was gonna drag you away myself.” He lets out a little chuckle as he settles opposite you, facing you, “I wanted to-”

“I am moving away.” 

“What?” 

“I am moving out of the country. I, um, applied to this university abroad and they accepted me. It was not confirmed until last week, I've told almost everyone but.” You take a pause and stare down at his blank face, rid off the little shy smile and blush adorning him just a second ago, before continuing, “But, I just did not- I mean, I could not just figure out how I was going to tell you.” 

Satoru lets out a dry chuckle. “What's so hard about that? Come on shortcake. It's just me.” 

“I, I know. I mean-” this time he interjects.

“Are you happy?” 

You blink twice and answer, “More than I thought I would be.” 

‘Then that's enough for me.’ Is what Satoru meant to say then, instead he said something different.

“I am really happy for you Y/n. Will miss you shortcake.” He cracks a genuine smile, despite the storm waiting to unleash in his chest through the waterworks of his eyes, regardless he was still happy in your happiness.

When you leaped into his arms with a tight grip on his back, mumbling a choked up “I'll actually miss you more dummy.” 

“Nope can’t let you have this one too.” with a chuckle he patted your head as you cried in his arms for the second time since you have known him, once was one too many times for you but here you are. Perhaps this was the last time, he thought.

“Also, I want you to have this.” you handed him a keychain, similar to yours, but instead of an orange little cat, there was a white cat attached to it. “When I saw it, it reminded me of you.” You placed the little guy on his palm, and he closed his fist around it with every intention of cherishing it for eternity. 

“I’ll see you soon right?” You asked him, as you looked up at him with tear stains on your cheek, matching the stain on his shirt, and he just nodded with a tight grip around the keychain. Maybe he was too scared to verbally give you any promises, otherwise he would start breaking down much harder than you. But one thing he was sure about,

“You'll do great shortcake, you always have.”

‘As I will always love you.’

On days as such, filled with nostalgia. Or on nights spent staring at his ceiling, wide awake, clock ticking closer and closer to the next day— he thinks of you. He thinks about the different possibilities and the most regrettable moments of his life, and thinks, what if?

What if he had chosen a different line of work instead of taking over for his father? What if he went to that pop up shop before they sold out of their limited edition creps? Or what if he chose to go to that school reunion five years ago with Suguru and everyone else. Would he have met you? 

What if he had told you he loved you that day? What if he did not wallow in his own self pity and made a better effort at reaching out to you when you suddenly stopped contacting him during second year of University? What if he swallowed down the resentment over your silence and flew across the globe to you? Would not have been the first time he did that. It was the automated voice telling him that the number he dialed does not exist anymore, and the complete refusal from mutual friends to let him know about your whereabouts—that irked him. What did he do so wrong for you to even remove the little pleasure he enjoyed from having you at the very least as a friend. 

Maybe if he asked you selfishly to not move away altogether, things would have been different. But how could he, when he never had any concrete dreams of his own other than pursuing in his father's footsteps, to now take over for him. The way your eyes always shined bright with aspirations, and the amount of hard work you put into achieving them, made him try for himself.  

Then how could he have been selfish with the one person whom he selflessly gave away his heart to? 

“Sato! Come eat! Finish that later!” his mother shouted from inside, breaking the trance of reminiscence. “Yesss mom!” he shouted back to let her know.

And when he set to go inside, he felt something heavy on his legs. While cleaning the boxes, Satoru had gone to sit on the edge of the patio, with his legs hanging from his edge. The height was long enough to have him lose his sight about where his legs were below the knees to his feet comfortably touching the ground. 

When he crouched down to look at what was weighing him down, he found a white fluffy cat; clearly well taken care of, lying comfortably, belly up, on top of both of his feet. Set of blue hued pupils peeking out of his blinking eyes. And a smug smile of contentment on his face, either satisfied with his nap or from annoying Satoru. As cute of a look alike  this cat may have been to the one on the keychain you gave him—which he still uses everyday to hold all his important keyes—Satoru could tell that this cat was one big menace. 

“Meowwww” the feline wailed, when Satoru moved his feet off the ground to take a proper look at the creature. The cat in search of his confiscated comfort, crawled up his legs, up to his lap and made himself comfortable. 

Satoru leans back to rest his weight on both of his palms, placed on either side of his torso. He lets out a dry huff “Huh. aren’t you one spoiled little guy?”

“Meow.” the cat quips as if agreeing with Satoru, his eyes were closed, trying to get back his lost sleep.

“And what is your name?” Satoru asked the cat and felt foolish that very next instance. Instead of waiting for the cat’s response—because that will obviously not answer his question—he goes to check the yellow collar adorned on the cat’s neck to check for a nametag.

“ICHIGO!” a loud familiar voice cried behind the hedges that protected the view into his parent’s front yard. 

Upon hearing the call, the cat’s ears sprung up and went back, going alert. In a blink of an eye the cat ran off of his lap, out of their main gate— in what seemed like mere seconds. And his parent’s house is pretty huge, the patio to the front gate takes well over thirty seconds to get to when you are in a hurry. 

So Satoru ran behind the cat, well after it was gone from his sight, worrying it might run into something or hurt himself. But just as he stepped out of the gate, he saw the cat cuddled up in a person’s arms, who was crouched down in relief, obstructing the view to their face. Though the shade of the hair is much familiar to him just as the voice, but the length now shorter than how he remembers it to be. But that same citrus and peony scent remained, infiltrating his olfactory sense before his eyes could fathom the figure in front of him. Or maybe he did not want to believe the reality of the situation to begin with. 

“Never do that again! Do you know how scared I was? Why would you run after a butterfly like that!? I am never letting you off your leash again!” You held the cat out, away from your embrace, finally standing straight. Dangling him in the air by his arms, like some sort of punishment.

“Meowww” the cat whined in a pitiful tone, moving his claws in a way as if asking to be held closer again.

“No Ichi. No amount of whining is getting you out of this mister!” while reprimanding the cat, you forgot to acknowledge the person standing upfront.

“Y/n?” 

You look up to see who called you out in the middle of scolding your cat. To only see another ball of familiar white fluffy hair, and cerulean eyes, the ones you’ve once loathed with your entire being, and dreamed of countless nights. Standing a few inches taller than what his previously already behemoth height during teen years used to be.

“Satoru?” 

Both of you stood there confused and mesmerized by one another’s presence, to have run into each other under such coincidental circumstances, how fateful. With a more confused Ichigo looking back and forth between you two, now standing on his own four legs on the ground. Probably trying to solve the mystery of the heavy silence and air hanging between you two. From the looks of the mirrored shock, and open mouthed gasps that left your respective mouths—seems like this unanticipated meeting was long overdue.

The beauty of fate truly lies in such oblivious encounters. And those who sneak into your life just as unexpectedly, as they fade out wordlessly.

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tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @moonlitwitchdaisy @rriwyu @naomigojo @aishi-toru @cuntyji @arcanarix @fuwagojo @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @fushitoru @gojosoups @arcanarix @moonchhu @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67

a/n: the above used images are from Pinterest, the Gojo one is from the s2 ending and the other two images, i could not find any exact sources so if you know where they are from please kindly let me know. the dividers are by— @/aquazero, @/kodaswrld @/cafekitsune & @/oldgifs4coding, respectively.

thank you to the pookies for beta reading this <3 really my longest work yet. yes it is a bit cliche but oh well. took a lottt of time to finish, first it was finals, then mental and physical health was at all time low, then literally burnt my hand. the part of the valedictorian speech the reader gave, was part of my own speech i gave at my graduation as the head girl, so if you found it shit i better not hear about it.

named her cat Ichigo, because well he calls her shortcake, and ichigo means strawberry. so strawberry and shortcake :3c

happy to have him out ^^ i hope you had fun reading this!! i have a few drabbles and such related to this i plan on releasing. still not sure if i plan to expand their ending :3c ahhh this was not going to be an open ending, but here we areeee

anywayyyy hope your enjoyed your stay ^^ make sure to share your thoughts in the ask box and comments.