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#when my brain works to let this happen it’s like!!
hysteria-things · 1 day
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SPACE CAMP
based off of this
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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt, soft dom!chris x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after a night in with alcohol, you and your two closest friends end up playing a game… not knowing what it can turn into.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: THREESOME, PURE FILTH, drinking, making out, oral (female & male receiving), blindfold, teasing, edging, overstimulation, daddy kink, drunk(ish) sex, p in v, slight spit kink, degradation/praising, ass grabbing
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,617
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: SHOUTOUT TO MY CUTESY 🧸 ANON AND ANOTHER ANON FOR MAKING THIS HAPPEN
buckle up everyone. told you it was worth the wait😇
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nick wanted to hang out with madi tonight, leaving you and your two other best friends in your living room.
christopher and matthew sturniolo.
being friends for so long is such a blessing. some friendships either have drama or fall out, but not yours. the three of you are comfortable with doing almost anything together.
who knew that phrase would slap you in the face?
“so what’s this game about?” you ask, chris helping you tie the blindfold.
alcohol decorates the coffee table. there’s no doubt that you guys are a little drunk. “we are going to put on chapstick and you have to guess which flavor it is.”
“so we’re going to make out?” you laugh drunkenly. “cool.”
chris grabs the space camp box that’s on your bookshelf, opens the box, and places the chapstick down. they each grab one, smearing it nicely on their lips so the flavor will be able to pop.
kicking your feet and biting your lip in anticipation, you wait patiently. a hand then cups your cheek, lips smashing into yours. whoever this is kisses soft, lips moving in sync for a few seconds before pulling away.
smacking your lips together, you try to taste it. “watermelon?”
“nice.” matt says, moving out of the way for chris.
this time, the kiss is filled with hunger. your lips making a smacking sound while his tongue enters your mouth.
he stops, and you must admit that that kiss made your brain fuzzy and feel things between your thighs. “i know mint from anywhere.”
mint is easy to guess since the smell is so strong. they chuckle before one speaks.
“let's spruce it up a little” matt asks, looking over at his brother with a smirk on his face. he returns the same one, the triplet telepathy working like a charm.
furrowing your brows, you wait before a pair of hands start to pull down your pants. you bite your lip, the sudden air in the room hitting your clit when your bottoms are completely off.
a presence is felt in front of you, whoever it is blowing on your area. you jolt from it.
“sensitive.” matt points out, nibbling at your inner thighs.
you gasp once his tongue meets your core, licking strands up and down your slit. chest heaving, you squirm and moan softly.
chris smiles down at you, taking a piece of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. matt takes his thumbs to spread your folds wider, causing your arousal to drip all over his mouth and for him to dig deeper.
your hand rests on the back of his neck, purposely leaving him there. you start to moan uncontrollably, leaning your head on the back of the sofa. “matt.” you whine.
somehow, he manages to get his tongue so deep that you can only shiver and gasp from the feeling.
a familiar heat hits your stomach fast, but he pulls away. then, another figure kneels in front of you.
you have a few seconds to catch your breath, but this time you squeal and grip the person’s head.
unlike matt, instead of delving in, he sucks at your bud.
chris.
“oh, chris!” you mewl, your moans more high-pitched. even though they can’t see it, your eyes roll back and also start to water.
holding onto the sides of his head, you rut your hips upward. the way he’s suckling at your needy clit only makes you want more. “mm, chris! please go faster.” you whine, clenching around nothing.
both his tongue and lips continue to suck and lick, your legs opening wider. “you’re going to make me cum!” you moan, rubbing his hair with your fingertips.
just like matt, he pulls away.
“stop teasing me,” you whine, your pussy swollen and red from the edging. you exhale shakily, whining so pathetically. “please. please let me—”
“stop whining.” matt says, kneeling once again to get face to face with your dripping wetness.
it’s like the last time — his tongue moving at an animalistic pace, nose grazing your clit.
he lifts your legs onto his shoulders, the angle letting him hit a new spot.
a tear falls down your cheek, soft sobs and moans coming from your mouth. you’re far too sensitive for this, especially if it’s two people.
going to grab matt’s hair, a hand takes your wrists and lays them on your head, the other hand pulling you in to rest your cheek on his hard-on.
you whimper, another tear leaving your eyelid. “i want to touch him.”
“nah.” chris nonchalantly, caressing your head trying to soothe you from your panting.
mumbling something out of nowhere, matt stops, seeing if he heard you right. “what was that?”
your cheeks flush, nuzzling your head into Chris’s crotch. “daddy.” you whisper. “i need to cum.”
matt’s dick twitches in his pants, the erection only getting harder at your words. chris moved his hips forward from the sudden contact on his dick. the contact in question is your lips.
while matt’s eating you out, you kiss chris’ clothed boner. you moan on it, the vibration not helping his current state of mind.
“s-shit, y/n.” he stammers, throwing his head back. “fuck keep doing that.”
you listen, until the man between your legs hits that one spot inside you that has your toes curled. “i’m close, daddy!” you moan, arching your back with your mouth hanging open. “oh, f-fuck! i’m cumming.”
repeating the phrase rapidly, your legs squeeze in on his head and shake. then, your body unlooses, your orgasm dripping onto his face and the couch.
matt sits on the floor now, scooting back while chris lets go of your hands and takes the blindfold off.
it takes a bit for your eyes to adjust to the light, but it hits you when you glance at your two best friends.
getting eaten out is one thing, but getting fucked by them is way different. however, you love the adrenaline of trying something new.
“get on your knees.” matt demands, motioning with his finger.
you listen, slowly making your way to the hardwood floor.
he smirks at how well you listen. “crawl to me.”
blush forms, your face becoming hot. you can’t tell if it’s because you’re embarrassed or because you’re so turned on by both of them.
you swiftly crawl toward matt, chris humming behind you at the way your pussy glistens by your movements.
once you are leveled with matt’s dick, you take off his belt before your hips get gripped. chris arches your back, feeling his tip coating itself with your juices.
you moan, continuing to take matt’s underwear off. chris groans, pushing into you with ease because of how wet you are.
inhaling sharply, you grab matt’s base and move your hand up and down it. he moans, his eyes not leaving contact with yours.
the boy behind you thrusts hard and fast, not having you adjust properly. whimpers leave your lips. man, he’s huge.
you try your best to keep matt occupied, by the pleasure feels so amazing that you stop moving your hand.
instead, you let go and look at him, face contorting in pleasure while moans come out of your agape mouth. “c-can i suck your cock, daddy?” you beg between noises. “i p-promise i’ll suck it good. i wan-want to feel your cock in my mouth.”
without saying a word, he grabs your head a pushes it down. you gag when your nose reaches his pubic bone. he does all the work and bobs your head. all you have to do is sit there and take two dicks.
the vibrations from your sounds vibrate through matt’s body. he smiles smugly, admiring how you’re under their control.
“damn, she’s tight.” chris grunts, grabbing your ass and jiggling it.
“so is this slutty mouth.” matt says, noticing the way you react by rolling your eyes back and moaning louder. “yeah? you like being our little slut?”
his grip tightens on your head and you wince. when your mouth reaches his tip, you spit on it… once, twice, three times before continuing.
matt groans. it’s a filthy sight, but he fucking adores it.
the echo of skin on skin bounces throughout the room, gulping and gagging flooding your ears.
“this is such a good pussy for such a good slut.” chris heaves, reaching between your thighs to rub your clit. your eyes widen, and your legs start to become jelly.
“mmfph clothe.” you try to warn, but for obvious reasons, you can’t.
matt’s balls tighten, immediately shooting his load down your throat. “that’s right.” he grunts, watching the way your hollow your cheeks to keep it in. “swallow it like a cumslut.”
finally being able to breathe again when he pulls out, you gasp for air but it soon turns into a scream when chris abuses that sweet spot.
matt lifts your head by the chin, leaning in to kiss you sloppily. he moans, biting your bottom lip and tugging at it when he tastes himself on your tastebuds.
“fuck yeah.” chris whispers when you start to streak your cream down his dick.
he pulls out, spurting his white on your back. (deep down he wishes he was able to finish inside you.)
you collapse on the ground, the two boys helping clean you and then themselves. after putting their clothes back on, they help you up and sit you back on the couch.
“put the blindfold back on.” matt asks.
your eyes widen, still dazed. “w-why?”
“because princess.” he says, grabbing the fabric and putting it back on your eyes. “we still have one more flavor left. you have a long night ahead of you.”
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𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
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wh1msic4alwasab1 · 3 days
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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞 ‹𝟹
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synopsis: Jing Yuans love for your thighs
tags: thigh fucking, mention of cockwarming, cunnalingus, explicit, vulgar
wrd cnt: 450+
a/n: click the title for a song as you read <3
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Jing Yuans infatuation with your thighs is something that needs to be studied.
He melts at the sight of your pillow like legs when you sit down (especially on his lap), he admires the way they look when you walk, and when you wear skin tight stockings. Or really nothing at all; that’s his favorite.
Whenever he catches you reading or sitting down, he practically begs you to let him lay his head on or between your thighs. He spends the whole time feeling them up, rubbing circles into your leg while looking at them, imagining all the marks he's gonna give them.
He especially crumbles when you play with his hair and run your hands through it when he’s laying down on you; wishing you’d pull it hard when he’s eating you out.
He begs even more for you to just lay down and spread your pretty thighs for him, he’ll even do it himself before he buries his entire face inbetween them; gripping them, sucking and biting, leaving so many marks and scratches but quickly peppering them with kisses.
Thigh fucking is definitely his favorite. Well, second to being inside you, but pretty damn close.
But he loves to fuck your thighs when you’re sitting on his lap; his hard cock pressing your ass and threatening to tip the fabric of his clothing.
He’d put his hand around your waist from behind while the other finishes up his desk work infront of you both.
He’d play with the little strings at your skirt, pulling the fabric of your sheer tights and snapping them on your legs and tickling you every now and then, hearing you giggle.
You could feel everything under you, hearing his heavy breathing when you twitch around in his lap.
If you’d get especially bold and start moving back and forth on his clothes cock, well that’s on you for what happens next.
Your tights would be ripped to nothing, leaving you in a hiked up skirt and exposed thighs.
Not for long though, as his big hands do well to cover and rub warmth into them as he undoes his own pants.
His cock springs out and hits your lower back, before he lifts up your body with ease and places his thick, throbbing shaft between your soft and supple legs.
“Ah- Fuck…they’re just so perfect~” He’d groan, both swinging his hips up and lowering your body down in the same motion; catching a high so pleasurable he couldn’t even last 10 minutes inbetween your skin.
And when he did cum, he’d smear all his cum over your thighs, probably making you cockwarm him for the time being until he decides he wants to fuck your brains out on top of his desk, cunt already dripping in the cum he shoved into you by that time.
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whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.
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hazelfoureyes · 10 hours
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A Doe in Fall (Part 3)
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⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall smut💦
Part 1 - Pretty in Red Part 2 - Liar
So enraptured with Alastor, you forgot how you left work on Saturday. Tommy didn’t forget. And he made sure you remembered. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for you, your paramour made a habit of helping quicken karma’s balancing act.
「warnings/promises: immediate physical assault (let’s be up front about that), allusions to sexual assaults having happened in the past to non-reader characters, HumanAlastor x FemReader, penetrative sex, Protective Alastor, bruises, somewhat graphic descriptions of murder, mentions to coerced prostitution, sex near a corpse (words that have the FBI watching me), stabbing, knife, bad burlesque names, gambling, my own new HC for the Radio Demon’s origins, another deer reference thanks to @n-after-me , chin quivering, Tommy doesn’t know French and it shows, posted early for @jazzmasternot, wrath」
Minors DNI 🤺
Part 3 A tragedy 
You walked into the theatre for rehearsals with a pep in your step, body still humming. It was like the usual adrenaline rush Alastor brought couldn't fade this time.
But it did, when Tommy grabbed you by the hair out of your makeup chair and threw you into the wall. 
You couldn’t react, head ringing after it left a small indent in the drywall. Unlike before, you didn’t try to stand. Make him work for his second hit. And he did. Leaning down he yanked you off the ground by your arm and dragged you to your feet. 
“Do you think you’re funny?” He shook you, you were sure you could feel your brain jostle. It was rhetorical, but you replied anyway.
“No, Tommy.”
“No. Exactly.” He backed you up onto the make up table, head pressed into the mirror. “Mr. Wilson was not happy. He pulled his contribution. I know you don’t have that kind of money. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”
His fingers dug into your cheeks, “No.” You genuinely didn’t. He was talking to you like you had been in the loop on whatever it was he had been doing on the side. All of this was as shocking to you as your actions were, apparently, to him. 
“You’re gonna take whatever meetings I make until that money is back.” He let go of you and turned to leave but changed his mind. Coming back, he swung his fist and clocked you on the left side of your face.
You didn’t see it, but you heard the other girls running and pulling Tommy off of you, yelling and pleading for him to calm down.
“I worked really hard for you!” He shouted, jerking his shoulders out from under the hands of the other performers. What was he talking about? You hadn’t discussed any of this, asked for any thing from him. “I waited for a high roller for you. Real classy guy. Just wanted a private show! That was it!” He spit, “No, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is welcome now to ask for your time.”
You just held your face, unsure if you had the right makeup to hide the bruise before stage call. 
“Well?! Say you’re sorry.”
You considered not saying anything. No response. When you looked at him, you could see the half a dozen other girls staring back at you, just say it. We have to rehearse.
“I’m sorry.” Eyes cast to the floor.
“For what?”
It hurt when you rolled your eyes, “For being ungrateful?” 
He shoulder checked a few girls on the way out. A couple came to you.
“He’s got some gambling debt, he’s just using us to get ahead.”
“I have some stuff to cover that up for tonight.”
“He usually cuts us in.”
Tears stung your eyes, you were angry and humiliated. You could work elsewhere, with a little luck. Take a job at a diner out of the area where no regulars would stir up trouble. Maybe leave until Tommy got his debts paid off or whatever was motivating this recent streak of cruelty. But you didn’t want to run away. No one applauded waitresses. Maybe if you made yourself as unattractive as possible, no one would request you. Dirty your teeth, talk about other men, speak crudely. 
“What exactly was he talking about?” you asked no one in particular. The girls were quiet for a beat.
“Well ya know, private shows for clients who can afford it.” High pitched and nasal, Florence spoke as she searched her make up station.
“That’s it?” Incredulous.
“Sometimes. You know how it is… woman left alone in a room with a man who has too much money or ego or drink. Doesn’t always stop at a dance.” Minnie had much more experience than you, “It isn’t our jobs. It isn’t normal. But, well, ya heard about New York right? They’re trying to make burlesque outright illegal…”
“Gotta enjoy the art while it’s just misunderstood.” Florence wiped down your mirror before setting her supplies down for you. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”
By the time patrons began to stream in, you had blood staining the white of your left eye. Nothing you could do, but maybe at a distance it wouldn’t be noticeable. The bruise under your eye from his fist was easy enough to cover. The contusion from where your right cheek hit the wall was a little harder. 
Luckily, the stage offered a buffer of space and the rest of the room was dark. 
During your show, you tried to keep your eyes moving so the red sclera never stayed in one place too long. For the first time, the cheers did nothing for you. You felt your chin quiver, fighting back tears. You wanted to scream, to tell them to hate you and leave. Stop fucking clapping.
Ruth was naturally the first to come to you after your performance, “Want me to do the tour with you? Arm in arm around the hall.”
You took her up on the offer. It lightened the load, her taking charge of the conversation when people approached or bought you drinks. Luckily the bartender always poured the performers weak cocktails and watered down liquor to keep their heads on straight. 
Ruth’s companionship afforded you precious time to plan, to consider how quickly you could find new work or at least a way out of this.
“What a treat. Two for one. Can I buy you both a drink?” 
Ruth turned first to greet the customer, “Ooh yes sir! Gin and tonic, please and thank you. Autumn?” Your stage name drew your attention back to the world, turning finally.
“Alastor.” It fell from your mouth like a lead balloon.
He smiled down at you, his hand offering a little wave, “Hello. Surprise.” 
Your face fell, a frown pulling down your chin. It took you too long to recover, batting your eyelashes and turning the corners of your lips up unnaturally. 
“So you do have a beau!” Ruth slapped your arm, “I’m Skye, Skye Scraper. Pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” She extended her hand, Alastor planting a kiss on the back of it, concealing his smile at the name.
You tried to keep your eyes on the floor, head turned slightly away from him to obscure the neon sign of an eye shouting, ‘Weak!’
Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t an oblivious man. Unless he was dancing or drunk. “May I have a moment alone with her?” Alastor asked Ruth. Ruth looked to you for your okay, and you just nodded. She gave a little nod of her own to Alastor and slinked away. 
“Are you unhappy to see me, dear? Did I overstep by coming by unannounced?” You hadn’t heard him worried before, it pained you. 
“No, no! I am… so happy to see you. I just had a long day.” You scanned the room for the darkest area to bring him. A booth would be best, you could keep him on one side of you. You gestured with a nod of your head.
“Ah, I kept you out too late.” Alastor didn’t move.
“Not at all, come on let’s sit down.” You reached back for his hand without looking at him, but when you pulled he still didn’t move. He remembered the way you pulled at the hand of that man in the alley the first night you met. Desperate to escape somewhere. 
“Is there a reason you won’t look at me?”
Lie. 
“Uh, no, I’m just embarrassed about this heavy stage makeup.” 
Alastor paused, hand slipping from yours to adjust his sleeves. It was a nervous action, an attempt to self soothe, but you didn’t know that. “I should have asked before coming.”
“Alastor, it’s not…,” you kept your eyes down at your hands.
“Then look at me.”
Would he think you were incapable of protecting yourself? His pity would kill you. Perhaps he would decide a second rate burlesquer wasn’t worth making time for anymore.
You could intentionally wound him, say you don’t want to see him so he leaves. But that sword was double edged and you weren’t sure you’d survive that either. You weren’t making it out of this.
You finally looked at him. He leaned in, “What happened to your eye?” A slender finger gently tilting your chin upward.
Lie. 
You thought too long for an answer. Why were you getting worse at lying? It used to be one of your best shields and swords but now you were so slow on the draw you were left defenseless. Vulnerable. His hand took yours, gently pulling you into the lobby and through the glass doors of the theatre.
Under the bright lights of the marquee and the street lamps, Alastor inspected your face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, wetting it in his mouth before wiping the makeup off of your under eye.
“Alastor, people are staring.” 
His eyes fell down, soft hands lifting your arm where a bruise was already formed. You hadn’t noticed that one.
“What happened?” He wasn't looking at you when he said it, instead cautiously wiping the makeup off your cheeks in search of more marks.
“The truth or wh-“
“Always. Never give me anything else.”
You sighed, and explained, “Tommy, the manager, he’s been shifting tactics for bringing in money because he owes some big bads a lot of debt. Private shows with performers that sometimes get hands on…,” his hands stopped moving but his eyes didn’t meet yours, “I never asked to be included in it. I wouldn’t do it. I was rude to a man Tommy introduced me to and I ran off Saturday. Yada Yada. He got me as soon as I got to work.”
Alastor didn’t reply, just turned on his heels and marched back into the theater. You chased after him, “I don’t need you to fight my battles!” You tried to get in front of him but he walked right past you.
“Not about what you need, dear, it's about what he deserves.” 
Alastor asked the bartender for Tommy, who pointed to the short but stocky man talking to a group of guests. Alastor approached so quickly Tommy didn’t have time to greet him, instead just backing up until he fell ass first into a booth. Alastor boxed him in, one hand on the wall and one on the table, towering over Tommy as he sat.
“I hear you sell dancers by the night.”
You paced the lobby nervously. Would you be fired? What would Alastor say? Would Tommy hit him, too?
He re-emerged, “Come to my car, please.” He didn't stop walking as he said it. 
You followed a few blocks down to his car, parked on the street. He opened the passenger door for you and closed it behind you. You wanted to ask if you were going somewhere, but thought better of it. A tight u-turn, he pulled the car into the side street where you’d first met each other.
Wordlessly he got out of the car, you opening your door before he could. Popping the trunk, he set the folded canvas inside a paper bag. Checking first, he placed it inside one of the tin trash cans. 
You stood, waiting for an explanation.
Finally he stopped and made eye contact with you. “You have a date tomorrow, with me. Bring this to the apartment above the theater before Tommy and I arrive.” Opening your mouth to speak, he didn’t stop to let you add anything. “Preferably near the bed.” He closed the trunk, “Wear red, please.”
You searched his face for some kind of discernible emotion but found none. Those constricted pupils again, an animal staring back at you from behind a pair of glasses. There was no reason to ask him, it was obvious what was going to happen. Did you want to stop it? 
Did you want to see it? Alastor at work?
“Okay. On all the points.” You looked back at the trashcan, “Canvas hidden near the bed. Wear red.”
“The extra clothes can go anywhere out of sight.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Your voice cracked a little, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”
He nodded, “I can’t stay here.” Before getting into his car he turned and added, “Don’t cover the bruises tomorrow. He should see them.”
You nodded in return, “Are you doing this for me?” So quiet you almost hoped he didn’t hear it.
He paused, one leg already in the car and his back to you, “No. I’m doing it for everyone.”
You watched his car light up and leave the alley.
It’s not that you felt abandoned, you felt…. Stranded. You had to go back in there, alone, and put on the normal act but under abnormal conditions. 
So it was happening. You hadn’t seen the first time. Just felt it. You didn’t see the second. You were going to actually see a man die. Not just a man, someone you knew. Someone you used to consider a friend of sorts. Before he got into whatever trouble was driving him to act like a flesh peddler. Could you do it? Could you watch a man be killed? Was that even what Alastor had planned?
Tommy found you the second you were back in the room, hand pressing too hard on the bruises he left on your arm. “You have a meeting tomorrow after your show. If you don’t show up,” he yanked you close, putrid breath of dead teeth you’d never been bothered by before this moment and bad booze assaulting your senses, “I will fucking kill you.”
You almost started laughing, bringing your hand to your mouth to hide your smile. “Okay Tommy.” 
Fuck it. He was going to die anyway, might as well make it a date. 
Ruth saddled up beside you as soon as Tommy was out of earshot, “Look at that smile. Quickie in the alley?”
Disgust, “Jesus, Skye, I was gone like, 5 minutes.” She shrugged. “Why does everyone think — is everyone fucking their daddies* in the side street?” She nodded. “Well, I’m not.”
“Prude.” She joshed before linking your arm in hers again, “We’ve got at least another hour of schmoozing. Tits up!”
Your smile came effortlessly that night, a thrum of excitement keeping you light on your feet. Not excitement for death, but for the very concept of being closer to Alastor. Would you see it happen, in front of you? Or would he have you leave? Either way, you were an active participant with a task list.
He trusted you, even if in a small way. Trust was so rarely given from the people who mattered. Men trusted you often; to be sweet when they tell you they were embarrassed about something, to lie when they ask if you orgasmed, to not steal their cash when they blacked out with their pants still on. Pulling it from strangers was one of your greatest pleasures. But it was easy. You were skilled. 
Yet again, like so often now, Alastor was the exception. He didn’t toss himself at your feet. He stood tall in front of you and on his own terms offered you the things you wanted. You didn’t have to pretend to be demure, you didn’t have sit on his lap in silence and nod and laugh. Just yourself, as much as you could allow yourself to exist in the world. No tricks. If his trust was presented wrapped in a bloodied bow, well, you would thank him dearly and wear the ribbon round your neck like a trophy.
Many men spoke to you, but luckily your participation in conversation wasn’t something they really cared about. As they spoke, your eyes were looking past them and into the future. 
However there was a sense of dread when you lied in bed that night. The excitement of getting closer to Alastor had melted into the fear there was no going back from this. 
Something in your chest stung, a thorn growing from somewhere unknown. Three encounters (that he knew of) and already it seemed your thoughts were more Alastor than yourself. No person had ever made such an impression before. You didn’t like it, but it made you happy. Which is why you didn’t like it. Tying your happiness to another person was a reckless thing to do. You’d seen your mother and half sister both use a man’s attention as a replacement for being happy with themselves and it made them brittle and hollow.
Thinking of what would happen the following night, oddly, you were reminded of losing your virginity. You were a “late bloomer” and were terrified you’d never be you again after. Like something would be taken from you. You fell asleep to that thought, of what you’d lose.
Then you woke, uncharacteristically early, feeling none the bit rested. No dreams. No nightmares. A few seconds of darkness and suddenly it was morning. With the extra time you had you wandered into a department store before going to the theater.
When a sales woman approached you, asking what you were looking for, you were too tired lie.
“A red dress.” You didn’t have the makeup at home to cover your marks, and gave up being worried about it. 
Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t so odd of a sight; a woman with a black eye.
“What’s the occasion? Apology dinner?” The woman fidgeted with the hangers while looking at you.
You grimaced, “No, a murder.”
She howled, “You are a hoot! Don’t we wish, huh? Let me pull you some options.”
You put the dress on the top of the paper bag, having hidden it under your make up table the previous night. Your fingers were trembling, applying your makeup needing deep breaths and concentration.
“Ruth, can you do my lips?” You turned and handed her the brush. 
“The eye looks better.” She took your chin in her hand and painted your mouth a pretty shade of red.
“Thank you.” You offered her a smile but she didn't let go, “What?”
“You ever seen a cornered raccoon? Like one got in the house and your mom boxed it into a corner with a broom?”
A nod, yes, actually, you had.
“Who’s got the broom?” She asked. You knitted your brow, not understanding. “Who’s got you in a corner? Is it Tommy?”
You took your chin back, deep breaths. “No brooms. No corners. Just rattled still from last night.” Not a lie, surprisingly. “You thought of a raccoon? Really? Is it because of the eye?”
When you took your bow for the evening and turned to escape the stage lights for the darkness of backstage, you found Tommy leaning just outside the dressing room.
“Get changed, doors unlocked upstairs. Room 504.” 
Grabbing the paper bag you ran through your mental checklist. Wear red, take off your make up, hide the canvas by the bed. An odd to-do list for murder.
The theater had two floors of modest apartments above it, the owners keeping two of the open for the theater’s use. One was for the owners should they ever visit New Orleans, and the other was multi use. Storage and a crash pad for performers or Tommy when he worked late.
The bag crinkled as you hugged it, looking over the small apartment. Boxes, decorations, a modest kitchen and a bed. The bathroom was quite large, a tub and shower head. Was this where the other performers went?  
Why hadn’t anyone said anything sooner? Why didn’t anyone leave yet?
Taking a second, you got to work. You opened the canvas and slid it under the bed, the smallest bit of edge sticking out for easy retrieval. Dizzy with the quickly settling reality of what you were doing, you sat on the floor for a moment. Trying to calm your breathing, you closed your eyes.
The fear of the unknown was suffocating you. There was a possibility Alastor failed and ended up hurt. Or, that he changed his mind and Tommy left you two to just hold hands on the bed for a sex-appropriate amount of time.
You patted your thighs and stood up. No time now for a panic attack. Alastor had a change of clothes in the bag, neatly folded and tied in twine. They were set onto the shelf above the closet.
And finally, yourself. Your dress was on and you stopped to wipe the make up off your face in the bathroom mirror. Still bruised, still nasty. The dress was nice though, carrying some of the weight for your battered mug. Red cotton, sailor neck and little gold buttons down the front. Flashy, brighter than the dark number you usually wore.
Would he like it? Most men looked for how a dress accentuated your curves (or hid them) but you had a feeling Alastor didn’t care so much about that.
You took your seat at the edge of the bed, thin mattress sagging from your weight.
The clock ticked, until finally the door opened and you saw something you hadn’t seen before and knew you’d never see again. Tommy and Alastor.
“Here she is. Autumn, this is Mr. Cerf. He's asked I stay in the apartment, apparently word of your attitude already spread among the upperclass.” Tommy wagged his finger at you in a playful way that was entirely out of place.
“Look at her. Pouting. Not very excited, is she?” Alastor smiled at you, softly. You felt for a second that maybe you entirely misunderstood. He looked calm, normal. Even peaceful.
“It’s always nice when they fight a little. But she won’t cause you any trouble.” Tommy patted Alastor’s back, who immediately shirked away.
“Do you like it when women try to fight you off, Tommy?”
A dry laugh, “Ya know how it is. They gotta act like they don’t like it so people still respect ‘em.”
A hum. Alastor’s smile falling entirely. A shadow settled over his face. “I see. That does make things easier.” He slipped on his short black gloves. “I always tell her she looks lovely in red. She rarely listens to me, but I’m happy to see she did tonight. It’s a special occasion.” 
Once, you thought. You didn’t listen once. 
Tommy nervously chuckled, looking from Alastor then to you, “What?” Alastor grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him to the ground and onto his knees. Hand fisted in his hair, knife pressing across his throat. 
Alastor dug his knee into the small of Tommy’s back, “Tommy, I think you owe the lady an apology.” You let your feet find the edge of the canvas and slid it out with a kick. It glided across the wood and stopped where his knees met the floor. 
“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tommy was staring at the waxed fabric in front of him. 
You felt your eyes sting with tears, a smile breaking out against your will. “For what?”
“I—,” his eyes searched the room for an answer, your words bringing a pulse of Deja Vu, “It’s about yesterday?” He seemed to relax a little, “Come on. I said sorry. ” Looking back to Alastor. “I didn’t know she had a guy.”
Alastor yanked his head back to look him squarely in his eyes, “Wrong answer.” He pushed him down onto his stomach, “Come on Tommy. I like when my victims fight a little, too.” Sensing the taller man towering over him with the knife, Tommy scrambled onto his back to look at Alastor. Tommy started shouting, “Hey!! Someone!” But there was no one to hear him. That was the beauty of the space he always brought his dates to; it was too loud to hear anyone scream. 
Funny how that works both ways.
Alastor shrugged, “Well that didn’t last long.” As Tommy backed up, trying to get traction on the slippery canvas and failing, Alastor straddled him. Tommy’s hands came up, one pushing against Alastor’s face, the other against the arm holding the knife. Alastor put both hands onto the knife’s handle, staring down into Tommy’s eyes as he inched closer to the man’s neck. “You look scared, Tommy. Are you scared?” 
The other man shouted, eyes trembling as he watched the knife come down.
Alastor pushed through, metal sinking into Tommy’s throat. No pause, he withdrew and sank it again and again. Tommy’s hands fell from Alastor’s face, flailing slightly at his neck before slumping down. He was frenzied, stabbing at his chest and upward with wide eyes. You recognized those constricted pupils. They made sense in this setting. Alastor was panting, taking a second to split the skin from ear to ear in the middle of his melee. 
You brought your knees to your chest, watching the crime unfold. Was this anger for you or truly for everyone? No one ever got so angry for you before, if you could be so conceited as to say this was for you. Your mouth opened and you spoke without thinking, no filter. “You look like an angry God. A jazz demon of wrath.” You smiled, the morbidity not lost on you.
Alastor stopped, frozen as he stared at you. For a second, he had forgotten you were there. He was always alone during these hobbies of his. Until recently. You looked like an angel in red and gold. Had he dyed your heavenly robes crimson? Or had you been made that way?
He dropped the knife, peeling his gloves off and stepping over Tommy’s decimated torso before kicking off his shoes.
You scooted back onto the bed and opened your arms, welcoming a strange after-kill cuddle. Your reward.
Alastor took off his bowtie, then his shirt. It took you a second, not realizing what was happening until he began to unbuckle his belt. “Now?!” 
He nodded, “Yeah.”
“What the fuc— okay,” your hands flew to unclasp your stockings and roll down your panties. You mumbled to yourself, “Jesus Christ.”
As he crawled over you, warm gloveless hands tracing along your legs, hips, waist, you looked at up him with your now dilated pupils, “It’s murder? You need murder?”
He laughed, embarrassing you a little, “No it isn’t that.” His face nuzzled into your neck, “You’d go to hell? For me?” 
You froze, you hadn’t really seen it like that.
“You’d damn your eternal soul,” his hips pressed into you, an unfamiliar hardness there that made you gulp, “just to spend time with me?”
How were you so heated over an erection? A dime a dozen, men practically threw them at women who offered them the slightest smile. Yet feeling him so hard against you, something you had been practically praying for, made you weak. A trembling virgin all over again. 
Don’t lie, he always told you to be honest so you decided to try it out even if it made you feel at risk of harm. Your hands slid up and into his hair, gripping gently, enough to elicit a groan from him, “Well I was worried heaven wouldn’t have jazz, so… yeah.” You had to always say something a little in jest, to hide from the vulnerability of honesty, “This seemed like a better option.” The truth was, if you had to state it plainly, you would dive head first into hell in exchange for his smile. To hear his laugh. To feel his breath over your mouth. You were quite sure hell was more your scene, anyway.
“I’ll be sure to fill your afterlife with jazz every day, dear.” 
How could he make hell sound so sweet?
“It’s a deal.” Fingers playing with his hair, basking in the warmth of skin on skin. 
He leaned up, eyes scanning your face as he always seemed to do in these intimate moments. The feeling spreading down his chest was one wholly foreign to him, one he was struggling to put into his own words. You hadn’t run away. You opened your arms for him even still, welcoming your own damnation in exchange for… affection? Attention? Him? The reason didn’t matter, not to Alastor, and not now to his growing need. You didn’t even push him for more than he wanted to give, not yet needled him for details, secrets, sex. Could you really just be there for Alastor? Take him for what he was and what he wasn’t?
His mouth was salivating at the thought you’d give him anything. Reality was, you already had. His finger caressed the purple welt on your cheek. You were given pain and he returned it ten fold to its owner. A demon of wrath. He felt his cock twitching, underwear tented around him. 
You smiled up at him, wiping a little streak of blood from his jawline, “You look quite pretty in red yourself.”
His head came to rest on your collarbone with a shaky sigh.
Had you said something wrong? 
“Please, you’re already pushing me to my limit.”
Making a show of it, you zipped your mouth and pretended to toss the key. You wanted to reach down and pull off his remaining bit of clothing, to rub yourself against his manhood. But, you weren’t sure if that was something he would appreciate. You didn’t want to ruin his experience, to make him regret offering you something he so clearly didn’t need to give.
He removed his underwear, watching you unbutton your dress and pulling your arms free. Your bra, garter, and stockings were still on. Somehow he found it more scandalous than if you were completely naked.
Your breath was shaking, uneven as the excitement took control of you. There was a not totally unfounded fear you'd black out from hyperventilating.
Alastor lined himself up with your heat and pressed in, making a hard to decipher face as his brow knit up and he bit his lip. You were already so wet, not a hand or mouth needed from him. He wondered if you shared more than an acceptance of justified homicide; your body so relaxed and welcoming to him. 
With a few shallow thrusts, he was fully sunk into you. You may have let out a cry. An emptiness you hadn’t clocked was suddenly gone. Was this what Zeus meant when he said the two souled humans were too powerful and tore them apart to weaken them? 
Was this sex, or love? The word made you nervous. But—- if he offered it to you in both palms, you’d suffocate yourself in his hands.
He began to move in earnest, thrusting in and out slowly. You had expected the frantic moves of a horny virgin. Instead he was moving with control, hips rolling into you like waves gentle and steady where the lake met land, not slamming like many men before him. 
Had it been any other dick, you’d whine and begin moving yourself against it for that needed speed. This was Alastor. Dripping pleasure into your open mouth like a drought-breaking summer shower.
You didn’t recognize your own sounds, already panting and moaning as a warmth spread from the place where his cock was sliding around inside you.
Alastor tried to keep calm. Even when his body was sensitive, he wasn’t used to the mental work needed to fight off his orgasm. Usually he had the opposite issue, struggling to stay focused enough to finish. Mind wandering to more productive chores. 
But you were so wet, so accepting in body and mind. He watched your eyes close, one hand gently clawing at the blankets, the other reaching down to touch his lower stomach every time he thrust back in. For the first time in a very long time you really truly wanted to remember who was at the other end of the dick you were enjoying.
Languid moves. Swollen cockhead hitting the bottom of your walls, the top, the end, pushing still a little further.
“I’m sorry,” Alastor leaned down over you, kissing at your jawline, “For making you wait so long for so little.”
His rhythm picked up then, burying himself deeper into your sopping cunt and dragging out enough to pull back that quiver of his release.
You shook your head, lips tingling. “Nothing little here.”
He attempted a laugh, losing his breath. He wanted to last longer, to make the experience worth your while but he could feel you dripping down his balls and it weakened him with alarming efficiency. Finally the frenzied speed you witnessed earlier was turned to you, you brought your legs up, holding at his sides. “Darling I need to-,” he moaned into your ear.
“Please stay.” You clung to his neck, nails grazing at his shoulders.
Alastor’s voice was soft and sweet, a small moan and a gentle grunt. His legs spread more, trying to get every centimeter of himself into you. Hips now grinding in a small circle, but not losing any of the comfort of your warmth. You felt him still pumping that welcomed heat into you, and you tightened around him, drawing out your own moan. He hissed, “Sensitive.” Your legs were shaking like leaves in a storm, no orgasm but the pleasure nonetheless intoxicating.
The front of your brain felt like static, perhaps from the lack of oxygen as you had uncharacteristically lost your breath under Alastor. 
Like losing your virginity, after the fear faded and you were able to find a moment for introspection, you found yourself larger than before. The edges of your canvas expanded out, new parts of yourself unfurling for you to explore. Nothing had been lost, only gained.
Alastor kissed at the dark circle under your eye, at the bruise of your cheek, he lifted your arm and kissed gently at the purple and blue spots there too. He had lied, and he wasn’t sure why, but maybe he’d find the will to admit it to you someday.
He had left yesterday to keep from strangling Tommy in the center of the theater, finding himself in a rage. He rarely felt anger. His killings always about retribution, about karma, about righting the scales. He needed to leave to keep from losing his composure.
He lied to you in the alley, unable to look you in the eye when he did it for fear you’d see it. You always seemed to see him with a clarity others didn’t despite such a short time together. He struggled to hide from you and it was as exciting as it was frightening. A testament to your similarities.
He hadn’t done it for everyone. No. His personal moral code fell to pieces when he saw your bloodied eye and bruised skin. He would have killed Tommy even if he had been a good man, even if you’d been the instigator. None of his murderous rules mattered. And it scared him. 
(Next Part Next Week, orz)
*slang for boyfriend, often a rich one
༻Masterlist༺
∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):
@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,
@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay /
🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions
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theemporium · 2 days
Note
cece my love!! huge congrats once again on 10k!! could i please request a ‘smut-berry daiquiri’ with nico, 8. “let’s put that smart mouth to good use.”
(brat tamer nico brain go brrrrr) -lee
you are absolutely evil for making me spiral over brat tamer nico again but thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
8. "Let's put that smart mouth to good use."
.
You were winding him up. 
You knew you were. You knew you were testing his patience. You knew very well that you were being difficult, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. You were coming off a six day work week, your colleagues were getting on your last nerves and every minor inconvenience made it feel like the universe was against you.
From the barista fucking up your coffee order to your favourite blouse getting snatched against a handle at work and ripping, it was just a build up of small things that continued to irk you throughout the week. It was annoying, irritating and made you want to scream at everything in the world.
But that wasn’t an option, so now you were feeling a little snappy and impatient and you just fucking wished that everything in the world stopped so you could catch your breath for, like, two seconds.
“Did you say it was white or red wine that went better with the dish Nina recommended?” 
It was a simple question. It wasn’t even like he had been pestering you with questions all day the way your colleagues had been doing the whole week. But it seemed to be pulling the fray, stray string that was holding the last of your patience together.
“Can’t you just google it?” You muttered under your breath, your eyes locked on whatever mind-numbing document your boss had forwarded to you, despite the fact it was well past your office hours. 
Nico glanced towards you but didn’t say anything. Because he was Nico and he had the patience of a saint and he knew you had a rough week. And there was a level of guilt there, that he had been busy with the team and a roadie earlier in the week. He thought the homemade dinner might help cheer you up, help you relax a little. 
But he was quickly seeing that wasn’t the case.
Ever since you had got home, it was whispered comments and sassy remarks muttered under your breath. It was eye rolls and scoffs and heavy sighs that made his teeth grit together. Just small little mannerisms that, usually, he would be able to brush off. Except now they were building up and he was losing his own patience. 
You were acting like a brat, to put it simply. And Nico’s tolerance had reached it’s fucking limit when you grumbled something under your breath when he asked for a hand to load up the dishwasher. 
You barely had a chance to grasp what was happening when you felt his hands on your hips, spinning you around and crowding you against the counter until his body was pressed up against yours. You gaped up at him, the words that were racing through your head a few seconds ago now lost as you stared up at your boyfriend. 
His brows were furrowed together, strands of his hair falling down to frame his face. He looked pretty, even if he looked fucking pissed with the soft glare and downturned lips. 
“What’s your problem? I’m trying to be nice and you’re acting like this,” Nico muttered, hands propped on either side of you to trap you against the counter. 
“I’m being fine,” you managed to grumble out, lifting your chin to look up at him like your heart wasn’t thundering in your chest. “Maybe you’re the problem.”
His brow cocked upwards. “Yeah? Think I’m the one acting like a brat?” 
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you snapped back, the words leaving your lips before you even thought it through.  
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Got anything else to say?” 
“Maybe I do—” You started, that slight twinge of irritation hitting you again as you itched to get rid of it. But before you could even finish your sentence, Nico’s fingers were squishing your cheeks together as you looked up at him, slightly surprised but mostly intrigued.
“Such a brat,” he tsked, tilting his head as he glanced over your face. The way your big eyes were locked on him, the way your body was leaning into his touch, the way your lips looked so pretty and tempting all at once. “What am I gonna do with you?” 
You went to say something, but only a slightly choked out whine left your lips when you felt him push his leg to rest between yours. 
“Is this what you wanted?” He said, his voice leaning close enough to mocking that it had your body flushing in response. “Wanted my attention? Wanted to rile me up until I snapped?” 
You swallowed, nodding your head a little.
“Poor baby,” he cooed as his other hand rested on your hips, squeezing softly to stop you from wiggling against his thigh. “My lil’ brat just needed to have the attitude fucked out of her, hm?” 
Your eyes fluttered shut, a soft buzz replacing the racing thoughts that had been overwhelming you all week as you felt his hand dip under the hem of your shirt.
“Why so quiet now?” Nico commented, squeezing your cheeks until your gaze met his. “You were being so mouthy before. Where’s that gone, hm? Not gonna tell me what you want?” 
“Nico,” you whined softly when you felt his hand pull away from your torso, now resting down at your hip again. His other hand moved away from your cheeks, softly cupping your face and the soft act made your heart flutter.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, soft but demanding and it made your stomach dip.
“You,” you breathed out. “Please. I just…I just want you.” 
He watched you closely. “Gonna be a good girl?” 
“So good,” you murmured, your lips slowly parting as his thumb brushed against your bottom lip. Before he could even string a sentence together, your lips wrapped around his thumb, sucking as a low groan sounded from the back of your throat.
“Hm,” Nico hummed, hooded eyes watching as you lazily sucked on his thumb, tongue swirling around his digit like you usually did with his cock. “Let’s put that smart mouth to good use. See how snarky you get when your throat is all fucked out, hm?”
A pathetic whine sounded from you, one that was downright filthy but made his grin widen nonetheless. 
“There’s my good girl,” he cooed, pushing his thumb deeper into your mouth. “Now, are you gonna listen or do I have to carry you to the bedroom?”
.
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chansshands · 2 days
Text
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Bed bugs
Pairing: Idol! Chan x fem! reader
Genre: smut, fluff, maybe crack idk
Warnings: slight choking (just a hand on the neck, nothing more) (f! receiving), dry humping, oral sex (m! receiving), make-out session, cuddles, mention of Chan's room.
Author notes: when I first started writing "Physiotherapy and Coconut Oil" back at the beginning of October, I was convinced to write it as fluff, mainly because I can't write smut; after a couple of weeks, I left it in my drafts, and leave it there till the first two weeks of December, I was under heavy medication bc I had a painful surgery on my foot, and the only thing that helped to go through insomnia caused by the pain was writing that story, I wrote and wrote day and night, and it helped so so much, that's why I was shocked when @ardef38 asked for a pt 2, so here you go love, I hope you like it.
(Kinda proof read, it’s 1:40 am as I’m ’reading’ this so, be patient I’ll correct any mistakes later)
Fun fact: I do really ride motorcycles since I was 17 (and yes I may be reckless).
Word count: +4k (I got carried away I’m sorry)
Thank you so much, I really, really appreciate all the feedback, I love you all.🩷
Sincerely Glo
As always, requests are open!
-✉️
I'm so insecure about my English. As I said, it's not my first language, and I'm always scared to make mistakes or stuff like that. So, if you find mistakes, please let me know. I'll be thankful, and my English will improve!
-✉️
You can read part one here
"Stop moving. I'm trying to sleep."
he mumbles on your back
"I can't, I'm sorry."
You mumble
"Why? What is happening, baby?"
he asks, hugging you tighter
"Uhm, I'm sorry my insomnia is bothering me, I-i don't know why."
"What can I do for you? A cup of tea? cuddles?"
he asks
"I don't know either, honestly, usually I stay in bed and stare at the ceiling."
"It's a common thing?"
he whispers, almost like he doesn't want to be heard by someone
"What? That I can't sleep? Oh yeah, definitely.”
you say, turning yourself towards him
"Mh"
"You should be tired, you know that? after a full day of work and after what we did."
he says
"I know, Channie, but my brain can't shut down."
"I have an idea."
he says, hugging you tighter, your head on his chest with his hand between your hair
"What?"
you ask, looking at him
"Shhhh, just close your eyes and relax, okay?"
"Mh, okay. I doubt that whatever you're about to do, you'll make me fall asleep."
"Shshhh"
close your eyes
go to sleep
know my love is all around
dream in peace
when you wake
you will know I'm still with you
He repeats the verse over and over until you don't hear him anymore.
You know that you fall asleep because of his voice and the lullaby that he was singing, and the way he was stroking your hair gently, but mostly because he's warm; one time, someone said that he's like the feeling of walking in a warm room after spending the whole day out in the cold. It's true he really is like that domestic feeling.
"Good morning, ray of sunshine. How did you sleep?"
he asks you when you walk into your kitchen
"Oh, good morning. I thought you were already gone and good. I don't know which magic you've put in your cuddles and voice, but I haven’t slept like this in months."
you say
"Gone? No, I had to make you breakfast since I've slept over and used your bathroom to shower. I also used your body wash. Now I know why you smell so good."
he says while working on something at the stove
"That's why the bottle is half empty."
you giggle, hugging him from behind
"I'm sorry. I'll rebuy it for you."
he says
"Ya, it's okay, you don't have to. you smell like me now,"
"Yep, and trust me, I love it."
he says
"Yeah?"
"Mhmm"
"Aaah, you're warm, Channie it's freezing today even if it's mid-summer."
you say, hugging him from behind
"It has rained all night, we didn't notice because we were...umh...busy."
he says, turning towards you
"Busy...yeah...Chan, oh my god, it was...did I do these?"
you ask, touching his neck and chest
"No, no, it was a bed bug."
"Ehi -you slap his chest- I-god, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too. we got carried away, didn't we?"
he says, touching your neck and making you shiver
"Definitely, but I'm going to be honest I don't mind it and I don’t regret it.”
you say, smiling and kissing him on his naked chest
"Chan...-you say, sniffing around- something is burning."
"NO THE PANCAKES!"
he quickly turns towards the stove, swearing and mumbling against the burnt cakes
"Fuck, i-i wanted to make you breakfast."
he pouts, looking at the burnt pancakes
"It's okay, Channie -you giggle- thing like this happens when you're distracted."
"So you're saying that is your fault?"
he asks, looking at you, one of his dimples popping out
"Yeah, definitely."
you laugh
"Okay, put something on. I'll buy you breakfast."
"No."
you say
"Yes."
he says
"No."
"Yes."
"I said no."
"And I said yes."
"Channie, you don't have to"
"But I want to"
he says
"But-ugh, what if people see us around."
you say
"You're part of the staff, and we can go to the JYP cafeteria, the one inside the building."
"Mh, okay, but with one condition."
"Which one?"
he asks
a smirk appears on your face
"I don't like that smile."
he says
"I'll take you to the building with my motorcycle."
"You-you can ride?"
he asks
"yeah, I thought you liked it when I did it on your-"
"Shsh, don't-shut up, okay, okay."
he says, covering your mouth with one of his hands
"You're not reckless, aren't you?"
he asks with a worried tone
"Me? Reckless? absolutely not."
you smile
"That smile...I don't trust you."
"Not my business, Channie."
10 minutes later, you are in the elevator, and funny to say, but both of you choose a black hoodie (mostly because you have to cover your hickeys and not to catch a cold since the air is fresher)
"You copied my outfit."
you say, looking at him
"Do it look like I'm wearing Doc Martens and leggings?"
he asks, looking at you
"No, even if you would look good in leggings, but your outfit is total black, just like mine."
"I always dress like this."
“I aLwAyS dReSs LiKe ThIs”
You mock him
“It’s true, my whole wardrobe is black.”
"Yeah, but you still copied my outfit."
you smile, walking outside the elevator, Chan being by your side
"Jagiya.."
he says
"Mh?"
you say, not paying attention to the feeling that you felt in your stomach after that nickname
"I'm scared."
he says, looking at his feet
"About..?"
you say opening your garage door
"I've never been on a motorcycle."
he says shyly
"It's okay, Channie. There is a first time for everything. I'm going to explain everything, okay?"
"You-fuck, you can drive this thing?"
he asks
"Yeah, she's my baby."
"Baby? it's huge, how can you manage to drive this?"
you shrug your shoulders, looking at him
"I just do it, just trust me okay?"
"I do trust you."
he says
"Yeah?"
you ask, looking at him, and he simply nods
"Okay, big boy, put this on."
you say, giving him one of your motorcycle jackets
"I hope it fits; one of my friends gifted it to me, but she took three sizes bigger than mine, and I couldn't return it."
"It's a little bit tight on my shoulders."
he says, closing the zip
"It fits perfectly; you have protections, so it has to be tight."
you say, zipping your protective jacket
"It's weird. I'm not used to tight things."
he says, putting his backpack on his shoulders again
"Now, move, I have to take the motorcycle out of the garage. Can you grab the two helmets there? and when you're out, close the door, please."
you say, pointing at a wood cabinet. You press the clutch and move backward with the motorcycle; when the bike is in the correct position, you press down the stand.
"Okay, give me these."
you say, taking the helmets from his hands
"I'm going to put the helmets on you, okay, and I'll explain everything."
you say, putting the helmet on him. You do the same with yours
"Does it feel loose?"
you ask
"No, it's perfect."
you can see him smiling even if half of his face is covered
"And now -you press the inter-phone button- can you hear me?"
"Oh yeah, it's like you're inside my head."
he giggles
you turn on your bike, leaving her roar
"Damn, it's loud."
he giggles
"Okay, so -you say, straddling the motorcycle pushing the stand up with your foot- use that thing to get on and sit here."
you say, patting on the small sitting place for him
"Are you sure you can-?"
he asks
"Yes, trust me, Chan, I've been riding since I was 17."
you smile at him
he sits behind you, getting more comfortable once the bike is stable
"See? You won't fall; both of my feet are on the ground."
"Keep your feet there when we're on the road, don't put them on the ground at a red light or a stop sign. You have to put your arms around me tight or on the tank, especially when I brake; you'll feel it, so don't worry. When we take a turn, you have to follow me with your body. You're basically my shadow, or even better, my backpack, so follow every movement I make, okay?"
you say
"Yep"
"Now, arms around me."
you say, waiting for his arms
"Hold on tight."
you say before pressing the clutch with your left and putting the first gear with your left foot
"Here we goooo."
you say
"Oh my god, we're moving, ahah wow."
"Hold on tight, Channie."
you say, patting on his hands
"That's-wow, oh my god."
"You want me to go faster?"
you say once you're on the road
"Fuck yes"
he says
and you do as he said. You accelerate and shift gear; the sun has been out for hours, so the road is dry now.
"How does it feel?"
you ask him
"It's like, I don't know how to explain it."
"Freedom?"
you suggest
"Yeah, yes, that's the right word."
he says
"That's why you do it? I mean, that's why you drive?"
you hear his voice through the inter-phone, and you simply nod.
"Can you go faster? I wanna feel free."
he says
"Of course."
you giggle, and you shift once again the gear, the two of you speeding in the streets of Seoul, zig-zagging between the buses, cars, and taxis
"Oh my gooood, too fast, too fast"
he almost screams
"Ahahah, just hold onto me, and you'll be fine, Channie. Trust me."
the grip of his arms around your waist getting tighter
"You're crazy."
he says
"I know"
"And reckless, and oh my god, I want to do this every day."
he says
"I know -you laugh- should I pick you up tomorrow?"
"Oh, I—I'm not that brave. God, you have a big pair of balls to drive a thing like this. I could never."
"Oh, you could, and you would look so hot in one of these, with a compression shirt on-ush what a vision."
you say
"Are you fantasizing about me?"
he asks
"I mean, yeah, you as a biker? damn, Christopher, I would be on my knees."
you say, teasing him
"You were on your knees for me yesterday, and definitely, I'm not a biker."
he says, teasing you back
"I- you- uh- I hate you."
you say
"Yeah, yeah, it was clear with all the 'oh, ah' that you were whimpering against my ear last night."
he says, placing one of his hands on your thighs
"Oh-you-shut up"
you say, glad that he can't see the color of your cheeks
"Here we are person that I absolutely hate, and it's banned from my house."
you say braking and turning off the motorcycle once you're in the proper park
"Oh c'mon, I was joking -he says, taking off his helmet- I'll never mention cute whimpers again."
he pouts
"Shhh, are you crazy talking about this here?"
"Right, 'm sorry, where do I put this?"
he asks, lifting his helmet
"Oh, just bring it with you."
you say
"So...umh, breakfast?"
he asks, breaking the silence between the two of you
"Yeah, breakfast."
you sigh, looking at him, his hair messed up because of the helmet
"Ladies first"
he says, opening the front door of the building for you
"Oh, what a gentleman."
you say, walking toward the elevator, bowing to the person who just stepped out of the elevator
"Yeah, gentleman."
he mumbles, pressing the number three, and once the elevator doors closed, you talk
"What you're mumbling about?"
you look at him
"Nothing"
"Chan, c'mon, you can't do this after what we did."
"I'm -he sighs- I let you go first to look at your ass in those stupid leggings, so I'm not a gentleman."
he crosses his arms
"Oh, well, I'll make sure to put them more often."
you say, shrugging your shoulders
"You're not mad?"
he asks
"that you look at my ass when you can? No. You literally saw me naked, so that's nothing of this -you point at your whole body- that you haven't seen."
"Mh, good to know."
he smirks, and once the lift doors open, he goes
"Ladies first, of course."
he winks at you and you can do nothing but laugh at him.
after a couple of minutes of indecision, his indecision actually, he brings to the table two tall cups of cappuccino and a piece of cake for him
"You sure that you don't want a bite?"
he asks, offering you a piece of pie
"Hundred percent Chan"
you smile at him
"Do you have to work today?"
he asks
"Uhm... no, I don't think so, actually. I'm here just for breakfast—you giggle—why?"
"I have to meet with Han and Binnie for some fixes on a new song and do the usual Sunday live, so...would you mind coming with me?"
"I- you- you want me in your studio?"
"Yes"
"The one where no one is allowed?"
"Mhmm"
he nods, sipping on his cappuccino
"The one where the darker aura Christopher works?"
"Yes, that one."
"Mh, okay, if you... don't mind having me there."
you shrug your shoulders
"I don't mind it. You have a relaxing effect on me."
he says
"Interesting"
you say, sipping on your coffee
"The boys are already there. Should we go?"
"I follow you, mister dark aura."
"Oh, shut up."
he says, looking at you
"Hello everyone"
he says, entering in the studio
"Hi Hyung"
the bandmates say at the same time
"Oh, y/n? Hi, what are you doing here?"
"I-uh, I saw him in the middle of the street, he was like an abandoned puppy."
"Hey"
he says, sitting down in his working chair
"So I offered him a ride on my motorbike, and to pay me back, he offered me breakfast."
you laugh nervously
"You ride a motorcycle?"
changbin asks
"Yes? why does everybody find this weird."
you say
"I don't know, you don't look like someone who rides a motorcycle."
Binnie says
"But I am."
you laugh, sitting on the couch in the studio
The three men start working on the new song. You're not paying too much attention because
1. you're too distracted by the way Chan gets so severe when he's at work, so bossy but at the same time gentle with his members
2. you're working too, on your phone, but you're working, planning all the appointments with the members and the artists of JYP
"Oh, looks like someone had fun last night."
you hear Han's voice, and you're head snaps toward his direction so fast that you hear a crack in your neck
"Yeah, you weren't home last night. Where were you last night, Chan?"
Changbin says
then you notice that Chan took off his hoodie, revealing all the hickeys and bite marks on his neck
"What?"
he asks, looking at them
"Your neck Chan, what the fuck? What did you do?"
Han asks
"Uh, bed bugs."
he says, typing and clicking on his computer, not paying too much attention to them
"Yeah, a big one."
Han says
"One with human teeth"
Changbin laughs
"Oh shut up, the two of you."
Chan says, his cheeks turning pink
"Who is she?"
asks the two gossipy men
"No one, it was a bed bug."
he says once again
"Do you know anything about this?"
Changbin asks, and both of them turn toward you
"Uh, bed bugs are big these days."
you shrug your shoulders
"Mh, yeah."
they look at each other with a smirk
after a couple of minutes, they stopped asking about his marks and focused again on their work, recording some chorus, laughing when someone went out of tune, and listening over and over again at the song till it was perfect
"Aaaaand we're done."
Chan says, stretching up his arms in the air and clapping at the work of 3racha
"Aaaagh, I'm hungry."
Changbin says
"Me too."
Han says
"Hyung, y/n wanna join us for lunch?"
"Oh no, I must go now, maybe next time."
you smile at them
"I have to do the live so."
chan says
"Oh, okay."
they say
"Bye Hyung, Y/N see you on Tuesday."
Han says
"Bye guys, see you."
you smile
"Hyung, see you at the dorm and make sure to eat, or you get nervous, little bed bug…See you on Tuesday."
Binnie says, smiling at you and closing the door behind his back
"HOW THE FUCK DID HE?"
you say, covering your face with your hands
"He's not stupid."
Chan says
"But don't worry, they won't spill anything to anyone, that's for sure."
he gets up from his chair, locks the door of the studio, and walks toward you
"Ugh, are you sure?"
you ask, your voice muffled by your hands
"Yes, I trust them with my whole life. They're nosy, I know, but we have a rule: what happens or what we say in the studio stays in the studio."
He says, sitting next to you.
"Are you sure? I- I loved hat we did, and I love our bond, but I don't want to lose my job, Chan, I've worked so hard to be here, and I don't want to ruin everything because I had sex with you."
you say, looking at him
"Ouch"
he says
"No, no, I don't want you to think that I'm using you because I'm not okay? I loved our friendship way before what happened last night."
"I get what you're saying, y/n, don't worry, it's just that you're...I don't know…after what we did, I don't know what are we? friends? Best friends? friends with benefits?"
he looks at you
"Friends with..."
"Benefits, you know, two friends that have sex occasionally but remain friends."
"Yeah, Chan, I know what friends with benefits are."
"So?"
"What?"
you ask
"Friends with benefits? it will be our dirty little secret."
he says
"Mh, friends with benefits"
you nod
"Let's start this thing from now, yeah?"
he says, pulling your face towards him
"Yes, fuck yes."
you say, breaking the distance between the two of you, kissing his plumped lips again
"The door is locked, and we have about thirty minutes."
he says between the kisses
"Ugh, not enough time."
you say, pulling back from him
"We can go back to my place after the live, yeah?"
he nods, kissing your lips again, more roughly this time. You shift your position, straddling him, your legs on the side of his thighs
"It's not-that simple to- touch you with these stupid- mhpf yoga pants."
he says, kissing your lips
"You said that you loved them."
you say
"Yeah, and now I hate them; I can't touch you properly, which frustrates me."
He says, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his bulge against your clit
"It's okay, we don't need to take our pants off."
you say, smiling at him
"What- why? c'mon, I wanna see that pretty pussy of yours."
he says, frustrated, leaving his head against the headrest of the couch
"Mh, not now."
you say, starting to grind on his hard bulge
"Oh shit, what- do it again, please,"
he says, placing his hands on your hips, guiding you back and forth against him. You kiss gently his neck, trying not to bite him or suck his soft skin because his neck is already a mess.
"You- god"
he tries to say, one of his hands traveling around your body, grabbing one of your breasts under the hoodie
"Uh? you're not wearing a bra?"
he says
"Nope, free the nipples, Christopher."
You laugh while looking at him, poor guy, he looks desperate
"Fuck, full access all this time? Why didn’t you tell me? God, y/n, you're going to drive me crazy."
he says, kissing your lips. You laugh in his lips and keep grinding on his hard cock
"Please take your hoodie off, I want- at least I want to see your boobs."
"Uhm, so needy, aren't you?"
you ask, and he simply nods
you take off your hoodie, shivering, not because you're cold, no it's way too hot in the room, but because of the way that he looks at you; it looks like he wants you to eat you alive, literally. He licks his lips, looking at your boobs at then looking at your face, his eyes jumping between your two twins and your eyes
"What?"
you ask, looking at him, moving a clump of hair from his face
"I want to suck them."
he simply says
"Then do it. Don't be shy, Christopher."
"Oh, don't call me like that."
he says, looking at you, his eyes darkened
"I know that you like it, just admitted."
you whisper to his ear
"Mphf, if you don't stop grinding on me, I'll cum in my pants."
he says
"And? there's no shame in cumming in your pants, I love to see you so desp-shit"
you say, trying to find any other word to say, but your brain is short-circuiting, his tongue is moving around one of your breasts, sucking on the nipple, while with one hand, he pays attention to the other one
"I wanna live here."
he says, sucking and biting your nipple
"Mhpf, in the studio?"
you tease him even if you know what he meant
"Mh -he breaks off the contact between his mouth and your breast- between your boobs, I want to live here, they're-fuck, they're like a warm marshmallows."
you laugh
"I'm dead serious, y/n"
he looks at you so seriously that you have to cover your mouth not to laugh. You kiss his lips, making him smile
"You're going to be late, so let me do something for you, yeah?"
you say, shifting position and getting on your knees in front of him
"Oh fuck"
he says, pulling his pants down, revealing his hard dick
"You're going to drive me crazy, you know that?"
he says, caressing your face
"That's the point, Christopher."
you say, kissing one of his naked thighs
"Please, jagiya, please."
he says in a desperate tone. That nickname again, heavy like a rock on your chest, just friends with benefits, correct?
So you do what a good friend would do, you take his boner with your hands, stroking him up and down a couple of times, licking the tip, focusing on that particular sensitive part, making him whimper.
You take all of him in your mouth, breathing through your nose; you look up at him, his head on the headrest, his eyes closed, enjoying every moment, one of his hands in your hair, scratching your scalp gently.
You keep working with your mouth and tongue, adding once again your dominant hand, just because you can't take all of him in your mouth.
"Jagi...fuck."
"Uh, language, please."
you say, taking him out of your mouth without stopping working with your hand.
"How am I supposed not to say bad words when you're on your knees sucking me off?"
he asks, looking down at you
"You're dramatic."
you say, retaking him in your mouth, you know that he's about to cum because he's throbbing in your mouth
"Baby, i'm-i'm about to."
he can't even finish the sentence that a load of fluid goes into your mouth, you swallow it all the way.
You clean the corner of your mouth with your fingers and stay on your knees, looking up at him with a stupid smile on your face.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He says, pulling his pants up
“I’m not looking at you in any particular way.”
“Yes, you are, come here.”
He says, patting the place next to him
“Thank you”
He says when you sit next to him
“You don’t have to thank me, Channie.”
“I have to, I told you that you have a relaxing effect on me. And I’m talking generally, not when we...do other stuff, you know, even when we do them, but..."
“I get what you’re saying, Channie.”
You giggle
“Aagh, come here.”
He says, placing a hand on your neck and pulling towards him
“No, wait, I’ve just…”
“I don’t care, y/n, just kiss me, please.”
You sigh, and you kiss his lips, it’s a quick kiss, almost as if you did it every day
“You’re going to be late.”
You say, touching his forehead with yours
“I know, but I have to do it, it’s a safe space for me, and stays.”
“I know”
You say, pecking his lips once again
“I’m in my studio, I wait for you there, okay?”
You say, putting your hoodie on
“Mh, okay, thank you y/n, really.”
He says, kissing your cheek
“That’s what a good friend would do.”
You smile at him
“Yeah, good friend.”
He echos you
“Bye, bed bug.”
He says when you unlock the door
“Bye, Channie -you giggle at the nickname- don’t forget to put your hoodie on.”
“I won’t, thank you.”
He says, smiling, dimples on full display
Good friends, right?
A friend that has marked you all over your body
A friend you would go to live with just to have breakfast ready every morning
A friend that makes you feel butterflies,
A friend that fucks you till your brain short-circuit
A friend who makes you fall asleep while singing and cuddling
Maybe he’s more than “A friend”
A/N: me after writing this 🏃🏻‍♀️💨
Tag list: @paboswriting (because of the mention of biker Chan, we have an obsession about him)
147 notes · View notes
baby-yongbok · 4 hours
Text
Ex : Part II
Hwang Hyunjin x Fem!Reader
⇝ Genre: Angst then Smut then angst again. Dirty Drama.
⇝ Summary: There's only one thing on your mind after 'welcoming' Hyunjin back into your life.
⇝ Warnings: Themes of Cheating, Arguing, Oral sex, Hyunjin is toxic - the manipulative type - and he seriously thinks he did nothing wrong. (I think that's all, let me know if I missed anything!)
⇝ Word Count: 3.2k
⇝ A/N: SO MANY of you wanted a part 2 to this so I tried my best + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ I hope that you enjoy the drama! 💕
✧ Part One ✧ Masterlist ✧
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It took you a week. A week of crying and screaming, a week of avoiding your friends, a week of him ignoring your calls for you to realize that Hyunjin has you fucked up if he thinks that you’re going to let him get away with what he put you through. At first you just wanted to talk to him, you thought that maybe you could convince him to cut Yara off. You thought that you could change him - how cliche. You called him for three days and when you got sick of getting his voicemail you called his best friend, Jeongin. He was surprised to hear from you but he was even more surprised when you told him everything that happened. 
“Are you fucking serious?” For the first time since Hyunjin left you crying on your bedroom floor you let it all out. You told Jeongin every dirty detail of the encounter. You cried and he was there for you, he did what Hyunjin hasn’t done for months. “Is there anything that I can do? Anything you need?” 
The line fell silent as you processed his question. Your brain is telling you one thing while your heart is telling you another. You sigh as the two battle for dominance over what comes out of your mouth next. You’ve let your heart make all of the moves for the past three days. You’ve cried and you’ve screamed all in favor of lifting the crushing pain off of your chest for an hour or two. Now it’s your brain's turn to decide and it only wants one thing. 
“Ya know there is something that you can help me with.” Your heart pleads for you to choose something less drastic, less dramatic but your brain yells for it to shut up. Why should we let Hyunjin have all the fun? “Anything, you name it.”
“Revenge.”
Hyunjin came to your place four days after you spoke to Jeongin. He had cherry red roses in his hand and an apology plastered on his face. His eyes were pleading with you before he could even open his mouth but to his surprise you hugged him. You held him tight and smiled, taking the flowers and making a home for them in your favorite vase. He was stunned to say the least but he didn’t comment. He needed you. His ex did exactly what you knew she would, she took all that she wanted from him and the second that she started to get attention from somewhere else she acted like he didn’t exist. 
He tried to be the boyfriend that you’ve been wanting him to be over the next couple of weeks but he couldn’t seem to get a hold of you. Each and every time that he’d plan a date or show up to surprise you, you were already out or you were leaving to meet with your friends. You barely answered his texts and he’s more than positive that you’ve been sending him to voicemail for the past week. It’s been a month of him putting up with you blowing him off and he’s sick of it.
He decided to show up at your place two hours before your plans to talk to you, maybe he can get you to stay home and spend some time with him tonight. He misses you more than you could even imagine and he thought that you’ve been missing him too. Shouldn’t you be dying to spend time with him? 
His face drops when he gets to your front door and his key doesn’t fit into the lock, did you change it? He rings the bell, tapping his foot anxiously as he waits for you to open the door. His eyes meet yours when it swings open and you smile at him, welcoming him in. 
“My key didn’t work.” He comments as he kicks his shoes off.
“Really? That’s odd.” You shrug as you make your way to your bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.” You call to him as the bathroom door closes behind you. The click of the lock draws a sigh from Hyunjin. Not even a kiss or a hug? Just a friendly hello like you’re not even dating. He drags himself to your bedroom and throws himself on your perfectly made bed. His thoughts project onto the ceiling as he stares at it. He feels like he’s going crazy, why are you acting so weird? No affection, barely talking, barely hanging out and you’re always on… Oh no. He sits up quickly, his eyes dart around the room until it finally lands on what he’s looking for on your bedside table.
Your Phone.
He glances over at your bedroom door before grabbing it. The screen lights up and a picture of you and your friends presents itself to him. That’s funny, wasn’t your wallpaper that picture of you two from when you went to the aquarium for your second date. You always said that that was your favorite picture. When did you change it?
He glances towards the door again and swipes your screen, his brain is busy thinking of possible password combinations but there is no password. His brows pinch together in confusion, you always have a pin on your phone. He decides to worry about that later and quickly starts searching all of your apps. He goes from your instagram to your snapchat but there’s nothing. Just a bunch of reels being sent between you and Jeongin, the last person you sent a picture to on snapchat was also Jeongin. How can his best friend have time to talk to you but he doesn’t have time to text him back? He’s called him an unimaginable amount of times over the past month but he hasn’t heard a single thing back. His finger hovers over your text messages for a second too long. What if he doesn’t like what he finds? What if you’re cheating on him? How could he handle a betrayal like that? With one more quick glance towards the door he taps the app and it opens up to a conversation. Hyunjin’s heart drops when he reads the name at the top. 
“What?” An incredulous sigh escapes him as he starts scrolling to the top of the conversation. Pet names are being thrown left and right, plans are being made every single day and there are back to back facetime calls in the dark hours of the night. 
Hyunjin’s heart is pounding in his ears and his fingers are moving so fast that he didn’t even realize that he went into your shared media. He freezes and his heart drops to his ass as he takes it all in. Nudes, videos, everything that he could imagine, all of you and his best friend. All of you and Jeongin. He opens a video and his mouth goes dry at the lewd sounds that fill the room. He’s fucking you from behind with a fist full of your hair to keep your head up. You’re drooling and moaning and Jeongin is smiling, he’s fucking smiling at the camera. His shirt - wait a minute - that’s not his. Hyunjin’s eyes go wide as he studies the fabric, his best friend is wearing his clothes while he fucks his girlfriend? Unbelievable, this can’t be real.
He quickly exits the video and scrolls through your pictures. You and Jeongin in the car, in your bedroom, your living, you on your knees and him on his. Hyunjin doesn’t even bother to look at the door to make sure you aren’t coming. He can’t hear anything but the thoughts racing through his head. His finger slips and another video opens. The sound of skin against skin echoes through his ears as the video plays. Jeongin is shirtless, fucking you in front of your bathroom mirror. Actually, he’s naked, did you two shower together? Hyunjin balls a fist in the blanket under him as he watches the video.
“Say it again, baby, say it to the camera.” A broken moan escapes you as you try to follow Jeongin’s order. “Y-you’re so much better than him, fuck me so good, Innie.” Hyunjin swears that his heart broke at the sound of you. Why would you say that? You don’t mean it do you? What did he do to deserve this?
He pauses the video and drops your phone against the mattress, your texts stare back at him and he can’t help but to scroll. “That’s not yours.” He jumps at the sound of your voice and you laugh. You wander over to lazily flip through your closet with a towel wrapped around your hair and your rob loosely tied around your body.
“What the fuck is all of this?” His voice is small, much smaller than he meant for it to be but you can hear the heartbreak laced in it. You almost feel bad for him. But that’s your heart speaking, she’s not in control right now. “You’re fucking Jeongin?”
You pick out a dress and move to your mirror, you tilt your head as you hold it against your body. “Think this is too much for a dinner date?” Hyunjin scoffs, moving to stand from your bed.
“Answer me, tell me that everything that I just found is fake. Tell me that you didn’t betray me.” He has some nerve talking about betrayal. You face him, staring back at him with faux sympathy. “I was lonely when you left, what was I supposed to do?” 
“Wait for me to get back.” You turn your attention back to your closet but he calls your name before you can pick out another dress. “You haven’t been going out with your friends have you? You’ve been with him. What in your right mind possessed you to fuck my best friend?”
“Do you really care, Hyunjin? Do you really want me to tell you? Cause I’ll tell you everything but that’s not what you want to hear, is it?” He watches as you slowly step towards him, like a vixen with her eyes set on a prize. “You wanna hear me say that I love you. You want me to say that I’ll stop seeing him because I need you.” 
He’s stuck in place as he watches you, heavy breaths passing his parted lips as you read him like a book. That’s exactly what he wants, he wants you, that’s all he’s wanted for the past month. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” His voice is a mere whisper once you reach him, like he’d scare you away if he talks too loudly. “That’s what I want.” He shudders when you bring your hand up to cup his cheek. 
“Are you touch starved, baby?” His soft gaze pours into yours but he doesn’t recognize the look in your eyes. It’s not what he wants but he’ll gladly take it. At least you’re looking at him. “Didn’t your ex touch you while you were away?”
His heart sinks and a smile creeps onto your lips. “She - she did but -” You tsk, cutting him off before he could stumble over his words further. 
“She didn’t make you feel like I do, did she?” He shakes his head, guilty eyes staring back into yours as you reach down to palm him over his sweats. “Is that why you’re back? She didn’t take care of my Hyune?”
“She’s not you.” His breath is heavy and his eyes roll back as he answers with a thick groan. You run your fingers over him with expert precision. You’ve always known what to do to get him going. “I want you, not her. Always you.”
“Untie my robe.” You whisper and he quickly obeys, fumbling with the loose knot until the fuzzy fabric falls open and reveals your naked body to him. “Wanna show me how much you want me?” He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss but you dodge him before he can. A disapproving whimper escapes him and you puff out your lip in a fake pout. 
“Gotta be patient, my baby. Can you do that?” He nods, whimpering out a pathetic ‘yes’. His eyes follow your frame as you sit on the edge of your bed. Your eyes wander from his down to the floor in front of you and back up again. He quickly follows your unspoken instruction, falling to his knees in front of you and drooling when you part your legs before him. “Show me.”
Hyunjin latches onto your core like a desperate puppy. His tongue wastes no time exploring every inch of you that he’s missed. Hums and moans vibrate through him as he tastes you and you match each sound with your head thrown back and your fingers laced in his hair. At least he remembers how to eat your pussy the way that you like it, though you must admit that you’ve gotten used to Jeongin’s mouth on you. 
Your bed creaks as his hips buck against it in a desperate attempt to feel half as good as you do. “Fuck, come on, Hyune. Don’t tell me your best friend eats my pussy better than you.” He groans in protest, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you open while he works against you. You gasp in pleasure, so he’s competitive? He swirls his tongue in imaginary patterns, sliding it between your folds as he takes turns sucking on your clit and fucking your pulsing hole. His hips grind restlessly against the edge of your mattress and desperate grunts fill the air once they vibrate through your core. 
“You missed me didn’t you?” You pull him back with your fist in his hair, his swollen lips glisten in the low lamp light and his eyes are glazed with fuckout desperation. “Yeah, missed you.”  He’s too deep into the brain fog to hear just how pathetic he sounds but you’re more than happy to take it all in for him. A strangled moan escapes you as Hyunjin's tongue explores deeper. You grip his hair tighter as he laps up your juices, and you arch your back to meet him. 
His thrusts against your mattress become more desperate as laps at you, The mess of your drooling cunt makes a mess all over his chin as he works desperately to get you to the edge but that’s not the part that gets you close. It’s the thought of him hoping and praying that hi tongue is fucking you better than Jeongin ever did and as you get closer to coming undone you find yourself clenching at the thought that his best friend does it better. “Shit, Jeongin, I’m gonna cum.” 
 Your orgasm rips through you with a loud moan and your body shudders in pleasure. You hold Hyunjin's head in place against your core as his tongue continues to work diligently in an attempt to help you ride out your orgasm. Once you’ve come down from your high he pulls back slowly, a single string of spit still connecting him to your cunt.
“What did you call me?” He mumbles, not even bothering to wipe his mouth clean. You stare down at him with not an ounce of care in your eyes. 
“Don’t remember.” You pull your robe closed and slide from in front of him to pull yourself up to your feet. “And I don’t care.” Hyunjin’s heart dissolves as he watches you shrug and wander back over to your closet.
“What are you doing?” He mumbles and you scoff.
“Will you stop with the pitiful tone?” He scrambles up from his knees quickly, a surge of anger running through him. 
“Come on.” He stalks over and wraps his arms around you, leaning in to kiss your neck but you push him away before he can. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“I have a date to get ready for.” You flip through your clothes and it’s only now that he notices the empty space in your closet. “Where are my clothes?” 
“I told you to take all of your shit last month.” You shrug, pulling out a dress and holding it against your body in the mirror. “You didn’t take it so I gave most of it to Jeongin. Thought about burning the rest but I donated it instead.”
He watches you silently, jaw hung slack in a frozen state of disbelief. “Are there fucking cameras in here?” He looks around, half desperate for that to be the case. “Is this a joke?”
“The only joke here is you. Did you think that you could come back here and I’d act like nothing happened?” A venomous laugh erupts from your chest. “Be fucking forreal.”
“But we just fucked, I just ate you out why would you let that happen if you’re still going to see Jeongin?” 
“You got a phone call last time. You owe me, remember?” Hyunjin can’t decide if he should be livid or desperate. He wants to yell and curse you out for being so ridiculous but at the same time he wants to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He had hoped that you understood what happened a month ago. He thought that he could count on you to see that he only did what he had to do. Yeah he cheated but if you really loved him you could move past that. 
“You’re excused. I need to get ready.” You push past him, bumping your shoulder with his but he grabs you by the waist before you can get too far, pulling you against his chest. “Don’t be like that, angel.”
 His hands run smoothly up your side, taking in every curve of you. “I know I upset you but you can’t act like you don’t want me. What happened to you forgiving me?”
His lips brush over yours slowly as he whispers. “I want you so badly, I wanna be with you tonight. Stay here with me.” You smile against him as the towel containing your hair slips off of your head and your damp curls curtain around the two of you. You run your hands up his chest, taking in each and every toned dip before you whisper back. “Get out.” You peck his lips and push him away from you with a smile.
“You’re making a mistake.” He pleads with wide eyes blown with anguish. “He doesn’t make you feel like I do, you know that.” Your ringtone bounces off of the walls before you get a chance to answer him. You reach across your mattress and smile when you see Jeongin’s name.
“You’re right.” You shrug, swiping to answer the call. “He makes me feel so much better.” Hyunjin’s jaw clenches as you press the phone to your ear with a smile. You greet his best friend with a sweet tone that used to be exclusively for him. Hyunjin is practically invisible to you as you buzz around your room grabbing accessories and planning your outfit. It isn’t until he grabs your wrist on your way to your vanity that you look at him again.
“Please don’t do this.” Jeongin’s voice is heard from the receiver before you can answer the man in front of you.
“Who’s that, baby?” He asks, and you smile as Hyunjin deflates.
 “No one.” You shrug off Hyunjin’s hold and he deflates as you passively wave him away. “That’s no one.”
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Tag List: @dessianna1, @foxytoxxic, @snxfall (If you asked to be tagged and you weren't it's because you did not have your age in your bio. You MUST have your age in your bio to be tagged )
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wannabeanotter · 23 hours
Note
I am always working lately it seems. Running from one job to another. I’m so envious of those men who seem to just be able to let themselves go. To not do what’s expected of them. Think you can help me relax a bit and get rid of some of my responsibility?
You wanna let loose? Sure bro!! First off, have a drink! It's on me.
Now, I've got some bad news. You're never going to set yourself free when you have a corporate structure to answer for, yknow? So I've taken the liberty and had you fired.
Aww, don't look at me like that. Here, have another drink
The second thing is your brain. You're too, well, how do I put it... motivated. You keep on thinking about things like "goals" and "consequences". Loser shit, not enough instant gratification. So, don't worry bro, I just turned all of that off. You want a beer? just drink one, no more fears about hangovers and "obligations" tomorrow. That pizza looks good, right? Eat another slice. Eat 5 more slices. Who gives a shit if you've already had enough food for 2 men today.
Wait, what's that? You feel weird? Like your body? Well yeah, duh, actions have consequences.
Oh right, I forgot I blasted that part of your brain. I guess you'll just have to live with whatever happens
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Yeah yeah, I know, shit sucks. But I guess all those calories started to add up. I said I'll help you loosen up, not your waistband.
The hair? I don't know what your talking about bro. Have you ever seen a fucker like you who wasn't hairy? Didn't think so. This is all natural. This is all right.
Well, nearly.
There's one last problem bro, even lazy dudes get their shit together; even pigs like you can stop eating, can get a job again, maybe even start working out. In my mind it just aint permanent enough.
So, I think I'm gonna give you something else. Something that can sap up any little sliver of focus you manage to squeeze out. Something that's going to eat up every minute of your life from now on.
Oop, there is goes. Do you feel that? Your mind is going somewhere else and it won't be coming back anytime soon
Tell me when you work it out ;)
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From now on, you'll be spending every waking moment thinking about your cock, playing with it non-stop. You wanna fuck anything and everything you see, don't you?
Good luck getting your job back now bro ;)
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imaginespazzi · 8 hours
Text
Part 4: The Art of Letting Go
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Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
Only know you love her when (she lets you) go
(In which a still very sadistic writer make things a lot worse but only so they can get a little bit better)
Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd
Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt with very little comfort
Words: 7.9K
TW: Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, Swearing
A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I know I'm very, very late with this and I love you all for being so patient. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter but it is what it is. Logistical details are probably a little off but I need things to work for the plot, so try and ignore that. Per usual I did edit (very loosely and I'll probably go back over it later), there are probably typos anyways. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading lovelies and let's get a W this weekend. <3
December 2023
A week or so after they get back from the Cayman Islands, Azzi feels like she’s been sleep-walking through life, everything around her hazy and dull. She religiously sticks to a routine of eat-study-practice-sleep. Except well, sleep isn’t really sleeping. It’s her brain conjuring images of blonde hair and blue eyes and Azzi forcing herself to wake-up from a nightmare that used to be her favourite dream. 
She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, lying to herself it’s because it would be embarrassing and not because it would mean having to face the truth. Still, it doesn’t mean that her teammates can’t piece together little bits. There must be something quite sinister about the air around her, because none of her normally nosy and eager-to-help sisters try to weasel any information out of Azzi. They act like they always have, only sharing worried looks behind her back when the façade of i’m doing fine slips momentarily when she thinks no one’s watching. 
And then that façade goes to hell over the span of a couple of hours. 
It starts with the inevitable breakup with Zoe. At first Azzi avoids it, making up excuses as to why she can’t see her girlfriend. Selfishly, there’s a part of her that wants to keep Zoe, keep a girl who would never leave, never make her feel anything less than (or more than) just content. But it’s not fair, Azzi knows that, and it’s why she practises her it’s not you, it’s me speech to perfection in front of the mirror. When she goes to message Zoe that she's coming over, the text chain causes a pinch of guilt in her heart at the contrast between her girlfriend’s hopeful tone versus her own nonchalant one. And Azzi thinks that Zoe will never really understand just how similar the two of them are, stuck at wanting someone who would always let them down. Only, Azzi will let Zoe free but when it comes to her herself, she’s pretty sure she’s destined to be trapped forever. 
It’s embarrassing to admit that Azzi remembers the apartment in Storrs that she’d visited barely a handful of times a lot more than she remembers the apartment she’s currently in, the one that belongs to her girlfriend. Zoe sits rigidly on the couch with the same reserved, guarded expression she’s had since she’d opened the door, clearly aware of what was about to happen. Her foot taps incessantly as the silence between them drags on.
“You deserve better,” Azzi says finally, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor. 
“No,” Zoe’s voice is cold, “don’t say shit like that. It’s a cop out. It’s the shit people say to make themselves feel better-”
“Zoe-”
“Don’t be a fucking coward Azzi. Look me in the eye and say it, say exactly what you’re here to.”
Azzi doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants to crumble to the ground and let it swallow her until she’s buried so far away from the mess she’s created. But she owes Zoe this. When she does look at Zoe, there’s this look in the other girl’s eyes that Azzi had never thought herself capable of evoking in anyone and she has to swallow away the bile that rises in her throat, disgusted by her own self. 
“I’m breaking up with you,” Azzi whispers. Her words linger in the air, like shrapnel after an explosion. Zoe flinches, a single tear trickling down her face. 
“There it is,” the Californian says quietly, the ghost of an ironic smile playing on her lips, “I knew it was coming but damn- there it is.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“For what-” Zoe cuts herself, “no actually don’t- don’t answer that. I think I know.”
Azzi draws in a deep breath, ready to confess, “I need to tell-”
“Please-”
“Z-”
“Please,” Zoe sobs, “please don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear it okay? I don’t- I don’t want to hate you Azzi. It’s too much and I don’t- I just- I’m so tired of feeling so much for you when you don’t- when you feel so little for me.”
“That’s not true,” Azzi counters helplessly, her words ringing hollow to her own ears. 
“Fucking hell you just ended it Azzi, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And it’s okay because I get it. You can’t feel any more than what little you do for me because- because you’ve already given the rest of it away. And it’s not- it’s not like I didn’t know you know? I only ever met you because you were crying over her. You only let me into your life because you missed her. And now you have her,” Zoe says wistfully. 
It’s terrible the way everything else becomes white noise as Azzi’s ear latches on the last sentence, a sentence that couldn’t be any further away from the truth. She was prepared for the accusations, for Zoe to hurl every curse word in the book at her, but this, the unintended reminder that she was giving up on soft, sweet, gentle Zoe for something that she didn’t have, hurts far more than any words could. 
“This isn’t about-” 
Zoe’s quick to cut Azzi off, pushing herself off the couch they had been sharing, trying to put even more space in between them, “please do not insult my intelligence by finishing that sentence. I deserve that much at least.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are because I know- I know who you are Azzi and I know you’re a good person and that’s why- that’s why I don’t wanna know okay? Whatever you did- whatever happened- just let me- just let me have this. Let me remember you as someone good- someone great,” Zoe pleads.
“If that’s what you want Zo,” Azzi answers weakly, the guilty clawing at her heart. She doesn’t think she deserves to be remembered like that, doesn’t think she’s worthy of being thought of with fondness, not anymore. 
Zoe doesn’t make any acknowledgement of Azzi having spoken as she starts to pace, “I should have known. You know the day I met her this summer, I got it- the appeal- I got it immediately. She has this aura, this charm. She just- she just fucking glows you know? And she’s just- she’s this huge entity and so are you and I’m just,” she lets out a hollow laugh as she shrugs,  “I’m just a girl from Stockton, California.”
“And you’re amazing,” Azzi puts up a hand when Zoe tries to cut her off again, “you are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for me last year. You could have walked away that day and maybe- maybe one day you’ll think you should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zoe. You do deserve better. It’s not a cop out. It’s the truth.”
Since she was younger, Azzi’s always hated endings. This time is no different. The bitter truth is that she probably won’t miss her girlfriend, but she will miss the friend that had gotten her through one of the toughest years of her life. Slowly, Azzi picks herself off of the couch and walks over to a still Zoe, squeezing her left hand once before heading towards the door. 
“Azzi,” Zoe calls out, just as Azzi has one foot out the door, “I hope it works out for the two of you. You and Paige always did just seem inevitable.”
***
She blames the fact she’s currently stuck in the terrible LA traffic, with the word inevitable ringing in her ears, for the way her fingers continuously flicker over the green call button under Paige’s name. Zoe saying her name had been the first time in a week that Azzi had even let herself, in consciousness at least, think of the blonde properly. And now that it had been unleashed, whispers of Paige, Paige, Paige echo through every crevice of skull. The pain and anger that she’d been trying to shield herself from, come barraging into her heart as she’s held captive once again by thoughts of her best friend. 
It would be a lie to say that Azzi hadn’t been hoping for a call or a text to come through. She’d waited two days with bated breath for a friendly quip that would lead them back to their safe haven of just pretend. Instead it was as if they were back to being who they had been before summer of 2022 all over again. Back to being nothing. But this time Azzi had been adamant that if Paige was going to cut her off again, she wouldn’t fight it, not this time. Apparently that resolve was never meant to last and Azzi feels a little pathetic with how desperately she needs to hear Paige’s voice, how desperately she wants to try again. 
The traffic clears just as she presses call and maybe that should have been a sign. Azzi’s not a bad driver per say, but as her dad always said, no one’s a good driver when they’re distracted. The phone rings for too long and she should take that as her next sign and accept it as Paige not wanting to talk, but she lets it continue to ring anyway, as she turns onto a more secluded road. And then-
“Hello,” the voice is unfamiliar and Azzi doesn’t really know Paige’s teammates, beyond Caroline, that well but she’s pretty certain this one doesn’t belong to any of them. 
“Hi uh- who is this?” she manages to get out as her grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Oh um- this is Rose, Paige’s friend” comes the reply, the word friend said with a sultry lilt and Azzi feels her skin prickle. Hang up. 
“Why are you answering Paige’s phone?” her tone is far more accusatory than she’d like it to be. 
“She’s in the bathroom but she told me to,” Rose answers defensively. 
Azzi hesitates, she doesn’t need to know more except, “does she know who called?”
Because surely if she did, if Paige knew it was Azzi on the other line, she wouldn’t let one of her likely random hookups answer the phone, surely Paige would know what it would do, how it would make her feel. 
“Uh yeah- I told her Azzi called and she seemed pretty sure she wanted me to pick up.”
Maybe Paige does know what it would do, does know how it would make Azzi feel, maybe that’s the whole fucking point. Through the phone she can hear quiet footsteps walking closer, towards Rose. When Paige is close enough that Azzi can make out the sound of her breathing, can almost picture the way her chest is heaving, that’s when the tears finally fall, blurring her vision. 
She doesn’t see the blinking headlights rushing towards her until it’s too late and then she’s swerving. The world around her erupts in motion and light and noise, everything spinning and spinning and spinning. For one moment, as she loses complete control of her car, Azzi thinks maybe this is it. And the most terrifying part of it, is that for a second, she’s not all that opposed to the idea of this being the end. It’s a singular image of her parents in her brain that has her regaining her senses and hitting the brakes as hard as she can. Her tires screech as her car barrels into a tree and her entire body jerks around in her car, her seatbelt leaving burn scars against her neck. Azzi feels her heartbeat going haywire, as everything comes to a halt. 
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rose’s panicked voice echoes. 
“What?” and there’s Paige and even in this wreckage, Azzi’s heart stutters at the sound of her best friend. 
“I think she crashed-”
“WHAT?” there’s frantic shuffling until, “Azzi? Azzi? Hello? Are you there? Fuck. Azzi are you okay? Please say something. C’mon Az. I know you’re there. Can you hear me? Please be okay. Azzi? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Azzi?”
Azzi opens and closes her mouth, trying to answer to the call of her name, but nothing comes out. She feels hot and cold all over at the same and she swears there’s a hand curled around her neck because she can’t fucking breathe. 
“Azzi,” Paige says again desperately, “please say something.”
“P-Paige,” Azzi finally manages to stutter, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. There’s blood rushing to her ears and everything around her feels hazy. 
“Azzi,” and that one syllable is wrapped in so much emotion, “I’m here okay, are you okay?”
No, Azzi thinks, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. 
“I c-can’t breathe. I think” she grasps at her neck, “I th-think I’m having a panic attack.”
Paige curses under her breath, “okay, okay alright listen to me breathe okay? And try to match it okay?”
“O-okay,” Azzi whispers, pressing her head to her steering wheel as she tries to mimic Paige’s exaggerated deep breaths on the other end of the line. 
“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me Azzi, just keep breathing okay,” Paige’s voice is far calmer than she probably is in reality, “just keep breathing with me okay.”
Azzi closes her eyes as she feels her chest slowly start to loosen up and lets herself be immersed by Paige’s soothing words of comfort. And for a second, it almost feels as if her best friend is right there with her. For a second, Azzi imagines that they’re on a whole other planet, just them in their little world, like it always should have been, like she’d once been so sure it would be. It’s a beautiful dream that reality is quick to gatecrash. 
“Babe, is she okay?” Rose asks, and Azzi’s eyes fly open at the term of endearment. She’s not on a different planet. She’s alone. And Paige isn’t. 
“I’m fine,” Azzi breathes out and then more firmly, “I’m fine.”
“Thank God,” Paige lets out a sigh of relief before her tone turns sour “what the actual fuck Azzi?”
Azzi winces at the loudness, pretty sure she might have a concussion from the way her head had crashed back into her headrest as she’d crashed into the tree in front of her. 
“I’m fine,” she repeats assertedly, as everything around her slowly starts to make sense again. It’s not a lie really, at least not physically. There’s the potential concussion, and the litany of bruises she’s starting to feel all over her body but she’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong internally. Well except for her stupid fucking heart but it wasn’t the accident that had fucked that organ up. 
“You just crashed your fucking car, no you’re not fucking fine,” Paige yells, voice thick with tears. 
“What the fuck do you care?” Azzi bites back, “sorry I interrupted your fucking night Paige. I swear it won’t happen again.”
She hangs up before Paige can say anything else, sitting deathly still for a second. And then she lets herself completely break apart. 
***
74 missed calls from Paige
did u go to the hospital 
pick up ur fucking phone 
dude
azzi
this is not the time for this stubborn bullshit 
PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE 
AZZI 
just say ur ok at least
please 
called ur mom 
said u had a concussion and some bruising 
thats not too bad 
ur so fucking stupid 
it could be so much worse 
please pick up 
AZZI FUCKING FUDD PICK UP UR PHONE 
so u can call carol and not me ok 
thats just fucking perfect
dude i feel like an accident > stupid fights 
so maybe just pick up 
or call me back
u wanna play this stupid game fine 
ignore me for now
but i’mma be in dc for christmas
ur gonna have to talk to me 
i know where u live 
***
The box in Azzi’s arm feels freakishly heavy, like she’s holding the whole world inside of it. In a way, maybe she is. The walk up Paige’s dad’s driveway feels longer than it ever has and she’s fighting the urge to turn back with every step. As soon as she’d seen the vaguely threatening text message, Azzi had decided she would beat Paige to it. The night of the accident had put several things into perspective and Azzi was determined to finally grasp control of her own life. 
It hasn’t been that long since the Cayman Island and so it hasn’t been that long since Azzi’s seen Paige. But when the door opens and she’s face to face with her best friend, despite the dread and anxiety that’s drowning her heart, Azzi still feels that beat of it’s cold but you always make me feel warm flutter in her chest. Paige smiles and Azzi’s arms wobble, drawing the blonde’s attention to the box in her arms. 
“Still a couple of days till Christmas Az, a little early to give me my present,” Paige smirks lightly and Azzi feels a river of hot anger slide around her veins. After everything she’d put her through in the last couple of weeks, the fact that Paige could act so frivolous, as if they were still fine, makes Azzi see red. 
Her voice is icier than the sheet of frost on the ground when she replies, “it’s not a Christmas present.”
Paige’s eyebrows knit together questioningly, “then-”
“It’s all your stuff I had lying around,” Azzi cuts in, trying to keep her voice confident and stable. 
The smile disappears from Paige’s face as she studies Azzi's face, looking for some semblance of emotion beyond the blank stare. 
“What?”
“All the things you’ve left at my house over the years, a couple of t-shirts, a hat, a book and a couple other things, they’re in this box,” Azzi says pointedly. She tries to hand it over but Paige is quick to move away from it, staring at the offending object as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 
“What the actual fuck is going on Azzi?”
“I might have missed some things. Let me know if I have and I’ll mail them to you in the future,” Azzi recites clinically, keeping her demeanour stoic as possible “and of course I would like my things back as well. Not right now of course. You can mail them to me whenever it suits you.”
“Mail back your things? What? What the fuck are you going on about?” Paige asks, a bewildered expression taking on her face. She reaches out as if she wants to shake Azzi but seems to think better of it. 
Azzi doesn’t say anything, as she sidesteps Paige into the house, putting in the utmost effort to make sure no part of herself brushes up against the older girl, knowing the inevitable burst of electricity when they touch would be enough to break her resolve. She places the box of Paige’s stuff on the coffee table in the living room, before turning back to Paige. 
“I’m giving you your stuff back,” Azzi repeats, “I’m giving you what you want.”
“What I want? When did I ask for my stuff back?”
Azzi draws in a deep breath, fighting desperately against the screams of you don’t want this in her own head, “I’m giving you a clean break Paige. I’m letting you go.”
Saying those words feels a lot like free-falling. Her stomach lurches at the way Paige’s features scrunch up in pain and she’d never meant to do that, but Azzi’s so tired. She’s so tired of this push and pull, the way they seem to hurt each other every fucking time, the way things get so close to going right and then go wrong any way. The bitter truth of life, Azzi has forced herself to admit, is that it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, sometimes the darkness wins out anyway. 
“You think-,” Paige stutters, clutching at her chest, “you think this is what I want?”
“Well isn’t it?” 
“Of course n-”
“If I hadn’t called you that night would you have called me first Paige?  If I hadn’t gotten into that stupid accident, would you even have texted me ever again?”
Paige’s silence is an answer in itself . And although Azzi had known it, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that had posed the question hoping against hope that Paige would have answered it with a resounding yes of course. She thinks maybe she should be used to the singe of disappointment that burns her skin by now but she’s never been immune to Paige’s fire. 
“That’s what I thought,” Azzi says quietly, “I’m tired of running after you Paige. I thought I was done after the Cayman Islands but then I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I called you that night when you- you clearly didn’t want that.”
“Azzi c’mon-”
“It’s my fault really. Because you've always been clear about it and I- for some reason- I just don’t listen. You were clear with it when you told me to go to UCLA and get out of your life. You were clear when you didn’t want me to come into your air BnB. You were clear when you told me to get out of the bathroom last summer. And when you left that night-,” Azzi pauses as Paige’s eyes widen, the words catching in her throat, “when you were gone that morning- every time you didn’t call- every time you didn’t text- you were always clear about it Paige and I- I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
“You’re being really fucking unfair right now,” Paige accuses, “you’re mad because I didn’t want to be your fucking side whore? I’m so sorry I had more self-respect than that Azzi.”
Azzi blinks rapidly, her face still completely neutral, “excuse me?”
“You wanna blame me for those first two things, fine. But you have a whole ass girlfriend and you wanted me to be what? Just a girl you can fuck occasionally because you feel like it? Who the fuck do you think I am? I deserve so much better than that.”
“I don’t-”
“You wanna know why I left that morning?” Paige asks icily, “I woke up and the first thing I saw is your girlfriend’s fucking i miss you text. All that shit you said to me when I kissed you in LA about not wanting to be one of my groupies or whatever but what did you want me to be Azzi?”
When they were young and naive, the largest fight they’d ever had was about whether or not one of them had cheated in a game of horse. The allegations of cheater from a 15 year old Paige had seemed massive back then, but they pale in front of the accusations of cheater from a 22 year old Paige. It’s not that Azzi thinks she’s some prime example of a good samaritan and she can deal with people thinking she’s not all that, but it’s different when it’s Paige, it’s different to know that Paige could ever think so low of her. 
“You really think I’d do that you? That I’d make you my sidepiece or whatever?”
“What else am I supposed to think about you fucking me while you have a girlfriend?” Paige asks exasperatedly and Azzi flinches at the repeated use of the profanity. 
“Had.”
“What?”
Azzi grips the hem of her shirt, trying to focus her eyes anywhere but Paige, “I had a girlfriend. Past tense.”
“You- you broke up with Zoe?” Paige’s expression morphs from anger to confusion before finally settling on realisation. 
“I never wanted you to be a side piece. You think I don’t know you deserve better than that?” Azzi rubs her temple, as she tries to keep herself steady on her feet, “I know seeing that text hurt you but it’s not like you didn’t know I had a girlfriend. But- but if you’d just waited for me to wake up, god if you’d just talked to me once instead of jumping to conclusions then-”
“Then what?” Paige breathes out and Azzi doesn’t miss the little spurt of hope that’s taken birth on the older girl's face. 
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Azzi shakes her head, “that’s also past tense now.”
The thing with Paige is that anger is her protective mechanism. When she gets a little close to losing control of her emotions, or feeling too much, it’s what she falls back on so it’s not surprising that her tone is harsh when she speaks again. 
“How the fuck was I supposed to guess you were gonna break up with your girlfriend Az c’mon,” Paige takes a step towards her, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”
“I never asked you to read my mind. I just- all I’ve ever wanted- is for you to just have a little faith in me- in us,” Azzi’s voice breaks on the last word. 
“That’s not fair. I was really fucking  hurt Azzi-” Paige begins, her voice pleading.
“And then you tried to hurt me back on purpose,” Azzi spits out as the façade of neutrality completely slips off, “you knew it was me calling and you had that girl pick up any way knowing exactly how it would make me feel.”
“Azzi,” baby blue eyes sparkle with tears and Azzi has to force herself to look away, because no matter how much she’s convinced that this is what needs to happen, seeing Paige break, will drown Azzi and she’s barely floating as it is. 
“I don’t enjoy hurting you Paige,” Azzi says softly, “and I don’t think you enjoy hurting me but for the last couple of years, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing and I- I can’t do it anymore.”
It’s not something she’d ever admitted out loud, or even to herself, but once upon a time Azzi used to think her and Paige would have one of those stories, one of those soft, sappy fairytale-esque stories that had no chance of an ending that wasn’t happily ever after. And she hopes that maybe in another universe, maybe they did have that. Maybe in a universe where she chose UConn and things never went wrong in the first place. Maybe in that universe, they’re happy. But in this universe, they seem to be destined for misery. And Azzi thinks the saddest tragedy of it all, is that it feels like she’s ending a story that never even really got the chance to start. 
“So that’s it then, you’re walking away- you’re just- you’re fucking giving up?” Paige says bitterly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and Azzi feels a flicker of annoyance light up against her ribcage. 
“Isn’t that what you did?” she accuses, “Is that not what you do? You walk away every. single. time. because you can’t deal with things getting just a little too fucking hard. And what? I’m just supposed to wait until you come back? Or chase after you like a pathetic little puppy?”
Paige flinches at the hardness in Azzi’s tone, mouth opening and closing but nothing escaping. 
“I’m so fucking tired of always being the one calling, the one showing up, the one trying. I’m so fucking tired of fighting for us when it feels like you’re fighting against me,” Azzi pauses,trying to blink away the tears she’d tried so hard to keep locked behind her eyelids, “if you wanna call that me giving up then okay, but I don’t think you realize just how fucking hard I want to hold on.”
Azzi’s not sure if it’s the way her voice cracks, or the absolute misery behind every word she says, but Paige's hard and cold expression is gone so fast it gives her whiplash. And then her Paige, the girl with the warm eyes and soft heart is back, looking at Azzi in a way that makes her want to believe in them all over again. Arms outstretched, Paige takes a step forwards and there’s nothing more Azzi wants then melt into them. It takes everything in her to step away instead. For a moment there’s nothing but them staring at each other in silence, a moment where Azzi tries to memorise everything about Paige just in case this is the last time. And then-
“What if,” Paige begins softly, “what if I entered the draft?”
Azzi looks at her in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”
“The Sparks have the second pick, it’s where I’m projected to go,” Paige bites at her lips, peering at Azzi through her eyelashes. 
The Sparks. The Los Angeles Sparks. 
“Is that what you want?” Azzi asks quietly, trying to prevent her brain from already coming up with dreams of stupid picnic dates at the park during sunset. 
Paige hesitates. And it’s enough for those dreams to crumble, because Azzi knows Paige just a little too well, knows exactly what that little bit of hesitation means. 
“I haven’t decided yet but if- if there was a reason that I should-”
“There isn’t,” Azzi says firmly, “it’s not what you want.”
“I don’t even fucking know what I want,” Paige argues and that doesn’t make it any better. 
“Then figure it out,” Azzi yells, frustratedly rubbing her hands over her face, “I won’t deal with you fucking resenting me and running away again in a couple of years- hell in a couple of months- because you regret your fucking decision.”
“I wouldn’t-”
“Please just stop. It's done. I’ve made up my mind” Azzi begs, exhaustion flooding into her body, “just- just let this go please.”
Paige meets her eyes with a stubborn fire, “I don’t fucking want to.”
“Well tough luck because I do.”
“Azzi,” Paige pleads desperately, trying to block Azzi as she beelines for the door, but the younger girl is quick to push past her. 
“Goodbye Paige.”
***
December 2024 
azzi please just let me in 
ur parent are saying u dont wanna see me 
and i get it 
but i can fix this i swear 
i know u know im here
please fucking let me in 
i fucked up 
i know 
im so fucking sorry
but dude we can fix this
just 
can u just fucking let me in
i really wanna see u 
i really wanna talk 
can we just fucking talk 
please 
merry christmas az
u know what fuck u actually 
didnt mean that sorry 
i was just mad 
u make me really fucking mad 
christmas breaks almost over 
i have to go back soon and ik u do too
we should talk before that 
ur so fucking stubborn 
but so am i
im not giving up 
i won’t 
January 2024
hi 
i miss you
ur really fucking annoying
not texting me back
but its fine
i’ll just fucking spam 
i had an ok day today 
practice was kinda ass 
not me tho
i was great
as always 
bet i made more threes than you did 
bro im watching ur game
and
what the fuck kinda airball did u just throw up 
get in the gym az jfc 
oh that was a good pullup
not better than mine
but decent 
been a fucking month azzi 
just fucking call me back 
or text me idk 
i miss u 
sooooooooooo
hows ur day
good? good.
hows mine?
oh kinda shit 
lets see
we lost in front of all these uconn legends
to their fucking rival 
everyones saying uconn fucking sucks 
some people are saying i suck
they might not be completely wrong 
now would be a good time to reply az 
like maybe make me feel better
fuck u actually 
what the fuck am i doing 
idk if u even read these 
February 
idk maybe i should stop 
like maybe only fucking psychos do this 
but idk bro 
i feel like ur gonna text me back eventually 
well sc was a shit show 
i mean we knew it but holy shit 
i really wanna talk to you about it
it’d mainly just be me fucking yelling 
and u giggling 
fuck i miss ur laugh
i miss you
idk if u just ignore these
so idk if ur gonna even see this 
but 
i wanted to tell you first 
before u saw it from somewhere else 
im staying at uconn 
u were right
i didnt want to leave yet 
i want my 4 years
but 
just dont think it means i didnt mean what i said
that i dont wanna be in la with u
i do
its not about that
i just need to do whats best for me
and thats staying here 
fuck
i get what u meant now
u didnt pick ucla over me
fuck fuck fuck 
im sorry az
is this how u felt 
when i didn’t text u back 
because it’s actually fucking hell 
i miss you so fucking much dude
i’m so sorry 
i’m really fucking sorry azzi 
for all of it
please just call me back
March 2024
last pac-12 tournament mvp!!
dude i’m so proud of you
we also won 
idk if u heard 
it wasnt easy either 
everything just always fucking goes wrong 
fucking pisses me off 
but oh well 
u know i dont even like texting 
idk how many messages ive sent u 
its gotta be hundreds atp 
insane shit on my part 
tf is wrong with me 
did u see the bracket
see u in the final 4 azzi 
April 2024 
i fucking told u 
i told you id see u in the final four
fucking meant it
fuck 
gonna kick yalls ass
revenge szn
we’re built different in march
cleveland here we fucking go 
but also
cant avoid me anymore 
i cant fucking wait to see you az  
***
UConn 87     UCLA 84 
There’s six seconds left to go and UCLA has control of the ball. The game today had been completely different from the on down in the Cayman Islands. That one had featured a UCLA team that had dominated from start to finish versus a UConn team still reeling from multiple injuries. This time around, UCLA seemed to have lost some of their shine and UConn had been on a tear. She would never give Paige the satisfaction of knowing it but her stupid goading, her incessant smirking because UConn seemed poised to win handedly, had gotten in Azzi’s head for most of the game. The fourth quarter had seen UConn enter with a 11 point lead that had held study until the last two and a half minutes when something had finally clicked for Azzi. 
“Told you, you should have fucking come to UConn,” Paige had sneered while casually dribbling the ball and that had been enough to break Azzi out of whatever funk she’d been in. All of her anger and frustration at Paige seemed to culminate into that one moment as she’d swiped the ball straight from Paige’s hands, narrowly avoiding a foul. An easy steal-and-score layup was followed by two signature three pointers, created by her team’s defence, and suddenly the lead had been cut down to three. On the other side, Muhl had been called for an offensive foul and immediately Coach Close had called for a timeout to advance the ball. 
When both teams get back on the court, Azzi, with her competitive streak in full control of her emotions, relishes in the way Paige’s face is contorted up in frustration. But it isn’t just this game that has Azzi irritated. Paige had been relentless since both teams had landed in Cleveland in trying to corner Azzi. She’d known it was gonna happen since she’d read the text but still Azzi had hoped that maybe the blonde would just let it go, would understand just how much Azzi didn’t want to have to deal with this. Because seeing Paige hurts. All the missing and yearning of the past few months seemed to have blended into this ball of tight hot pain that had burst the minute Paige had smiled at Azzi. She knows Paige means well, and it’s taking everything in her to ignore the part of her that’s secretly enamoured by how hard the point guard is trying finally, but Azzi just can’t do it again. She can’t let Paige in again and then spend every other second scared that Paige will run away again. 
The whistle blows and Charisma gets ready to inbound the ball. The play call had been to just get it to Azzi but it’s clearly one that UConn had anticipated, because she finds herself swarmed with Paige and Muhl both trying to make sure she doesn’t get the ball. Instead, it’s Kiki who gets the ball and the countdown starts, as Azzi fights to get herself free, running off of screens, to get herself open on the three point line. It takes too much time and they don’t have any more timeouts left. Kiki throws it inside to Lauren who misses the layup but gets her own rebound and somehow the ball finally finds its way into Azzi’s hands. And with barely a second left to go, and Paige’s hand firmly in her face, Azzi throws up a prayer. The arena goes deathly silent as the ball hits the back and then circles every inch of the rim before spilling over the edge and falling straight into Edwards’ hands. 
The crowd erupts in deafening cheers as the UConn bench rushes to the court, jubilantly hugging each other with Paige in the middle. Azzi blinks rapidly, refusing to be caught shedding a single tear on camera. Her teammates look distraught and Azzi feels disappointment curling into every crevice of her skin she’d almost had it. In the grand scheme of things she knows that, that shot would have only guaranteed overtime and not a win but still, it wouldn’t have meant a loss. And she knows this one isn’t completely on her either but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel the burden of it on her shoulders any way. 
But despite it all, seeing Paige’s bright smile stretch all over her beaming face as she celebrates with her team, soothes the sting of the loss just a little bit. Azzi still remembers late night calls and Paige’s broken voice too well, her brain imprinted with the misery of a girl who had just wanted to play the sport she loved and couldn’t. And even if everything between them resembles the remnants of an earthquake, Azzi can’t help but be just a little bit happy for Paige. 
The handshake line is better this time around with no one being unnecessarily hostile. One team is too happy to care and when Muhl briefly hugs her, Azzi can’t help but be a little shocked by the affection. Her team is too despondent to be mad, and Angela briefly nods at Paige when shaking her hand, and gets a reassuring grin in return. Azzi has to force herself not to run away, if only for decorum’s sake, once she and Paige finally get to each other. Trying to keep herself steady, she reaches out her hand to counter Paige’s outstretched arms. The smile falls a little bit from Paige’s face as a more resigned expression takes its place. 
“Good game Bueckers,” Azzi manages to muster out. 
The last name stings but Paige does her best to not let it show, “good game Az.”
***
When there’s a knock on the door to her hotel room a little bit after 10pm, Azzi knows exactly who it is. The look that Charisma gives her as she goes to open it, suggests that she does too. 
“Oh thank fucking god, I thought maybe y’all left already,” and there it is, Paige voice echoing through her room and from where she’s perched on the edge of bed, her feet dangling over the side, Azzi catches a brief glimpse of the UConn point guard. 
“Had a little bit of a transportation issue. We’re not leaving til tomorrow morning,” Charisma explains, “what are you doing here Paige?”
Paige shuffles her feet nervously at the doorway, peering over Charisma’s frame in the doorway to catch sight of Azzi, “can I talk to Azzi?”
“First you kick my ass in the final four, and now you wanna kick me out of my own room?” Charisma asks, voice light but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. 
“I-uh-” 
“Az,” Charisma turns to Azzi with a questioning look, and Azzi sighs at having all the attention on her, “you wanna talk to her?”
Say no. Say yes. Her head fights with itself. And for the last few months, Azzi’s done well with listening to the logical part of her brain, diligently sticking to letting go. But that had only been easy to do because Paige hadn’t actually been there. Now that she is, with bright hopeful eyes fixed on Azzi, well, this time the emotional side wins out. She nods her head in yes at Charisma and Paige seems to glow all over. 
“You’re lucky it’s me and not Angela or Kiki or any of the other girls,” Charisma warns, “but I swear to god Bueckers if I come back and there’s a single tear-”
“Then you have my permission to fucking murder me,” Paige vows, her face a paragon of sincerity. 
Charisma nods once, stepping aside to let Paige in. The Bruin’s point guard looks at Azzi once more for confirmation and then, satisfied by the small smile Azzi shoots at her, she leaves the room, letting the door shut behind her. And then it’s just Paige and Azzi and the myriad of unspoken thoughts that seem to always linger between them. 
“Hi,” Paige says softly. 
Azzi stares up at her with tired eyes, “shouldn’t you be celebrating or something?”
“Still one more game to go. Gotta lock in for that first.”
“Then go do that. What are you doing here?”
Paige flinches at the harsh tone and Azzi feels a wave of guilt come over her. She doesn’t mean to be so hostile but she’s scared that if she gives in just a little, all of her will go tumbling down. 
“Sunday is the most important game of my life,” Paige says quietly. 
“I know- I know it means a lot to you.”
“It does,” Paige nods, as she takes a step forward, hesitating for a second, before she drags a foot stool over, so she can sit right in front of Azzi, “will you stay for it?”
“That’s not-,” Azzi sucks in a deep breath, her senses muddle by having Paige so close to her again, “I thought I was clear about- about us.’
“You were but I thought I was clear with my texts,” Paige counters. 
“Paige please.”
“I just-,” Paige pauses, leaning forward and staring intently at Azzi, “I don’t know how the national championship is gonna go. I don’t know if we’re gonna win or lose but I just- I know that no matter what happens, I want you there. Because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. I just- I just want you there. With me. Always.”
Everything else floats away and for a moment, all Azzi knows is Paige, and the warmth that reverberates through her body at the earnestness in those words. If she could, she’d capture that feeling in a bottle and keep it forever. Because moments are fleeting. And when her brain catches up to her heart, and that voice in her head is back to echoing it won’t last, Azzi feels cold all over again. 
“You don’t believe me,” disappointment echoes in Paige’s voice; she’s always been a little too perceptive of Azzi’s emotions, “you think I don’t mean it?”
“I think you mean it now. I don’t think you’ll mean it forever,” Azzi shrugs. 
Paige is quiet, nerves on full display, as she cautiously reaches for Azzi’s hands with both of her own, an audible sigh of relief floating out of her lips when Azzi lets her. 
“I know I fucked up,” she begins quietly, thumb caressing Azzi’s palms, each trace sending jolts of electricy through the younger girl’s body, “like really fucked up and I get why you think that. I get why- why you’re so scared to believe me. And I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
A teardrop rolls down Paige’s cheek, falling onto their intertwined hands, and Azzi feels herself flinch, her own eyes beginning to glisten. 
“If I could go back in time, I’d change so many fucking things. I’d go back to the beginning- back to your room the night before you went to LA and- and I’d tell myself to shut the fuck up. I’d tell you that I supported you- that I understood that you weren’t choosing UCLA over me- and I’d- I’d tell you that it didn’t matter how many fucking miles away from me you were- we’d survive it. But I can’t- I can’t change the past. I can’t change that we fought. I can’t change that- that I was a fucking idiot for ignoring you for a year. I can’t change that I was a dumbass for leaving that morning.”
Tears are freely streaming from both of their eyes now as they grip each other’s hands tightly. There’s something cathartic about finally being able to cry, about finally being able to mourn the loss of what could have been together.And it feels a little bit like healing. 
Paige looks up at Azzi through watery eyelashes as she continues to speak, her voice wrecked with emotion, “and I’m not gonna make promises about how I’ll never do shit to hurt you again because god knows I can be really fucking stupid.”
They let out simultaneous giggles at that and Azzi can feel something in herself unravelling. 
“But what I can promise is that if you let me, every day- every fucking day that I live- I will try. To not hurt you. To make it up to you. To fix this. To fix us. And I can promise, that I will never ever fucking run away from you again. I know- I know it’s gonna be hard but I swear- I fucking swear- that I will stay right here and face it with you.”
“Paige,” Azzi whispers helplessly. It’s everything she’s wanted to hear and it’s too much. The voices in her head are too loud again, screams of she’ll hurt you, she always does, let her go colliding with shouts of it’s Paige, it’s your Paige, hold on to her. 
“You said- you said you were tired of fighting alone but you never- you never have to do that again because- because I’m here now. Fuck- Azzi I’m here. And I know- I know there’s so much we have to talk about and so much we still have to fucking deal with. But we can do that- we can- we can deal with anything. Because it’s us. Paige and Azzi. We can do anything. Together.”
Paige presses her forehead to Azzi’s, pulling their interlocked hands to her chest. They’re breathing in sync and Azzi can feel the thrum of Paige’s heart beat against her fingertips. Azzi’s eyes close of their own accord, as Paige’s lips brush over hers, her next words coming out in a breathless whisper. 
“Believe in me- believe in us just one more time, please.”
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jewelleria · 1 day
Text
I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again. Here are some of my thoughts.
I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 
But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 
This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 
I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not as close to what’s happening as I am.
How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying I live in Palestine and saying I live in Israel? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 
I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places in America, set up camp in London for a while, and had a brief stint in Helsinki. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 
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If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 
I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 
But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I look at pretty things and take out my phone because I think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 
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So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life, one filled with sunsets and over sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 
But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 
They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 
These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfiring makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 
Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 
No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.
But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 
I am a Jew. 
Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 
I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 
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Now, let’s go back to when I mentioned the hateful message I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 
Then they sent me this: 
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I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.”
Where they drew these conclusions after reading a (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 
For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 
But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 
I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 
And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel?(Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two terms interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.
But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 
There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and hem and haw about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.
But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 
So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. 
I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 
I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 
I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.
But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 
When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.
My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 
I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. He hasn’t answered since the sun set on the Book of Esther. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 
source reading
The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications
Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn
Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha
I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg
The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes
Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board
There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart
The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit
“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi
When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss
Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller
Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer
What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins
The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore
Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman
The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman
How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner
This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press
Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss
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littlexdeaths · 3 hours
Text
fever pitch - r.b.
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softball player robin buckley x cheerleader fem reader
18+ ONLY MDNI
warnings: all characters are 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, public sex, thigh riding, secret relationship, allusions to sex, bullying, mean!dom robin, little bit of mean reader, jealous reader
this is a collab with the absolutely brilliant @undead-supernova !! i literally had so much fucking fun writing this with you august, and it might be my favorite robin fic i’ve ever written. i feel like our brains collided and made a gay ass baby and i’m so proud of us. we hope you enjoy xx.
word count: 3.7K
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“Shhh, don’t want us getting caught like this do you?”
Robin’s voice is hushed but stern, now lifting her head from between your trembling thighs. The blonde has you spread out on a bench in the dugout, skirt shoved up around your hips as her tongue laps up everything you have to offer.
That is until a broken moan leaves your lips, unable to stop it as her fingers curl up inside you. The sound breaks through the silence, the only thing heard above the soft hum of cicadas.
“What would your little friends think, hmm?” she taunts, brow raised as she looks up at you, dirt still smeared across her cheeks from the game. “Knowing a loser is the one making you feel so good?”
In that moment you can’t find it within yourself to care anymore, gripping her hair in your fist to guide her back between your legs. “Let them.”
Robin hums, her lips drifting lower to nip at the tender skin of your thighs. The action causes another loud whimper to leave you. “You sure about that, honey?”
“I don’t care,” you admit out loud for the first time, thoughts completely overwhelmed with all things Robin.
“Fuck, I don’t care anymore,” you sigh.
Never in your wildest dreams would you think tonight would turn out like this.
You’d been watching her from the sidelines as she attempted to slide into homebase, coming up a little short. You’d never gotten to see her play before, your extracurriculars usually running at the same time. But today had been just your luck, with Chrissy spraining her ankle, immediately being rushed off to get it iced. Coach ended practice shortly after—no use continuing without the star of the squad there, right?
It gave you the perfect opportunity to watch her without raising any suspicion—two of your teammates by your side, laughing as Robin struck out. You took your lower lip between your teeth, trying not to gawk as she rose to her feet. Dusting the dirt off her thighs when she caught your eye, biting back a smirk as she made her way towards the dugout.
But not before stopping by where you were leaning against the bleachers. Right there, in front of everyone for the first time.
See, this has been going on for months. The sneaking around, the feigned rivalry.
If only they knew what was really happening behind closed doors.
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You first noticed her late one afternoon, walking to your car after cheer practice. Robin hadn’t even crossed your radar, barely a glance in the hallway. Too wrapped up in your own world to notice. But there was just something about the warm glow of the sunset laying against her flushed cheek. The way she found your eyes, like she knew your secret, before she spit out the shell of a sunflower seed. Chuckling as she grabbed her bat and walked off.
All you knew after that was you desperately wanted to know more. And boy, did you.
You quickly learned through word of mouth that she had been caught hooking up with some girl in the band room after school. That confirmation prompted you to start dropping her little hints. Longing glances when no one was paying attention, nods in the hallway. Sneaking out of practice early just so she’d notice you walk by. And, sure, she noticed.
But Robin wasn’t going to come easy, was she?
No, she wanted to make you work for it. To prove to her you were serious, not just another girl looking to make out with her for the thrill of it. Or some sick joke conjured up by the cheer squad to humiliate her more.
You quickly realized that your subtle hints were not going to get you what you wanted. Her.
One day you’d finally had enough, boldly slipping a note in her locker between classes. Coaxing her to meet you in the secluded alley between the gym and the cafeteria. A place you’d only used to meet a certain super senior when you wanted to buy some weed.
A spot unknown or used by the majority of the students of Hawkins High, knowing you wouldn’t be seen or heard by any curious passersby.
Part of you was worried she wouldn't show, becoming increasingly more nervous as time passed. Any lingering qualms were squashed when you saw her striding down the narrow path towards you. She looked good, her dark jeans hugging her hips just right. A button-up shirt tucked loosely into them, the top few buttons left open.
You wanted nothing more than to lean forward, closing the short distance between your bodies. Leave a trail of blues and purples along her exposed skin. And that terrified you, to know that one girl could mess you up in such a monumental way.
“So,” you mumbled, kicking a pebble with the tip of your sneaker.
“So,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest.
Without hesitation, you introduced yourself but Robin gave you a confused look.
“Yeah, I already know who you are.”
“You do?”
“Well, we’ve gone to school together our whole lives…” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “and when a girl is practically eye-fucking you in the halls, it’s hard not to notice.”
“Oh, right,” you replied, looking down. Embarrassment washed over you. “Sorry, I guess I misinterpreted this whole thing.”
You carefully pushed off the wall, ready to walk away and pretend like this whole thing never happened. Save yourself the humiliation.
But her soft voice stopped you in your tracks.
“I wouldn't say that.”
“Then what would you say?” you asked, more confident now.
“You’re the one who asked me here,” Robin pointed out, turning the focus back to you.
And just as quickly as your confidence had risen, it fell. So you looked down again, now fiddling with the hem of your skirt.
“I don’t, um,” you struggled. “I don’t really know how to say it. I just…I…”
“Oh, just spit it out already.”
You looked up at her exasperated expression, narrowing your eyes. “Fine! Fine. Whatever. I like you, okay?”
“Like me? We’ve never spoken.”
“Don’t give me that when I’ve seen the way you look at me too.”
Robin’s hardened expression fell. “Touché.”
Silence fell between you, Robin lifting her head to look at the sky. You couldn’t help but squirm again, feeling a desperate urge to breathe in her scent.
You sighed. “So, what do we do now?”
“Hell if I know,” she replied, looking back at you. “I thought you were stuck up like the rest of your prissy friends.”
“Not when I’m around you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “You make me feel…different, somehow.”
“I could make it much worse for you, you know,” Robin replied, a smug grin reaching her lips as she stepped closer to you. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Please—”
“Actually, no,” Robin interrupted, fingers inching towards your hip. “You should beg.”
“Please,” you said without hesitation. “Please, Robin. I need you.”
Robin knew she shouldn’t. And so did you. But there was just something there, pressing against your chests as Robin pressed you against the brick. And when she kissed you the first time, you nearly whined in contentment, mewling softly against her mouth.
That kiss left you feeling desperate, eager for her to show you more. However, Robin wasn’t going to chase you, forcing you to take matters into your own hands. You sought her out one night after practice, pulling her into the equipment room outside the gym. Backing her body against the door, lips meeting once you heard the lock click into place.
“Just couldn’t stay away now, could you, baby?” she mumbled against your mouth, pulling a soft whine from you as she nipped at your lower lip. The noise caused her to laugh softly.
“I want you, Robs.”
She hummed in response, letting her lips trail across your jaw. “Want me how?” she prodded as the tip of her nose skimmed along your collarbone, rendering you utterly speechless.
“Show me,” she breathed, further stealing the breath from your lungs as she kissed you deeply. Taking control as she flipped your positions, enclosing you against the door.
You’re pliable under her soft touch, guiding her fingers up and underneath your pleated skirt. The blue of her irises nearly swallowed whole by her pupils as she gazed at you hungrily. That look ignited something within you, feeling emboldened as you reached forward to undo her pants. Exploring each other in a way that was unfamiliar to you, her skilled fingers helping to guide you with ease.
After that, it was just your little secret, with no one being the wiser. Why would they? You were on the opposite ends of the food chain, fractured by the Hawkins High hierarchy. Leaving little glances across the cafeteria, brushes of your fingertips in the hallway as a secret reminder of what you two had. It didn’t hurt that you could sit in class, practice, or even the shower and think about how they’d brush against your breasts later.
Of course, you couldn’t help but wind her up whenever you could be overheard. As she would gladly put you in your place in private.
But you knew as she approached you on the field with that familiar glint in her eye— you were really in for it this time.
“What’s so funny?” Robin asked, removing her gloves. You let your eyes linger on her fingers for a moment as she gripped the leather. Quickly shifting your gaze elsewhere as you pressed your thighs together.
Something the blonde didn’t miss. Holding back a smug smile as she looked between the three of you.
“You’re just such a loser,” Carol snickered, snapping her gum between her teeth.
Heather joined in with a giggle. “Yeah, maybe you should look into joining the t-ball team. Seems like a much better fit for you.”
Heather knew she struck a nerve, pleased with herself as Robin’s jaw clenched in anger.
“Oh, yeah?” Robin said, ready to egg her on. “And what do you know, Holloway? I’d like to see you do something other than shake your ass at Billy Hargrove during games. Don’t you find it pathetic how desperate you are for his attention?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Heather snapped back. “As if you are getting any. No one even knows your name.”
“You’d be surprised,” Robin replied, her eyes shifting towards you as if on instinct. “You know, I don’t recall ever seeing this one with a guy.”
“You better get back to that pitch before you strike out, Buckley,” you bit back, shooting her a warning look. “Again.”
With a shake of her head, Robin glanced behind you at your “friends” before scoffing and turning. But not before she took her cleat and scuffed up dirt onto your shiny white sneakers.
“Oops.” She laughed, giving you one last look before walking away.
Not missing a beat, Heather turned to you with a bewildered expression. “You know her name?”
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s on her uniform.”
“Oh— right,” she murmured, the conversation quickly forgotten as they discussed their plans for the night: yet another kegger at the Harrington residence. It was something you definitely weren’t interested in attending.
Though they begged you to join them, you merely shrugged and told them to go without you. They didn’t even blink before heading off, their laughter fading as quickly as it started. But you soon found yourself lost in the chatter of the crowd and the roar of the umpire.
You decided to move up, leaning against the chain-link fence, pom-poms thrown to the dirt as you watched your girl stepping up to bat again. The score had been tied, this being Hawkins High’s last chance to win the game.
As always, Robin found you again. She gave you a wink before you heard the sharp crack of the bat. You gasped along with the crowd at the sight of the ball shooting through the sky and into the parking lot.
You couldn’t help the loud cheer erupting from your lips, clapping along with the crowd as she sprinted through each base with ease. And as she slid into home and was declared safe, her eyes met yours. They followed you as she picked herself up, sweat dripping as she removed her helmet. Shaking her dampened hair out with a wide grin.
There was no longer anything inside you that beckoned you to be malicious. You could feel a swell of pride inside you, wanting nothing more than to show her just how incredible she was. How much you cared about her…and you planned on it.
Her teammates were quick to surround her, lifting her up onto their shoulders as the crowd continued to cheer. Robin was clearly embarrassed by the sudden swarm of attention, her cheeks beautifully flushed as they carried her across the field. Soaking in the glory for a few more moments before they were called to line up, shaking hands with the opposing team.
But as everyone began to clear out, you noticed Beth Wildfire hanging back, laughing near the dugout with Robin. As you moved closer, you could make out the way Beth was checking out Robin’s ass as she bent over to grab her glove.
Robin lifted her head slightly, noticing you making your way over.
“Nice win, Buckley,” Beth said, popping in a piece of gum. “We should go out and celebrate.”
“Oh, yeah?” Robin asked, a devious smile on her lips as she rose. You couldn’t stop the jealousy beginning to surface. “You think we should invite the team?”
She was making you work for it, wasn’t she?
“Actually, I thought maybe you and I could—”
“Hey, Robin,” you said, directly in Beth’s line of sight now.
Beth gave you a look, clearly annoyed by your interruption.
Good.
“Hey,” Robin greeted. “What’s up?”
“You still need that ride?” you asked, clutching your pom poms tighter in your fists.
“I’d almost forgotten,” Robin replied smugly.
“Well, uh,” Beth said, taking a step closer to Robin. “I could always take her home after heading to Benny’s.”
“No, that’s alright,” you said curtly, faking a smile as you also took a step forward. “I think I’ve got it from here.”
You and Beth exchanged glances before her eyes widened, flickering between you and Robin who was only looking at you. Beth said nothing, opting instead to give you both a quick nod. But the clear disappointment on her face brought you more joy than you cared to admit.
“I’ll see you later, then,” she said. “Again, nice win, Buckley.”
Even as she walked away, Robin never broke eye contact. “Thanks, Beth,” she called out, a grin widening on her lips.
“Ready to go, mon chéri? I’m starving.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
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And that’s how you ended up here, your legs draped over Robin’s shoulders as her tongue circles over your clit. One hand buried in her hair and the other clutching onto the chain link fence behind you. Her blue hues never leave your face, taking in each and every reaction she pulls from you.
“You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re jealous.” She grins, flicking the tip of her tongue over your swollen clit. Enjoying the way your body twitches with every motion.
“I wasn’t jealous.”
You breathlessly try to deny it, but you both know you’re lying. Once again letting your pride get in the way, prompting Robin to remove her tongue from your center.
“No— Robbie, please,” you whine as she pulls away fully, resting her cheek against your inner thigh as she continues to slowly thrust her fingers inside you.
She revels in the way your walls grip tightly around the digits, almost as if you’re trying to keep them trapped inside. And as much as she loves feeling you, she loves making you beg even more.
So she slips her fingers out of your dripping cunt completely. Standing up to hover over you as she brings them to your lips.
“Please what, princess?” she taunts, her fingers now slipping into your mouth. Your tongue eagerly swirling around the digits until they’re devoid of any trace of you.
Robin removes them just as fast, trailing the saliva-coated digits down your jaw until they wrap around the base of your throat. “Answer me,” her harsh tone only further dampening the area between your thighs.
“Please don’t stop,” you plead without hesitation, rocking your hips up against her thigh. A look of desperation flitting across your features as you clutch onto her shoulders.
“Aww, you wanna cum, pretty thing?” Her tone is laced with condescension, finding yourself nodding almost frantically as you gaze up at her.
“I don’t know, baby… you were pretty mean earlier.” She paused, a small pout forming on your lips as she traced over them with her thumb. “You think you deserve it?”
You nod as if on instinct, whining as she pulls away from you completely. Rising to her feet once again, grabbing your hands and pulling you up off the bench. Your breasts press together as she whispers softly in your ear, “Prove it to me, then.”
You eagerly reach for the buttons on her uniform, tugging the zipper down. Impatiently yanking her pants down over the curve of her ass as you take back control.
“Sit,” you demand, resting your hands on her shoulders. Coaxing her to take your previous position on the worn bench.
“So bossy,” she teases, gripping your hips as you swing your leg over her thigh.
Taking a seat as you slip your fingers past the elastic of her underwear, moaning at the wetness you find there.
“This all for me?” you muse, your thumb brushing over her bundle of nerves with ease now. Having become quite familiar with every inch of her body over the last three months.
“I mean… Beth was looking good tonight—”
You cut her off with your mouth before she has a chance to finish her sentence. That surge of jealousy coursing through your veins as you kiss her deeply.
“She can’t have you,” you mumble against her mouth, before taking her lower lip between your teeth and tugging. “You're all mine.”
Robin curses softly as you begin to grind your hips against her thigh, slipping two fingers into her awaiting heat. Pumping them in tandem with each rock of your hips, as she mewls against your mouth.
“Please.” Now she's the one doing the begging, despite your hips continuing to grind down against her thigh. The mixture of her saliva and your juices making a mess on her bare skin.
You giggle softly as you increase the pressure on her clit with your thumb, burying your fingers deeper inside her. “Say it again.” She moans as you attach your lips to the base of her throat.
The blonde tilts her head back to expose more of her neck as you greedily suck on her flushed skin. A feeling of pride washes over you as you leave blotches of red and purple in your wake.
“You’re mine, Robin.” Your tone is overly possessive, enjoying how her body trembles beneath you. Your words being the thing to finally send her over the edge as she pulls your face back up to crash her lips against yours.
Her fingers dig harshly into the skin of your hips, encouraging you to keep grinding on her thigh. Lifting her leg to increase the pressure on your core. “That’s it… such a good girl.”
She pulls back slightly to watch you with hooded eyes, lips lifting in a genuine smile.
“My good girl.”
Her words elicit a bigger response than either of you expected, your thighs tightening around her own as you loudly cry out her name. Her hands continue to guide you along her thigh, working you through each wave of euphoria that crashes over you.
You’re both panting as you begin to come down from your highs, nuzzling your face in the crook of her neck. “Wow,” you breathe out, lightly tracing over the darkening love bites on her neck.
“Jeez, I think the whole town heard you,” Robin teases, running her fingers along your back.
“Well,” you start, pulling back to look at her. “I’m just trying to congratulate my girl on her big win.”
“Your girl?” she teases.
You bite your lip, trying to hide your smile. “Mhm.”
“Admit it,” Robin says, lifting her eyebrows, eyes tracing the lines of your face. “You were jealous.”
“Maybe I was,” you finally admit, earning an amused smile from her. “But I don’t think I have to worry about anyone else.”
“No?”
“Mm-mm.”
You press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before standing, helping her to her feet. Leaning back against the fence as she wiggles her pants back up over her hips.
Robin is still fastening the buttons as you walk out onto the field. Her eyes follow your figure as you reach the pitcher's mound. A fond look falls over her features as your eyes flutter shut, letting the last glow of the setting sun soak into your pores.
Feeling the weight of her stare, you turn back around. Flashing her a beaming smile as she finally reaches you on the field.
“So… Benny’s?” you ask, twisting your skirt back into place. “I’m actually starving now.”
Robin looks at you in utter disbelief as she places her hat back on her head, the brim facing the opposite direction. “Wait, you’re serious? What if someone sees us together?”
You can’t stop the giggle that leaves you, now closing the few feet separating you from her. Cupping her face in between your palms as you press another kiss to her lips.
Right in the middle of the open field.
“I told you,” you say, louder this time. “Let them see us. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”
You slip your hand into hers, lacing your fingers as you begin leading her towards your car. A sight to see, her bat and glove in her unoccupied hand. Your pom-poms in yours.
“You were still an asshole earlier, you know that?” Robin says.
As you share a laugh, you swing your intertwined hands back-and-forth. You’re practically skipping as you pull her along, light-hearted and winded.
“And you ruined my sneakers,” you counter. “Are you gonna clean them for me?”
“Only if you’re good, mon chéri.”
“I think I can manage that,” you reply as you venture further into the twilight. “At least for a little bit.”
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tagging some moots 💕
@xxbimbobunnyxx @babygorewhore @impmunson @voyeurmunson @eddiesxangel @taintedcigs @strangerstilinski
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Note
I’m glad you like my adhd Marella headcanon—do you have any additions on how that affects her everyday life and how Fitz helps her 👀
She likes hands on learning. So with school assignments, if she's stuck sitting down and reading a book or writing a long paper with very little creative freedom she feels super boxed in and bored to tears. So studying is not one of her strong suits.
When she has a big test coming up or books to read, Fitz will read them out loud to her and come up with niche conversational points on the topic they're reading about to keep her engaged. She'll usually be training to control her abilities and work on her combat moves as he does.
She can be forgetful when it comes to taking care of herself, a byproduct of always caring for her mother and not putting herself high up on her list of priorities, but also just general executive dysfunction.
Fitz leaves color coded sticky notes all over the place for her. Some of these have flirty little quips written on them, mixed in with a sincere "Alchemy test on Friday. Let me know if you need help studying." and "Please drink water today" (He often has to be the one to fill up her water bottle for her, or it won't happen.)
Some days he offers to come over and help with her mom so she can just take a break. Because sometimes she gets such bad task paralysis she can barely move. It's like her brain is running a loop of 'Do this. You need to do this. Get up. Get up. You'll be less anxious If you do it" and she just cannot move. He'll help her clean the house and fold the laundry she's left in a pile on her bed.
When she gets really excited about something and her brain is going a million miles a minute, her fingers will spark literally. She set a curtain on fire once because she was ranting to Fitz about how much she loves baking and creating new recipes with him.
It's happened in public a few times. Her hands sparking with excitement.
It also happens when she's really nervous/anxious. Fitz has a small burn on his hand from quickly grabbing hers to hide it when they were at school and people were whispering about her being 'talentless' Because the last thing Marella needs is to be outed as a pyrokinetic.
She felt awful about it after but he insisted it was okay, that it hardly hurt.
Marella is an external processor. The brain to mouth filter is almost non-existent. Which is part of the reason Fitz loves talking with her so much. There's no secrets. She has to talk to realize what she's really thinking and feeling, and Fitz is great at listening and stopping her from spiraling too hard
She has many hyperfixations, but often not enough time to really indulge in them. She loves to bake with Fitz, read poetry and collect oddities and trinkets from small shops in Mysterium. When she can't really get into her hyperfixations, she gets antsy. They're her outlet.
So- like your idea- he's constantly dropping little dopamine boosts any time he can. He'll tell her a cool fact about one of her trinkets, share human and elvin poetry with her and set up days where they can just bake together.
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comfort hungry phoebe x reader
rpf!!!
pls dont be mean i dont claim to be a good writer i literally just need more boygenius content and took it into my own hands, im aware this isn’t good <3
this is also extremely self indulgent im chronically single and touch starved atm
phoebe was never one for emotions, perhaps stemming from her childhood years begging to be loved, or maybe her innate fear of vulnerability. she didn't like to dwell on the whys too much, her friends had accepted her odd ways and her ever revolving partners had managed, although not without with difficulty. her favourite pet name for her ex was 'dude', a funny running joke at first but then a sad testament to the lack of intimacy within their relationship, and when her first girlfriend admitted that she loved her all phoebe could force out was an awkward smile and a quick 'you too'. it wasn't that she didn't feel, in fact the girl felt so much that it hurt, it pained her to see how her inability to express her emotions affected her relationships but it just never felt right.
that was until she met her girlfriend. phoebe was enamoured with you from the moment you were introduced after one of her shows by some mutual friends. your smile was what first attracted her to you, but it was your ability to make her feel completely comfortable with herself that made her stay. now, almost a year into your relationship phoebe couldn't get enough. she still wasn't big on being affectionate in public, but today she found herself craving your touch, catching your eye from across the room filled with people she couldn't care less about. she smiled as you recognised her discomfort, always in tune with what she needed, and made your way to her. linking your two hands together phoebe squeezed tight letting the sweet smell of your perfume distract her from the blurring noise of the conversation happening around her.
when a brief lull arose in the discussion, phoebe couldn't help but drag you away to a secluded corner. she hated these things, glorified industry networking parties, but ‘the record’ came out in a few months and their manager insisted her and the boys went so naturally you had to come along too. 'fuck's sake', phoebe muttered, resting her forehead on your shoulder, feeling you move as you giggled.
'phoebs, it's not that bad, just an hour or so left and we can leave, i promise', you ran your hands through the blondes hair, feeling her sigh before she lifted her head and held your gaze with wide eyes. she usually managed to push through these things on autopilot but she'd been having a bad few days which quickly turned into a bad week, falling back into her cruel cycle of self hatred and nihilistic thoughts and all she wanted to do was be at home cuddled up with maxine and of course, you.
wrapping her arms around your waist you couldn't help but notice that she was tugging you closer, pulling you into her despite the curious eyes that usually would send her back to her anti-pda ways. you too ignored the stares and melted into her warm body, sensing her need for comfort. 'i love you so much baby', you whispered, rubbing your thumb softly along the strip of skin where her shirt had separated from her trousers, 'we can go right now if you want, i know you're not feeling good.'
biting her lip in thought you could practically see the cogs working in her brain and she sighed before answering, 'no, i promised jb and lucy i would be here', you were about to interrupt her to tell her what she already knew, that her bandmates wouldn't care if she left and never came back once she was safe and feeling okay, but phoebe gave you a pleading look, 'i know, but i want to be here for them, they were so excited for this.'
'okay, but say the word and we'll leave' you hesitantly replied, wanting nothing more than to wrap phoebe up in your bed with a steaming cup of tea and a promise to never let anything hurt her. she looked at you with grateful eyes, lifting her head from where it had fallen on your shoulder to press her lips against yours. 
as if sensing they were being spoken about lucy and julien bounded over and took in the stance of their two friends, 'the heart eyes over here are insane’, joked julien, before throwing her own heart eyes at lucy who was instead focused on the way phoebe kept herself firmly in your hold, despite both of you expecting her to move away like she usually did. 
phoebe lightly smiled murmuring a quiet retort to her best friend, slipping effortlessly into their usual back and forth relationship. joining the conversation you tried to ignore the woman clinging to you, not wanting to bring attention to the fact that she was still attached to you but that became impossible when her hand grabbed yours and placed it on her back, looking at you with puppy dog eyes. you knew what she was looking for, and holding back a smile you dragged your nails lightly up and down her back the way she loved. she craned her neck to stare up at you and your cheeks flushed at the intense love in her eyes. 'i love you sweetheart, thank you for being here’, phoebe said, the earnestness in her voice making your heart squeeze. smiling like an idiot you kissed her forehead, continuing to rub her back.
'this is sickening phoebs', julien interrupted, a grin on her face, as much as she loved making fun of the blonde she also loved seeing phoebe so comfortable in her relationship for the first time. 'shut up' phoebe muttered, finally pulling away from you to hide her blushing face. you laughed at the look on the boys' faces as they finally saw this side of phoebe, the one which you gladly experienced every day. phoebe was so full of love. she had so much of it to give and you were on the lucky receiving end of it. 'i hate you all of you guys' she said, finally emerging from behind her hands, her red cheeks apparent.
'no you dont', said lucy, shaking her head softly at their friend.
'no i dont'
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prince-liest · 1 day
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I… oh my god. So much. Has happened. Bear… bear with me. This time i KNow its gonna be a long one. First of all, oh my GOD. THERE WAS NO BAD NEWS IN UR LAST ANSWER. HOLY SHIT. I see how i read into ur previous answer, that val is the only dumper, but yes what you described is EXACTLY the same flavor as what I was describing. It also works SO MUCH BETTER, OH MY GOD! “Vox managing to be the one to break things off at any given point in time hinges on him being able to frame his rationale as "anger" rather than "upset," the latter of which just gets brushed under the carpet of Emotions That Are Not Taken Seriously. [...] anything that makes him feel vulnerable or, ah, let's deliberately and pointedly use the word hysterical, is a pre-existing internal struggle that Valentino knows how to manipulate to his advantage. [and vox does not break up with val when he feels as such]” PRINCE IM RIPPING MY FUCKING HAIR OUT!!!!!!!!!!!! THTAS. THATS EXACTLY WHAT TF IM TALKING ABOUT. You just clarified that extra layer of “oh my god this is fucking perfect.’ also. ALSO. them getting back together being sappy makeup sex…. Oh my god. Oh my dear god. If it wasnt clear, i am a Heathen for voxval, too. If you ever feel inspired to write a voxval fic i promise you my firstborn. 
OHHHHHH  MY GOD IM SO HAPPY MY RAMBLINGS HELPED YOU WITH THE FIC!!!!!! TBH IVE RARELY BEEN THIS OVERJOYED. LIKE I COULDNT STOP GRINNING AND GIGGLING WHEN I SAW IT. FUCKKKKK. Also im fucking cackling that my actual impact was bringing vox to severe distress instead of a more angry and annoyed disposition. Like yeah,,.. Im here to make you suffer, baby. LOVE YOU VOX! 
Im gonna leave my thoughts for actual fic for another ask bc… yeah. I will spare you. - 🌓
Do NOT spare me, I enjoy these immensely. >:) Proof:
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Very genuinely, I had kinda been squinting at the actual scene in question with dissatisfaction for a hot minute, so I was very pleased when your ask made it click to me what the fuck felt so wrong about it. So thank you!
Staticmoth is definitely percolating in my brain and I want to write something for them because, like you, I am also indeed deeply invested in them (they are my favorite ship very much alongside radiostatic, which is probably not obvious given I haven't written anything actively centered around them - but they're like the fucked up, evil version of MHA erasermic for me in this fandom because they Must be present in the narrative and also I love them). I haven't had any specific ideas good enough to turn into a fic yet, but I might just mash them all together at some point or, y'know. Go the Good Olde [insert wanking hand motion here] route!
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thelreads · 3 days
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I've been taking notes on the spypocalypse so I can keep my thoughts in order and actually I ended up noticing something:
First, a lot of other slice of life sitcoms don't have character development because they need to keep the characters the same for the format. But as a result the characters can end up feeling stale because they don't develop and thus the creators fall back constantly on the same jokes. But what I like about spy x family is that the characters are slowly growing, even if that means sacrificing the jokes. Like, Endo is letting Anya slowly get better at studying and Yor slowly get better at cooking, so even though we still have jokes about how Anya is not the best at school or that Loid is a better cook than Yor, we also get to move past it so the jokes don't become old.
Second, in other manga that have serious and funny moments, I find that there isn't often a lot of crossover, character-development wise. Like, in SxF, Fiona running off to the mountains to train in tennis is a gag... And then it saves her life during the mole arc. Likewise, there's gags about Yuri being indestructible because of Yor, and then during the Yuri v. Twilight showdown he is actually really able to keep getting up.
So that probably means that the next time Twilight and Yuri go up against each other, we'll see a return of Yor-fu.
And last thing: even though there haven't been a lot of chapters that let us see it, I think Yor is definitely getting a lot more feelings for Loid. When she first moved in, Yor didn't even know if she and Loid would be sleeping in the same room. She was a bit bashful around him, but it was really only when she was super drunk that she went tomato-face mode (when Yuri told her to kiss Loid, when Loid tried to honey trap her, and then later the welcome home kiss). However, when they went to the murder ski lodge, even though she was completely sober and Anya and Bond were *right there*, she went super blushing flustered mode at the idea of sleeping in the same room as Loid. Ah, yeah, it's all coming together.
Ok for real last thing: also I think the reason why Sigmund's tutoring worked better than Yuri or Loid's is because those two focus on one thing and get through it. They're both determinators who have no problem with snapping into focus on one thing at a time. Meanwhile Anya's mind has a tendency to wander. However, look at how Sigmund deals with it: when Anya turns Yuri's "whole enchilada" into the "swole Chihuahua", Yuri tells her to forget it and go back to focusing on the grammar. But when Anya takes Sigmund's "eureka" and turns it into "eucalyptus", Sigmund encourages her ("oh, you know so much about koalas! You'll ace your biology test!" And she may not have gotten a Stella star for it, but given that her only bolt was from math, she at least passed her bio quiz). Sigmund works with her wandering train of thought while gently pushing her back to the task at hand. Anya is a force of nature who conquers all in her way; Twilight and Yuri don't stand a chance trying to fight against her head on, but Grandpa Siggy knows how to work with the Lord of Storms.
Grandpa's are great, I'm gonna be so sad when it turns out Sigmund is a founding member of the Apple Project.
Oh, I like that slow development. It's so subtle and gradual you don't really notice it until something major happens and it all clicks together.
Yor is definitely getting more feelings. Yeah, she was not as embarrassed at first because she didn't really liked Twilight the way she does now. He was a handsome man and she was bashful, but now that she does like him like that, now that she's getting aware of her own feelings, oh now the fun begins...
And Sigmund there was definitely the right choice to teach Anya, and he does manage to get in her head because he has a lot of experience on the subject, he was a teacher for years, he understands the human brain because of his work as a researcher. Also because he knows how to handle test subjects from project apple after all.
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heeheegf · 8 hours
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For me- Lee H.
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leeheeseungxfem!reader
warnings_ mention of alcohol, masturbation, sex over the phone. i think that’s all :)
both are over 18
minors DNI
english isn’t my first language, so if you see any spelling mistakes or any other mistakes, you can tell me 💋
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there you were again, sitting in front of your bestfriend at a school reunion. you loved him (as a friend and most likely romantically). it all started one day last year. you started feeling something for him; some butterflies here and there, blushing sometimes when he gave you compliments, stuttering when talking to him and barely holding eye contact with him. this of course made it difficult for you talking to him, because when you did, you felt shy and your voice was barely heard; you slowly were fading, and your friendship was slowly growing apart.
you took this reunion as an opportunity to try and talk to him, just like you did in the past. “hee..?” you call him with a shaking voice “yeah? do you need anything?” he says, turning his face to you “uhm, can you come with me to buy an ice cream?” you ask fidgeting her rings on her fingers. “sure, let’s go”, he says as he stands up.
as you buy your ice cream, you notice him staring at you. “do i look weird? why is he staring at me?”you think, but decide to not say anything. “hee, do you also want ice cream?” “no, i’m good. if you’re done now let’s get back”. you nod and follow him to the table where everyone is. you sit down and start eating your vanilla ice cream. you slowly lick it, making sure to taste it completely. but what you didn’t notice is that was making heeseung’s cock twitch in his pants. the sight of you licking the ice cream and getting it on your lips was driving him insane.
after a few hours you decide it was time to head back home, so you say bye to everyone and wait outside for the taxi you called earlier. you kept thinking of heeseung (who left the reunion earlier since he had to start his shift at work). you kept thinking of his voice, how he was dressed and how handsome and hot he looked, how his hands weee veiny and big compared to yours.
at home, you change from your outside clothes, wearing something comfy, and you enter the kitchen to look for something to eat. there you see your favorite drink, raspberry vodka. you smiles happily and took the bottle in your hands. “it’s been so long since i drank a little bit, i guess tonight it won’t hurt, will it?” you say giggling. with the bottle and the little glass, you sit on the couch, pouring some alcohol in the glass and shove it down. one became two, two became three, three became four.. untill you drank half a bottle.
you’re definitely drunk. you start feeling hot and sweaty, your brain is foggy and you start feeling a tingling sensation on your lower part of the body. you rub your legs together to feel some relief, but that didn’t happen. you feel it more and more, and your small fingers start wandering in the area. you rub small circles on your clit, trying to get again some relief, but it made you even hornier. you kept going until your phone light up.. it was heeseung calling. you pick up the phone, trying to sound normal, not horny or drunk. “y/n, did you take my wallet earlier? cause i can’t find it” “i-i don’t.. aah.. know” a small moan managed to leave your lips “are you okay y/n?” he asks and you tried to reply but small whimpers leave your mouth instead. “are.. are you touching yourself y/n?” he laughs amused “h-hee.. please..” , at the sound of you pleading, he looked confuse “what? please what?” “m-make me cum, i can’t stand it anymore”. at the sound of your words, his cock twitched. he puts a hand over it, palming it. “y/n.. are you touching yourself while thinking of me? really?” “y-yes, i need you so bad. my whole body needs you”, you cry out desperately. “keep going then y/n, show me how much you need me” he demands unzipping his jeans and freeing his big cock.
you kept moaning and whimpering, his name was the only thing that left your lips. from the other side, he was stroking his member. each time you pronounced his name, he could feel the vein on his dick pulse. “h-hee.. i’m gonna cum..” you say out of breath “cum for me, c’mon” he says, stroking himself faster. at the sound of your last moan, his cum exploded all over his hand and abs.
“y/n, how do you feel?” he asks “g-good, i was waiting for this moment for so much now” you say, still feeling tipsy “i don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but tomorrow we are going on a date, and you are gonna show me how much you’ve been needing and craving me. how does it sound?” he says “sounds good” “but just so you know, from tonight you’re mine, got it?”.
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bloody-bee-tea · 19 hours
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IntiMarch 2024 Day 28 - Let everyone know
The prompt for this was "Call me when you get home"
Suguru feels like shit because of what he has to do soon, but there’s no going back now. His mind is made up and he won’t change his stance on this.
Still, his heart hurts in his chest as he enters the hotel room he’ll meet Satoru in, because with this, he’ll also most likely end the best thing that ever happened to him. Well, almost the best thing, because there’s still the reason why he’s ending this.
He’s not smiling like he normally would be when he enters the room and even though Satoru excitedly bounds up to him to greet him, Suguru can tell that he instantly knows that something is going on.
“Hi,” he still says first, greeting Suguru with a soft kiss and Suguru would love to lose himself in that, would love to just shut his brain off and accept this for what it is, but he can’t.
He loves Satoru too much to do that.
“Hi,” he still gives back and pulls Satoru close, revels in that touch for as long as he can, before he slightly pushes Satoru away.
“I thought we couldn’t meet at your place today, because Shoko could drop by but something is up, isn’t it?” Satoru asks, no accusation in his voice and he threads their fingers together.
“Satoru, we have to talk,” Suguru gives back and just like that it’s out there.
Suguru knows that Satoru understands the implications of such a sentence.
“Oh, wow, ouch,” Satoru mutters, but still pulls Suguru over to the bed by his hand.
He gets them situated on it, Suguru stretched out on it and Satoru curled into his side, his head on Suguru’s chest and Suguru’s arm around his shoulder and Suguru allows it.
It’ll be the last time he gets to do this, so he’ll allow it.
“Okay, hit me with it,” Satoru mutters after a quiet minute they both take to enjoy this and Suguru sighs.
“Satoru, I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Do what? Us?” Satoru asks for clarification and Suguru buries his face in Satoru’s hair.
“This situation,” he gives back. “This sneaking around, I just—I don’t know how to keep you secret. I don’t want to anymore, Satoru.”
“I don’t understand, it was fine,” Satoru says and cranes his head to look up at Suguru. “Don’t you love me anymore?”
“I love you too much, that’s the whole problem,” Suguru sighs out. “You have made me so happy, happier than I’ve ever been in my life and people are starting to notice. They ask me what’s changed, why I’m so happy and relaxed lately and I can’t talk about it, because talking about how I’m in love with the most wonderful man on the earth is not something I can do. Because you asked to keep us a secret.”
“And you were fine with it,” Satoru shoots back and he’s not wrong.
Suguru readily agreed when Satoru told him that if they did this they’d have to do it in secret; it had been a no-brainer for Suguru because he’d rather have Satoru in secret than not at all, but things change.
They changed for him.
“I was,” Suguru agrees. “But I love you so much; I always want to talk about you. When I smile stupidly down at my phone because you sent me a meme and someone asks what’s so funny, I have to lie about what makes me happy. When people ask me why I can’t meet up at the weekend, why I never have time for them anymore, I can’t tell them that I’m meeting the love of my life. And it’s killing me, Satoru. I don’t want to keep you a secret. I understand why I have to, but I don’t want to. And it’s not going to work out like this.”
The things is—Suguru does understand. He understands the pressure of family, of expectations that can never be met, of disappointment being thrown his way in spades. But for him it was just his parents in a relatively small village. No one cared once he moved out and with the distance even his parents came around.
Things are different for Satoru; he’s from a very prominent, influential Clan and he’s been in the spotlight since he could walk. If this gets out, it will have more of an impact, more ramifications than Suguru can probably imagine and so he readily agreed when Satoru asked to keep it secret.
And from what Suguru has heard about Satoru’s parents—and what he has seen on TV—he wouldn’t put it past them to punish him in whatever way, too, so of course telling them is out of the question.
He would never endanger Satoru like that.
But that only leaves him with one other option.
“Are you giving me an ultimatum?” Satoru wants to know, mindlessly dragging his finger in non-sense patterns over Suguru’s chest.
“No. I wouldn’t force you to do that. I’m just—ending things.”
It almost chokes him up, saying it like that, but he has to. He has to do this, for the both of them. Their relationship is not going to work out if they keep going like this and right now things are still good.
Right now he can leave Satoru, knowing that he’s the best thing that ever happened to him, instead of bitter and angry, like he’d surely turn in the future.
“So you don’t even give me a chance to fix it?” Satoru asks and Suguru sighs.
“The chance is there, Satoru,” he mutters. “But I’m not forcing you to choose. If you think you can tell your parents—fine. You know where I am. But I’m not—that’s not the condition, okay? I’m ending things, today, no matter what you say or what you promise. It’s over. And what happens after—we’ll see.”
“That’s—kind of cruel,” Satoru huffs out, his voice suspiciously wet and just hearing it is enough to bring tears to Suguru’s eyes as well.
“I know. I know, Satoru. If it helps at all, I’m breaking my own heart as well.”
“Only makes it more stupid,” Satoru mutters, but he presses himself closer, burrows as much into Suguru as he can and Suguru knows that he understands.
He might not like it, but Satoru understands as well.
“I’m sorry,” Suguru says, pulling Satoru up until he can pepper his face with kisses. “I love you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to hate you for this, a little bit, for a while,” Satoru warns him and Suguru nods even though he knows it’s a lie.
Satoru can no more hate him than he could hate Satoru and maybe, if they could, things would be easier between them.
This, at least, would be.
“Do you—plan to stay the night?” Satoru asks after a moment and he sounds so hopeful that Suguru hates himself for having to crush that.
“No. I’ll leave soon.”
“I see,” Satoru whispers and Suguru kisses the escaping tear away before it can make its way down Satoru’s face. “I wish I’d never met you.” His voice is barely audible in the space between them and this too Suguru knows for the lie it is.
Satoru made him the happiest man on earth; the same is true for Satoru, Suguru knows it. And if he can’t bring himself to regret the time they spent together, then he doubts Satoru can either.
And still, he partially agrees.
“It would make things easier,” he gives back and gently extracts himself from Satoru. “It would spare us this.”
Before he can get off the bed, Satoru’s hand snatches his.
“Was it worth it? Even when it ends like this? Was it, Suguru?”
“Of course it was, stupid,” Suguru softly says and leans down to press a kiss to Satoru’s forehead. “Knowing you, loving you—it will always be worth it and I wouldn’t change it, even if I could.”
“Alright.” Satoru nods, though he doesn’t seem much happier with that answer. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Goodbye, Satoru.”
Suguru leaves him there, on the bed, without a look back. He knows that if he were to look back, he’d stay, and he’d doom them both and so he keeps his head facing forwards and he simply walks away from his one and only.
It’s the worst kind of pain he ever experienced.
~*~*~
Suguru doesn’t hear from Satoru, because of course he doesn’t. They broke up; there would be no reason for Satoru to write him anymore. It’s still jarring, to adjust to a life that isn’t filled with Satoru and forcing himself to not look at his phone every five seconds out of habit is proving to be hard, so he mostly keeps it at home these days.
He still can’t bring himself to delete or block Satoru’s number.
Suguru arrives at home tired and weary after work, after a myriad of questions from his co-workers who all noticed that something is wrong with him and he wants to do nothing more than flop down on the couch and let his thoughts be drowned out by whatever stupid nonsense is on the TV, but he does go to find his phone first. He needs to at least check it every now and then.
When he picks it up, the helpful little bubble tells him that he has more messages than he reasonably knows what to do with, and for a split second Suguru wonders if someone died, when his eyes fall on a too-familiar name.
‘Call me when you get home’ is all Satoru wrote to him, after two weeks of absolute radio silence and Suguru has pressed the call button before he can consciously decide to do so.
“There you are, thank fuck,” Satoru breathes out after the first ring and Suguru is too confused to say anything. “Have you turned on your TV yet?” Satoru asks him, sounding slightly out of breath and Suguru frowns.
“No. Should I?”
“Hell no,” Satoru immediately says with a laugh and Suguru barely understands him over the background noise.
“Are you outside? What’s going on?”
“Listen, do not open the door for anyone expect me. Don’t answer your phone if it’s not me calling and please don’t look at any messages yet. I’ll be there in ten minutes and I’ll explain in person.”
“You’re starting to freak me out,” Suguru mutters. “But fine,” he eventually agrees, because he’ll always agree when Satoru asks him for something.
“Thank you,” Satoru says, sounding more out of breath than a minute ago.
“Are you running here?” Suguru asks with a frown and his only answer is Satoru’s panting breath. “Fine. I’ll read all of my messages if you’re not here in fifteen,” he then says, because he’s just as much of an asshole as Satoru can be and before Satoru can say something to that Suguru hangs up.
He’s tempted to do just what Satoru begged him not to, of course, but he stuffs his hands into his pockets and takes to pacing his living-room.
Suguru can’t remember the last time he didn’t see Satoru for two whole weeks but his mind comes up empty. Ever since they’ve met—even before they got together—they have met almost daily. He thinks three days was the longest they ever went without seeing each other and he almost feels sick with nerves.
He can’t help but to wonder what Satoru doesn’t want him to see yet, what he wants to explain in person and of course, he can’t stop himself from hoping.
Suguru made his stance clear. If Satoru is on his way here, surely it must mean—
His thoughts are interrupted by rapid knocking on his door and a quick look at the watch tells Suguru that seven minutes have passed. He eagerly makes his way over to the door but Satoru told him not to open it for anyone but him and while Suguru is certain that Satoru could have made it here in seven, he cannot be completely sure.
“Satoru?” he carefully asks, voice just loud enough to be heard through the door and he lets out a relieved breath when a muffled “Yes, now open up, I need to collapse somewhere that’s not out here.”
“Don’t make me laugh, you’re more of an athlete than I am, there’s no way you’re about to collapse,” Suguru says as he opens the door and he immediately finds himself with an armful of Satoru. “Hey, hey, careful,” Suguru mutters, scrambling to steady them lest they fall flat on their asses but Satoru is not any help at all with the way he’s clinging to Suguru.
“I have missed you,” Satoru breathes out and before Suguru can make him pull away, he moves away on his own. “Sorry, sorry, inappropriate, I know,” Satoru rushes out, raising his hands in defense and finally closing the door.
Right in the face of a panting reporter it seems, and Suguru turns towards Satoru with a frown.
“Explain,” he demands because for all that he’s elated to see Satoru, he can’t allow himself to feel that too deeply if he doesn’t know what’s going on.
Satoru could still leave any moment now and Suguru would have to mend a broken heart again.
“Right, okay, so,” Satoru starts, and just like Suguru a few moments ago, he starts to pace the living-room, accompanied by the ringing of the doorbell.
Suguru does not go over to check what the reporter wants because whatever is happening, he’d rather hear it from Satoru first.
“Satoru,” Suguru prompts when it takes too long for Satoru to start talking and Satoru turns around to him, a look of helpless despair on his face.
“I fucked up,” he says and wrings his hands in front of his chest. “Well, actually, I tried to make things better, by telling my family about you and somehow they misunderstood?”
Suguru’s heart almost beats out of his chest when he hears that Satoru told his family about them, but he’s still not sure what’s going on, so he forces the bubbling happiness down.
“They misunderstood what?”
“Apparently, me telling them about you equates to us being an established item.”
“Okay,” Suguru agrees, because so far he can’t see what’s there to misunderstand. If Satoru did tell his family, then for all that Suguru cares they are in a committed relationship.
“And we’re set to marry in spring,” Satoru rushes out and Suguru blinks.
“Come again?”
“Fuck, I knew you’d hate it, goddamit,” Satoru mutters and pushes a hand into his hair, tearing on his strands.
“Satoru, calm down and tell me what that means,” Suguru forces himself to say and Satoru deflates where he stands.
“I told them everything; how we’ve been sneaking around for a while, how you complete me in a way I didn’t think was possible, how I can’t live without you. And somehow that led to them hearing we’re engaged and they set the wedding for spring.”
“You—can’t live without me?” Suguru breathes out and in two big steps he’s right in front of Satoru. “You told your family?”
“Suguru, are you not listening, they think we’re getting married!”
“Yeah. So lets.”
“Lets what?”
“Get married,” Suguru simply says because this hardly seems like the worst thing in the world to him.
“You broke up with me two weeks ago!”
“I broke up with you because I love you more than my own life, Satoru. I—” Suguru bites his lip before he decides to fuck it. “My plan was to ask you to marry me if you should tell your family about us. That has always been my plan, Satoru, so I really don’t care.”
“You—want to marry me?”
“Satoru, are you not listening to me? You’re my one and only, who else am I going to marry if not you?”
“You don’t understand what that means, Suguru,” Satoru says, desperation colouring his voice. “That reporter out there? One of many. It’s already all over the news, your face, who you are; I bet your phone is blowing up with notifications from your family and friends, demanding to know why they had to hear about this over the news instead of from you directly. You have no clue what it means to date me, openly, publicly.”
“I guess I’m going to find out, right?” Suguru says and then hesitates. “I mean—assuming you still want to. I kinda just assumed with you telling your family and all.”
“Oh, for fucks sake don’t be stupid,” Satoru groans out and pulls Suguru into a kiss. “Of course I want to.”
“Great. So, a spring wedding, huh?”
“My mom wants cherry blossoms everywhere,” Satoru tells him with an eyeroll and Suguru laughs, happy and in love and apparently engaged.
“Let her have that. We get what we want on that day, too, so let her have that. Do you need me to go down on a knee?” he asks, completely out of the blue if Satoru’s confused blinking is anything to go by and Suguru laughs when Satoru goes bright red in the face.
“Suguru!”
“What? Do you want me to, yes or no?”
“Yes, okay?” Satoru mutters and hides his face behind his hands.
Suguru pulls his hands away, pressing kisses to his palms before he peppers them all over Satoru’s face and then he smoothly goes down on one knee.
“Satoru,” he starts and immediately, Satoru tears up, so Suguru decides to keep it simple. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Satoru manages to get out, right before the tears spill over and Suguru laughs as he gets back up and immediately moves in for a kiss.
It tastes of salty tears, sugary love and never-ending happiness and Suguru wouldn’t have it any other way.
Just like he wouldn’t have Satoru any other way than as his husband. He can’t wait for spring.
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