#fall skin care routine

[glamarshopbd]

Skin Care Tips for Every Season: Keep Your Skin Fresh Year-Round

Your skin goes through various changes as the seasons shift. From the harsh winter cold to the hot and humid summer months, each season brings a unique set of challenges to your skin. To maintain a healthy, glowing complexion all year round, it’s essential to adjust your skin care routine to suit the changing weather. In this blog, we’ll share expert skin care tips for every season to help you keep your skin fresh and healthy, no matter the weather.

Spring Skin Care Tips: Fresh Start After Winter

As the weather starts to warm up in the spring, your skin may begin to feel less dry and tight after the cold winter months. However, the change in temperature can also lead to allergies and increased exposure to allergens, which can cause skin irritation.

Spring Skin Care Tips:

Exfoliate Gently: After months of dry air, your skin may have accumulated a buildup of dead skin cells. Use a gentle exfoliator to refresh your skin and reveal a brighter complexion.

Switch to a Lighter Moisturizer: As the temperature rises, switch from heavy creams to lightweight, hydrating moisturizers that won’t clog pores or make your skin feel greasy.

Wear Sunscreen Daily: Even in spring, UV rays can damage your skin. Choose a broad-spectrum sunscreen with SPF 30 or higher to protect your skin from harmful sun exposure.

Hydrate Your Skin: As the air becomes drier, consider using hydrating serums or facial mists to replenish moisture and keep your skin dewy and fresh.

Pro Tip: Incorporate antioxidants like vitamin C into your spring routine to protect against environmental damage and enhance skin brightness.

Summer Skin Care Tips: Protect and Refresh

Summer brings the warmth of the sun, but the increased exposure to UV rays, sweat, and humidity can wreak havoc on your skin. Maintaining a healthy skin care routine is key to protecting and rejuvenating your skin during the summer months.

Summer Skin Care Tips:

Use a Gel-Based Moisturizer: Hot temperatures can leave your skin feeling oily, so opt for gel-based moisturizers that hydrate without leaving a greasy residue.

Don’t Skip Sunscreen: Sunscreen is essential during the summer months. Choose a water-resistant sunscreen and reapply every two hours, especially if you’re swimming or sweating.

Stay Hydrated: Drink plenty of water throughout the day to keep your skin hydrated from the inside. This will help flush out toxins and promote a radiant complexion.

Cleanse Twice a Day: With the extra heat and sweat, your pores may clog more easily. Cleanse your skin in the morning and evening to remove impurities and prevent breakouts.

Use a Mattifying Primer: For those with oily skin, a mattifying primer can help control shine and keep your makeup looking fresh throughout the day.

Pro Tip: Consider using products with aloe vera or cucumber extract to soothe sunburned or irritated skin after a day in the sun.

Fall Skin Care Tips: Repair and Nourish

As temperatures drop in the fall, your skin might start to feel drier, especially after the summer months of sun exposure. It’s time to focus on repairing, nourishing, and preparing your skin for the cold winter ahead.

Fall Skin Care Tips:

Switch to a Richer Moisturizer: As the air becomes drier, upgrade your moisturizer to a richer, more emollient cream to lock in hydration and protect your skin from the cooler air.

Introduce Hyaluronic Acid: Fall is the perfect time to introduce hyaluronic acid into your skin care routine. This ingredient helps draw moisture into the skin, keeping it hydrated and plump.

Avoid Hot Showers: While it’s tempting to take hot showers in the cooler months, hot water can strip your skin of its natural oils. Use lukewarm water instead to maintain your skin’s moisture balance.

Exfoliate Less Frequently: In the fall, avoid over-exfoliating, as your skin can become more sensitive to the changing weather. Instead, exfoliate once a week to remove dead skin and promote cell turnover.

Pro Tip: Add nourishing oils like jojoba or argan oil to your routine to replenish your skin’s moisture and create a protective barrier against dry air.

Winter Skin Care Tips: Deep Hydration and Protection

Winter is often the most challenging season for skin care. The cold, dry air and harsh winds can strip moisture from your skin, leaving it feeling tight, flaky, and irritated. The key to winter skin care is maintaining hydration and protecting your skin from the elements.

Winter Skin Care Tips:

Switch to a Heavier Moisturizer: During the winter months, your skin will need more moisture. Use a richer, thicker moisturizer that can provide long-lasting hydration and protect your skin from the cold.

Use a Humidifier: Indoor heating can make the air in your home dry, leading to dehydrated skin. Using a humidifier can add moisture to the air and help prevent your skin from becoming dry and flaky.

Apply Oils and Serums: Incorporate facial oils or serums into your routine to provide an extra layer of hydration and lock in moisture. Look for oils like rosehip, avocado, or squalane for their nourishing properties.

Don’t Forget Lip Care: Winter can be especially harsh on your lips, causing them to become chapped and cracked. Use a nourishing lip balm with SPF to keep your lips soft and protected.

Wear Sunscreen, Even in Winter: UV rays can damage your skin year-round, so it’s crucial to wear sunscreen every day—even in winter. Choose a broad-spectrum SPF to protect against both UVA and UVB rays.

Pro Tip: Use a hydrating face mask once a week to give your skin an extra moisture boost during the coldest months.

Conclusion: Seasonal Skin Care Is Essential for Healthy Skin

Adapting your skin care routine for every season is essential for keeping your skin fresh, hydrated, and protected year-round. From lightweight moisturizers in spring to thick creams and oils in winter, each season requires its own unique approach to skin care. By following these skin care tips and adjusting your routine to the needs of each season, you’ll ensure your skin stays healthy and glowing no matter the weather.

[professionallydeadinside]

They are such a tiktok couple to me

[vinaysharma]

Glow Naturally: The Power of Targeted Skincare and Haircare with Derma MD

In the evolving world of personal care, choosing the right skincare and haircare products is essential. With increasing concerns about pollution, stress, and lifestyle-related skin and hair issues, more people are searching for solutions that go beyond temporary fixes. This is where Derma MD skincare steps in—delivering science-backed, effective, and gentle formulations that cater to every skin and hair type.

Whether it's addressing acne, dullness, or hair fall, Derma MD has built a reputation around trust and transformation. The brand is especially popular among users searching for solutions like azelaic acid products, dandruff control shampoo, anti-hair fall serums, and body-depigmenting lotions.

Revitalize Your Skin with Expert Care

Healthy skin starts with proper cleansing. These products are designed to be gentle, making them suitable for daily use. For individuals seeking to address uneven skin tone or dark spots, body depigmenting lotions offer an effective solution. Formulated with ingredients that help even out pigmentation, they work gradually to reveal a clearer, brighter complexion.

Hydration is another key to glowing skin. The range of body moisturizing lotions by Derma MD supports long-lasting hydration while enhancing the skin's natural barrier. These lotions are ideal for dry climates, sensitive skin types, and individuals seeking to maintain smooth, soft skin throughout the year.

Targeted Haircare That Works

Hair health starts with a healthy scalp. Issues like dandruff and hair fall are increasingly common, often triggered by environmental stress and harsh hair products. Derma MD addresses this through its focused range of anti-dandruff and anti-hair fall serums. These products are enriched with active ingredients that nourish the scalp, control flaking, and help reduce hair thinning over time.

Conditioners in the Derma MD collection complement these products, delivering moisture and strength to the strands without weighing them down. Regular use helps restore natural shine and improve manageability.

Conclusion

Taking care of your skin and hair is not just about beauty; it is also about self-confidence and overall well-being. Derma MD has become a trusted choice for those who want results without compromising on quality.

Whether you're looking for a face moisturizers, a body lotion, or a hair serum, Derma MD products offers a full routine to help you feel confident in your skin and hair every day. Choose wisely. Choose care. Choose Derma MD.

[wellness-4-life]

Understanding Hair Serum: What Does Hair Serum Do and When to Use Hair Serum?  

Understanding Hair Serum: What Does Hair Serum Do and When to Use Hair Serum?  

Hair serums have become a staple in many hair care routines, but what exactly do they do, and when should you use them? Whether you’re aiming for long hair, strong hair, or looking to combat hair loss, hair serum can be an essential part of your regimen. In this blog, we’ll explore the different types of hair serums, their benefits, and how to effectively incorporate them into your hair care routine. 

What Does Hair Serum Do? 

Hair serum is a liquid-based treatment designed to coat the surface of your hair, providing a range of benefits. Here’s a closer look at what hair serum does: 

Adds Shine and Smoothness: Hair serum smooths out the hair cuticle, making your hair look shinier and feel smoother. 

Reduces Frizz: By creating a protective layer over the hair shaft, serum helps to reduce frizz and flyaways, making your hair more manageable. 

Protects from Damage: Many hair serums contain ingredients that protect hair from heat damage caused by styling tools and environmental factors like pollution and UV rays. 

Promotes Hair Growth: Certain serums, known as hair growth serums, contain active ingredients that nourish the scalp and hair follicles, potentially aiding in hair growth. 

Different Types of Hair Serums 

Hairfall Serum: Designed specifically to combat hair loss, hairfall serums strengthen the hair roots and reduce breakage. 

Anti Hairfall Serum: Similar to hairfall serums, anti hairfall serums not only prevent hair loss but also promote healthier and strong hair. 

Scalp Serum: These are targeted for the scalp, providing hydration and essential nutrients to promote a healthy scalp environment, which is crucial for hair growth. 

Benefits of Hair Serum 

Using a hair serum can offer multiple benefits, making it a versatile product for anyone looking to improve their hair health. Here are some notable scalp serum benefits and other advantages: 

Enhanced Hair Texture: Serums help in smoothing and softening the hair, improving its overall texture. 

Strengthened Hair: With regular use, serums can fortify the hair strands, making them more resilient to breakage and damage. 

Moisturized Scalp: Scalp serums provide hydration, preventing dryness and flakiness, which can lead to healthier hair growth. 

Easier Styling: By reducing tangles and frizz, hair serums make styling easier and more effective. 

When to Use Hair Serum 

Knowing when to use hair serum is key to maximizing its benefits. Here’s a guideline on the optimal times to apply hair serum: 

After Washing Your Hair: Apply serum to damp hair post-wash to lock in moisture and protect the hair from heat styling. 

Before Styling: Using a serum before styling can protect your hair from the heat of blow dryers, curling irons, and straighteners. 

As a Daily Treatment: A daily use hair serum can be beneficial for those with very dry or frizzy hair, providing ongoing moisture and frizz control. 

How to Apply Hair Serum 

Proper application is crucial to getting the most out of your hair serum. Here’s a step-by-step guide on how to apply hair serum: 

Start with Clean Hair: For best results, use hair serum on freshly washed, damp hair. 

Use the Right Amount: Depending on your hair length and thickness, use 1-2 pumps of serum. More isn’t always better, as too much product can weigh down your hair. 

Distribute Evenly: Rub the serum between your palms and then run your hands through your hair, focusing on the mid-lengths and ends. Avoid applying directly to the scalp unless it’s a scalp serum. 

Comb Through: Use a wide-tooth comb to distribute the serum evenly through your hair. 

Choosing the Right Hair Serum 

With so many options available, you might wonder, what hair serum should I use? Here’s a quick guide to help you choose: 

For Hair Loss: Look for a hairfall serum or an anti hairfall serum with ingredients like biotin, keratin, and caffeine. 

For Dry or Frizzy Hair: Opt for a hydrating serum that contains oils like argan oil or silicone-based ingredients to lock in moisture. 

For Hair Growth: A hair growth serum with ingredients like peptides and vitamins can help stimulate hair follicles. 

For Scalp Health: Choose a scalp serum with hydrating and soothing ingredients like aloe vera, tea tree oil, or hyaluronic acid. 

Conclusion 

Incorporating a hair serum into your daily skincare routine can transform the health and appearance of your hair. From enhancing shine and smoothness to protecting against damage and promoting growth, the benefits are extensive. By understanding what does hair serum do, how to apply hair serum, and when to use hair serum, you can make the most of this versatile product. Whether you’re dealing with hair loss, frizz, or dryness, there’s a serum tailored to meet your specific needs. So, take the step towards healthier, stronger, and shinier hair by choosing the right serum for you. 

[heylheir]

What Is Slugging? The Winter Skincare Hack Your Dry Skin Needs Right Now

What Is Slugging? The Winter Skincare Hack Your Dry Skin Needs Right Now

If you’ve ever scrolled through TikTok or Instagram, chances are you’ve heard about slugging—the skincare hack everyone’s raving about. No, it doesn’t involve actual slugs (thankfully). Instead, it’s a simple nighttime skincare routine that locks in moisture and gives you the hydrated, glowing skin of your dreams. Here’s everything you need to know about slugging, including how to do it, the…

[girlwithrituals]

GLOW UP GUIDE FOR 2025⠀

READ: On average, it takes more than 2 months before a new behavior becomes automatic — 66 days to be exact. And considering that 2025 is precisely these many days away, why not start with our glow up plan already?

Physical Glow Up-

BODY

— 5-10K steps a day.

— 7-8 hours of sleep.

— workout everyday for 1 hr atleast- yoga/stretching/pilates/cardio/lifting weights. a workout may take one hour, but your mood will be boosted for the next 12 hours.

— posture training.

— sunlight exposure after waking up for at least 10 minutes.

NUTRITION

— 2-3 liters of water every day.

— limit your caffeine intake.

— avoid sugars as much as you can.

— high protein diet, pre and probiotics.

— more fruits and veggies (+ green smoothies if you like).

— no junk/processed food/trans fat.

— no eating after 8 pm.

SKINCARE

— be clear on your skin type (oily, dry, combination, sensitive).

— once you're clear, use these accordingly- cleanser, toner, targeted serum, eye cream, moisturizer, sunscreen (≥50 spf).

— keep your bedding clean as well.

— no picking of skin on your lips, cuticle etc.

— gua sha to help improve blood circulation and lessen toxins.

— cold therapy may take three to five minutes of being uncomfortable, but your energy levels will be boosted for the rest of the day.

— remove makeup before you go to bed.

BODY CARE

— shower every day.

— exfoliate 2x a week.

— use body lotion (shea butter/aloe vera gel/coconut oil).

HAIR CARE

— wash hair 2-3x a week

— oil your scalp 2x a week, at least 3 hours before shampoo.

— hair mask 1x per week.

— never brush wet hair.

— use silk pillow case.

HYGIENE

— brush your teeth 2x a day, clean tongue and the roof of the mouth daily.

— floss daily.

— cut your nails 1x a week, never remove the cuticles.

— glycolic acid under arm for odor and discoloration.

— never use soap on your coochie.

Mental Glow Up-

MINDSET

— set clear goals- define and breakdown your aspirations.

— start your mornings with positive affirmations.

— surround yourself with uplifting content and people.

— be shamelessly selfish to your career and mental health, remove anyone or anything that doesn't align with your priorities and wellbeing.

— boost your brain health by these 4 neuroscience tools:

difficult first: start your day with the most difficult task (cortisol and dopamine are high in the body meaning that your body/mind is primed to work).

rest your eyes: introduce a micro-pause after learning by resting/closing your eyes - will help retain information better.

tomorrow's worries: write tomorrow's to-do list before bed as it is proven to be effective in helping you fall asleep.

find time to play: engage in low-stake play. can be anything you find fun but where the outcome doesn't matter (induces neuroplasticity + reduces stress).

MIND

— meditation might take as low as ten minutes, but your focus will be improved for the rest of the day.

— no social media after waking up and at least an hour before bed.

— keep aside 1 hr of time to read daily! reading a new book may take five hours, but you will keep the knowledge forever.

— journaling, gratitude.

— digital detox once a week or for 12 hours.

— limit unnecessary screentime, unfollow or cut off people you don't want to see.

JOURNALING

— choose a regular time each day to journal, making it a part of your routine.

— find a quiet, comfortable place free from distractions. light a candle if you want.

— allow your thoughts to flow without censoring or editing.

— write about your feelings and emotions to understand them better. write about things you are thankful for to boost your mood. write about your short-term and long-term goals. identify what triggers certain emotions or reactions

— set a timer for 5-10 minutes and write continuously during that time.

— reflect on both positive experiences and challenges.

— make lists, journal your thoughts on these questions.

— journal at night to clear your mind before bedtime, because emotions and thoughts lose their power once we acknowledge them.

— a gratitude practice may take five minutes, but your mindset will be shifted for the rest of the day.

AFFIRMATIONS

— customise affirmations to your needs.

Personal Life-

WEEKLY TASKS

— initiate small changes: begin with small, manageable tasks such as making your bed or cleaning your room every sunday.

— celebrate your success: reward yourself when you achieve your goals or have a consistently productive week. consider treats like buying flowers for yourself or watching your favorite show.

DAILY WORK

— set achievable goals: establish realistic goals for the day, week, or month ahead.

— track your progress.

— organise your work space, declutter your shelves etc.

— embrace the power of lists: keep a list of tasks to be done and their deadlines. this way, you start each day with a clear plan. to make it visually appealing and motivating, consider using productivity apps like evernote, habit tracker, or notion.

PRODUCTIVITY TIPS

— wake up early.

— plan ahead everything, do scheduling. you can use:

google calendar / notion / tasks .

— if the task takes less than 2 minutes to finish, do it immediately.

— countdown rule, if you are procrastinating, count 1-2-3-4-5 and jump.

— start slow, don't rush and try to do everything at one time.

— follow a proper routine, use app locks based on screentime.

— pomodoro technique, 25 min work, and 5 min break.

— schedule longer break times as well e.g 30 min nap.

[cyberlillies]

routine body inspections with caleb gege!

cw: incest, body inspection, manipulation, nipple play, hole inspection, squirting, scummy gentle caleb refers to himself as gege all the time.

wc: ~2.8k

your elder brother caleb took over the role of your guardian ever since you could recall. he did everything a caretaker is supposed to. he fed you, made sure you went to school, helped you in your studies, protected you from bullies, did your laundry and sometimes even helped you wash. it was a given for caleb to know everything about you — he had no other choice, had to take care of you after all — and that included knowing your body in its entirety.

caleb was overprotective and obsessive, you were his dear meimei, and he was devoted to you. you were his goddess, the most perfect specimen presented only to him. wanting to observe your body, the way it changed over time, the way it bloomed beautifully in front of his eyes, he carefully convinced you into his scheme.

gege is just looking for 'abnormalities' on your body, you don't want to fall sick right? hospitals are scary with big bad doctors threatening to put big big needles into you. don't worry, gege will make sure you never need to go there. just stay still and let gege examine your body!

if it's gege, then he must be right! so you let him inspect your body under the guise of a purely innocent examination. caleb was ecstatic, he'd already seen your body from the times he cleaned you up on days you felt lazy, had left lingering touches all over but never had the chance to touch you with such intention, with your doe eyes following his every move, your skin anticipating his every touch.

"pipsqueak, come on. it's time for the examination." caleb gently nudges you, trying to hide his excitement. you were sprawled on your bed, busy reading a book before bedtime. you had completely forgotten about the examination until caleb reminded you.

"oh..." you put down the book reluctantly, your actions a little hesitant. caleb sensed it. sitting beside you, he placed a hand on your exposed thigh. "what's the matter? you know this is important, right?"

you nodded slowly, eyes refusing to meet his. "you feel scared?" caleb asked you, you simply nodded again. sighing, he inched closer to you. "this won't hurt, if that's what you're worried about. you know i will never."

"i know, gege." you replied. you weren't scared of that, you were just shy of being exposed infront of your very attractive big brother. you know you weren't supposed to feel this way but he made your heart flutter too easily sometimes. like now, sitting a bit too close, leaning a bit more closer, his breath teasing the edges of your ear as he pulled you to him, trying to relax your nerves by pulling you into a hug.

"undress for me, pretty girl." caleb whispered into your ear. "let gege see your body."

moving slowly but surely, you stripped the layers off of yourself. caleb drank in every single exposure, pupils almost shaking as he saw the smooth expanse of your skin, the smallness of your body in comparison to his never failing to take his breath away. he might be a sinner, but if you were the temptation, he had no regrets.

reaching out to caress your shoulders, caleb ran his hands along your neck till your arms, feeling for anything unusual. your arms were crossed over your chest, thighs clenched together, trying to cover up. he held your hands up to his face, prying the crossed arms open, exposing your breasts to the room.

he kissed your fingertips. "such pretty hands." you flushed at the compliment, watching him bring your hand to his mouth. caleb bit your palm lightly, causing you to gasp. "pain receptors in the hands are fine." he kissed over the bite, licking the spot lightly while looking you in the eye.

"don't hide yourself from me." caleb maintains eye contact with you. "let me do my job easily, yeah? after this we can do something you like."

"...like watch a movie?" you asked.

"yeah, anything." he kissed the top of your head.

"okay." you replied, a bit more upbeat now. you relaxed your body, letting your limbs loose as he easily picked you up and situated you on his lap, your whole body on display for him.

"hmm." caleb hummed as he ran his hands along your sides, feeling the softness of your skin. you were so pure, unblemished, untouched, every part of you sculpted by the gods. his warm hands made you shiver as they reached your abdomen. you were a little ticklish there, so you jumped with a squeal when he splayed his hand on your tummy.

"tickles?" he looks to you for your reaction. you reply back with another yelp as he poked your waist. caleb almost smirks. "good. normal response here." hands travelling upwards, he enclosed your breasts in his large palms. soft, he sighs to himself. fingers sensing for any atypical growths, he pressed and kneaded the pudge of your bosom, skillfully checking the sides, the under, and closing in on your areola.

your breath gets heavier, skin prickling under his touch. his fingers grazed your nipples lightly and you jerked with the shock sent all over your body, pleasure shooting straight to your core. you grab his wrists, stopping any further movement on his part. "gege... feels weird!" you complain.

"weird?" caleb raised an eyebrow. "good, or bad?"

"i-i can't tell..." you bit your lip.

"that means i have to do it again." he pressed both his thumbs onto the flat of your nipples, rubbing the hardening buds till you're gasping and shaking. "it's important you feel good here. does it feel good?"

"wait— ah!" you can't help but arch your back away from his touch. "ah, ah! gege!"

"use your words. good or bad?" caleb asks again.

how could you, when you couldn't even understand the sensation. it made you want to cry and scream, yet it also made you want to laugh and dance at the same time. it didn't feel bad, no, gege's touch never felt bad.

"g-good!" you cry out.

"good." caleb echoes with a smile as his hands leave your breasts.

your hands reach up to your chest, replacing his touch with your own. you feel your nipples, intrigued by their stiffness. "gege, why are these so hard? is this normal?" you sound panicked. caleb can't believe how oblivious you were, his baby sister, knowing nothing about her own body and looking up to her big brother to teach her everything. big brother will definitely teach you everything!

"yes, pipsqueak. this is very normal." he pats your hair. "your breasts are here to help you make milk. your nipples, they get hard so it's easier for babies to drink milk from them."

"milk? babies? i'm gonna make babies?" your confusion only increases.

"no, not yet, pipsqueak. all in due time." caleb traced stray circles onto your tummy travelling upwards, his gaze fixated on your chest. "we've gotta make sure every function of your body is proper."

"this might feel funny, but it's important i check myself." caleb dips his head to latch onto your hardened nipple. you let out a squeal, the foreign sensation of his wet and soft tongue flicking the bud shot sparks of pleasure down your front. he took his sweet time sucking on the nip, biting and tugging with his teeth, using suction force to pull on them enough to have half your flesh in his mouth. his hands focused on massaging the outer areas, starting at your sides then pressing inwards, almost as if milking you.

"mmpf— so soft..." caleb groaned into your skin, mouth full with your breast. you felt the vibration of his voice on your nipple, now emerging as squeals of your own.

caleb hungrily sucked your tits, alternating between the two. your nips were quite swollen, to the point that they weren't hard anymore, and wouldn't become hard no matter how much he abused them with his teeth and tongue. you were a shaking mess in his embrace.

every little touch, bite, scrape on your tits made you feel headier than before. your tummy felt weird, no, not your tummy, something more... below. your hands braced themselves on his shoulders as you unknowingly grinded on his lap while letting out pathetic noises. you were scared, you couldn't stop your movements, it was as if you were being possessed!

"gege! wait!!" you pushed on his shoulders. caleb stopped, immediately looking at your face for signs of distress. "what happened? did it hurt, pips?" he cupped your cheek lovingly. you shake your head.

"no.. it didn't hurt, but it felt weird!" you grab his free hand and bring it to your lower belly. "it feels all tingly here... why!? gege, i'm scared! is there something wrong with me?" you start to tear up, all kinds of thoughts turning the unknown sensations into fearful monsters in your head.

"calm down, pipsqueak. it's all normal. you trust gege, right?" he waited for your response, satisfied with a simple nod from you. "good girl, everything is fine. buuut, gege will check just to make sure. okay?"

"...okay." you hesitated for a bit. "can you hug me first?"

caleb complied with your request, a large grin replacing the tense in his jaw. he pulled you to his sturdy chest, his warmth enveloping you as you exhaled in the comfort he granted you. looking down at your small frame, he couldn't help but feel giddy. you had no idea how happy you made him. every time he worried that he may hurt you or offend you, you keep proving him wrong. you were so good to him, beyond what he deserved.

your heart pounded loudly against your lungs, so loud you could feel it all over your body. with how closely you were slotted together with caleb, he could feel it too — in his chest that pressed against yours, in his hands that held you close to him. every moment had you redder in the face, realising that caleb could in fact feel you, and was holding in his laugh.

you smack him in the arm. "ow!" caleb faked hurt but he couldn't stop his boyish snicker. you glare at him, lifting your hand to hit him once again. "ah, wait! i'm sorry! were you embarrassed?"

"i couldn't help it, pips. you're just so cute." he ruffles your hair as you pout, a smile breaking through your lips with his praise.

"ready to continue?" he asks you. you nod and he gently lays you on the bed, his huge frame sliding down to settle between your legs. his hands hold either of your ankles, trailing along your legs to rest at the top of your thighs. his palms sink into the plush of your thighs as you gasped, his actions not helping with the tingles.

leaning down till his breath teased the skin on your stomach, he brought his fingers to the waistband of your panties, a light colored simple cotton one with tiny apples all over it — that he had personally picked for you.

"so, tell me. where did you say it felt weird? here?" his touch ghosts over your tummy.

you slowly shake your head. "no? should i go further down?" you nod, maybe a bit too eagerly. caleb's fingers trailed down, a feather touch over the clothed skin, skillfully navigating right onto your clit. you almost jump when he applies pressure, that was exactly the source of your tingles, how did he know?!

"this must be it." caleb patted his thumb over the bundle of nerves, causing you to happily yelp. "yuuup, isn't that right, pipsqueak?"

caleb circled your clit with his thumb, using his fingers to push the fabric of your panties into your folds, watching a wet patch form on them. "baby... you're wet down here."

"w-what..? gege, i swear i didn't pee myself!"

"i'll only know if i check myself. lift your hips."

caleb pulls your panties off your legs, pocketing them before you could notice. he spreads your legs against your weak resistance for whatever modesty you were trying to protect.

caleb's face is dangerously near your clit, mouth slightly agape as he practically salivates over having the little nub between his lips. his thumb rubs up and down your folds, dipping itself in your arousal. "it's so wet, princess. be honest, are you usually leaking?" you squirm as every word hits your clit before your ears.

"n-no! it's because of the tingles you gave me!" you cry out.

"oh? i gave you the tingles? then i must fix it." a finger breaches your hole, wiggling around inside you. caleb groaned at how tight you were, and why would you not be, you had remained untouched under his careful watch, all for his taking.

you let out little high-pitched moans as caleb swirled his finger inside you, feeling and stretching your walls. you feel something oncoming, a wave of pleasure threatening to drown you and you didn't know what to do. you tightly clench your thighs around his hand.

caleb gives you a disapproving look. "pipsqueak. be obedient. don't make gege force you." he warns, his other hand prying open your thighs once more. "tsk, silly girl. this is for your own good. now hold this position as gege checks your precious parts, okay?"

you have no choice but to obey. you didn't want to make caleb mad, he's always been nice to you and this is also a part of it... right?

caleb uses his arms to spread you wider, settling between your legs, his eyes directly on your pretty little cunt, observing how your tender opening fluttered around his girthy finger. you struggling to take even a finger was a sight he wanted to burn in his memories forever.

prodding carefully, he checked for your hymen, making sure it was intact. there would definitely be a day he'd gladly breach through that barrier to claim you completely, but not today, not till he had you prepared, till he had your pretty little mind fully under his control.

entranced by your juicy clit, his mouth watered for a taste. he hadn't planned it but his lips had a mind of their own as they latched onto the little bud, suckling on it, rolling it with his tongue. you twisted in his hold as his finger still worked on your hole, curving upwards to stroke your clit from the inside.

"ah, ah— gege, gege, gege!" you cried for him in midst of your haze, senses overstimulated by his assault on your pussy. he barely hummed a response on your skin, too engrossed in your taste, in the way your tiny body humped against his tongue desperately.

only when you started sobbing his name did he stop to take a look at you. "gege... gege.. please.." your eyes were squinted shut, possibly out of fear. "something's coming.. i-i'm about to pee!" you sobbed with urgency.

caleb's eyes flickered with thrill, his free hand finds itself on your lower tummy, pressing down right on your bladder. "ah!" you scream, hands instantly trying to fight his heavy one. "no! please, i'll pee!" you screamed, worried.

"shhh, it's alright, princess. just let it go, okay?" caleb encourages with a soothing tone, the finger stroking your insides speeding up, the pressure on your tummy becoming unbearable, your urge to release growing with every second.

caleb feels the rush of your release around his finger, your hole tightens and then all of a sudden, you're squirting all over his hand and face. he removed his finger to watch your muscles spasm as you squirt release after release, your hole now struggling with the sudden emptiness, a gaping void left as a reminder of his presence.

"that's it... that's my good girl." he praises you, eyes filled with infinite adoration. you're breathless, chest heaving to fill the lack of oxygen in your brain, feeling lightheaded being brought to your first orgasm with such intensity. you watch your release drip down his face, watch as he wipes himself off with his already wet hand, licking some of it off his palm, savouring your taste.

"gege... was that okay?" you were so innocent, his heart swelled at your words.

"yes, baby. that was perfect." caleb hummed in delight. "let me clean you up and then we're done, okay?" he was finished playing with your body, despite the glaring problem in his own. he could take care of it by himself for now, it was too early to trouble you for this.

his lips return to your quivering pussy, stealing a taste right from the source. his tongue licks you eagerly, lapping up your folds and replacing your arousal with his saliva. he doesn't tease your sensitive parts anymore, your clit was already pretty swollen, all you needed now was rest and lots of cuddles.

finished with his work, he picks you up and heads for the bath. you grab onto his neck as he princess carries you. "so, gege, is everything okay?" you ask concerned, you really didn't want to see the doctors at all. caleb laughs at your furrowed brows, soothing them down with his thumb.

"no need to worry, pipsqueak. you're as healthy as ever!"

a/n: this needs a second part who knows when T_T

[plethorawrites]

I feel like Jason Todd, being the paranoid, mistrusting man he is, would pick up on every single habit you have. He'd know the meal you always order at a restaurant, the steps of your skin care (from watching you do it while leaning on the door), the scents you loved, the weather you hated. He'd know the time you wake up, the time you go to bed, the time you typically get hungry, etc.

So, when you make ANY changes, he instantly gets suspicious. Like...super paranoid.

And he hates it. He does.

It kills him that when you say you're going to the grocery store on a Saturday evening, he doesn't believe you. Because you hate going on the weekend, since it's too busy and you hate driving between 5-6 because of the glare from sunset.

And then, you had to go and take a work call at three in the afternoon when you guys were getting lunch. But you always shut your phone off for lunch. Always.

He hates how paranoid it makes him. He hates how he starts to assume the worst because he wants to trust you. He does. And if you knew that his mind wandered to thoughts of betrayal, you'd be furious or heartbroken. Maybe both.

But when it does eventually come out (Either through a fight or just him finally being honest) you're neither. You're, to his surprise, completely understanding about his worry. Because everyone betrayed him at some point and you never wanted him to think you would do the same.

You explain every past discrepancy that had him worried and from then on— your boss told you to keep your phone on specifically to reschedule something, you were out something you needed desperately from the store, etc.

You also explain any future changes.

Yes, you typically went to the dentist every three months, but you were going twice in a single week (not because you were hooking up with your dentist, the way his stupid intrusive thoughts told him) but because your tooth started hurting. You know it's a bit overboard, having to explain every change in your routine, but you do.

Because it helps him.

And it takes a bit, but that constant need to know why things were off, even slightly, eventually fades.

You say you'll be home late and his mind no longer assumes you're stopping at someone else's house. You say you're too tired to go out to eat and his mind no longer wanders to thinking you're ashamed of being seen with him. You fall asleep with your back to him and he no longer immediately feels like you're falling out of love with him.

He trusts you.

You would never betray him or break that bond. Never.

And let's be honest...how often do you willingly choose to sleep on your side of the bed when you could be in his arms? Not often.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

One of the lucky ones- Yandere Concubine x Fem reader

Contains- abuse, physical violence, obsessive and possessive behaviour,blood, disfigurement, power imbalance

“Hurry up, will you? Need I remind you how it looks if a member of my retinue falls behind everyone else?” He raises a manicured brow as he gestures for you to walk at his side.

“My apologies your imperial highness,” you scurry up next to your lord, carefully holding the parasol above him, it is heavy and your hands buckle slightly from carrying it above him the entire hour he's been outdoors wandering the imperial gardens. The most favoured and spoilt concubine to the emperor, he chose you, lifting you up from a nameless serving girl scrubbing floors in his pavilion, to his primary attendant and companion. The only servant privileged enough to stand beside him rather than behind him, you're lucky. You remind yourself of that as much as you can, you're lucky to have been only just sold to the palace as a servant instead of anywhere else they send plain faced village girls too. You're lucky that he spotted you and found your stammering provincial dialect entertaining, lucky that you get dressed in his offcuts and old fabrics, fobbing off his gifts from the emperor onto you to the point where minor servants speak to you with respect because everyone can see you hold the most treasured concubines ear. Even if you're too skittish to ever mumble in it.

“Leave that for one of the others to carry,” The parasol is immediately taken from you by one of the guards, with your arms suddenly free he wraps his arm around yours, resting it in the crook of your elbow. He is beautiful, unfairly so, and he guards it fiercely. You alone know of the countless tonics and potions he applies to himself, the time he spends every night focused on himself before the emperor arrives. He allows you to sit in with him as he conducts his rituals, smearing some mask over his face, noticing your stares he put some on your skin too. And you were too shy to even wonder if this was just him making fun of you. He lets you brush his hair, long and thick down to his thighs you spend extra time to care for it. Raking your hands through his locks as your mother once did for you. Your own hair is nothing special, stubborn to grow long when cut but he will let you keep the last dregs in the hair oil bottles for yourself. It's nice, these little tastes of luxury he shares without asking anything of you in return. His beauty is his currency and you've seen the bruises that can litter his body for night after the emperor has him, the slight limp as he walks. And you say nothing because you know what it's like to serve a master who's violence comes to him quickly. So you just help your lord into fresh clothes, rub balm into his marks. When he pulls you tight against his chest as though he would stop breathing if he let go of you, you just stay still and let it happen.

Some nights when he does not need to deal with the emperor's attention he will request that you sleep by his side. At first you prepared to sleep on the floor beside his bed until he rolled his eyes, flicked you on the forehead and simply pulled you beside him. But now it's become just another part of your routine, most of the night is spent helping him with his. You watch wide eyed as he uses ingredients that could cause years of your salary as though it is worthless. He dismisses everyone else until it's only you two in the warm lamplight and the sheer silk sleeping robes he's bestowed on you, with the excuse that as his personal attendant your presentation reflects him. You don't really know if that matters in private, when his head is resting on your lap and you scratch his scalp with a tenderness he's never been shown before.

The reverie is shattered with the entrance of the emperor. You have never seen your Lord's face move so quickly from panic to that stone mask of seduction he wears publicly. Nor had you ever been so close to the emperor before for him to even acknowledge your existence but it seems like tonight your luck must be about to run out. You scramble into a bow as the concubine lifts himself leisurely from the ground, heartbeat so loud you do not even realise you're being addressed until you're ordered to lift your head up. When you move too slow for his liking the emperor's hand reaches out and grabs you painfully by the chin to lift you. There are cracks in your lord's mask as he has no options but to watch, a flare in his nostrils, a set in his jaw. The emperor tilts your face any which way like buying a horse at a market as he makes comments about your appearance. Most of which you've heard before, plain faced and provincial, but he continues that you have that look of a fresh faced country innocence one that can so easily be shattered.

“Come, why would you bore yourself with her when I am the one you came for? Not my silly little maid.” the concubine practically throws himself at the emperor to distract his attentions from you. The moment you are released from his grip you scurry from the bedchambers, into the safety of the outside. There you wait until you can see the emperor leave, and you wait a bit longer just in case, before entering the chamber with warm damp cloths to silently clean his skin.

Afterwards your lord looks down on you, he is in a state of disarray, hair tousled, lips swollen, robe practically open. “I need to do something about you.” He mutters as though you aren't even in front of him. “I can't have that incident repeating, now that he has seen you, I don't have the luxury of waiting for him to forget you.” he sighs angrily, running a hand through his hair to get it out the way.

“My lord?” You ask softly trying to break him out from this state, but all it seems to do is remind him that you're here. He pounces on you like a tiger, pinning you underneath him. A hand fisting tight in your hair.

“I should ruin you,” he mutters darkly “it would be for your own good if I did so, to protect you from his advances you don't realise what he's about to do to you until his free hand is held aloft before you, a glint of silver in the low light in the room. He pulls your hair sharply when you begin to writhe and scream, the pain from your head being jerked about silences your sobs to whimpers as he leans over your ears. “I am doing what's best, don't you understand? I can handle his attentions,” he practically spits the word out as the dagger hovers precariously above you, “but you, you would collapse and crumble if he took you. This is the only way I can protect you, my sweet.” his eyes gone dark from mania as his hands shake “if I do this, not only will I mar your face but he will not know just how much love I have for you if I am willing to disfigure you. He will only think I'm jealous.”

“Please.” You whimper and tremble in his grip begging for mercy, but you don't realise that to him- this is a mercy. A shield from everyone who could think to harm you, he may not have the power yet to protect you but until then he will use what he has. You never realised that all the tenderness you offered to such a beautiful creature would make it turn its claws on you.

The pain is blinding for a moment as he drags the blade across your cheek. Holding your head tight and pinning you underneath his weight while you try to buck underneath him. It sears and burns brightly once the blade is removed and the dampness dripps across your face, staining the sheets and both yours and his robes. You try to open your mouth to scream or to howl but his mouth is on yours in a moment, to swallow up any sounds you make. Every slight moment only seems to open the wound more but he presses onto you as though he could devour you whole, pulling back with a flush on his bruised face and pure tenderness in his eyes he cups your bloody face, dabbing at your wound until the blood flow slows.“You're still so perfect,” he whispers softly “this was for the best please, you'll understand that in time.”

And perhaps he was right, in time you're left with an ugly scar torn across your left cheek, where you can't even smile without the skin puckering. With no one wanting to meet your face and the rumours spreading that he did this in jealousy that you could steal the emperor's affection from him. You're the only one who knows at night where he pours over secret plans to steal the throne out from underneath him, and he will kiss your puckered skin tenderly like you're the most perfect thing he's ever seen. Mumbling promises of how this was worth it now you're safe. You've long since stopped lying to yourself about how lucky you are to be here.

[blayskook]

TANGLED IN YOU

Pairing = lovingbf!jungkook + shy!reader

Summary = After a warm, quiet shower together, Jungkook carries her to bed with soft kisses and sleepy giggles. Wrapped in blankets and each other, they cuddle close, whisper sweet nothings, and fall asleep tangled up in love. It’s pure, gentle, and full of that soft kind of affection you never forget.

A/N = hii this is my first work for jungkook, if you're interested in more please interact!!! I'm super new here and I'd appreciate your feedbacks so much:)

The bathroom was still warm and foggy, but you’d both finished showering. A quiet, pure moment filled with little giggles and soft “sorry”s when you bumped into each other in the tight space. Now you were sitting on the closed toilet lid, bathrobe wrapped around you, and Jungkook came in front of you, towel low on his hips, still dripping.

"Here you go, pretty" he lends you the matching pjs, before turning around to wear his own.

Once your both fully dressed, looking like the best couple out there in matching pjs, he sat you down on the toilet lid again, patting your hair dry with the softest little frown of focus.

“You’re not doing it right,” you laughed, leaning away a little.

“Yes, I am,” he whined, scooting closer on his knees, tugging you gently back toward him. “Stay still, I’m helping.”

“You’re messing my hair up baby.” You whine, gently holding onto his arms. "Fine fine.." he puts the towel behind you, his head now resting on your thigh.

His arms circled your waist a second later, cheek pressing softly against your belly. He mumbles a soft “You’re warm.”

You laughed, carding your fingers through his damp hair. “You’re clingy.”

“I know,” he said, voice muffled in your skin. “Let me.”

He stayed like that for a moment, hugging you like it grounded him, like if he let go you’d vanish. Then he stood up slowly, pulling you by the hands.

“C’mere,” he whispered.

He helped you up, then carefully lifted you onto the counter like it was a routine he never wanted to end. His hands never left your sides, thumbs brushing your waist through your soft pink shirt. He was looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Why are you staring?” you whispered, shy all over again.

“Because you’re so pretty like this,” he said softly. “All soft and sleepy and warm.”

You covered your face, trying not to let your giggles get too loud.

But he just leaned in anyway, resting his forehead against yours, completely content being chest-to-chest like this. “Don’t hide,” he whispered. “You’re the cutest when you’re like this. I love you like this.”

His lips ghosted across your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck. Not rushed. Just needy. Not desperate. Just close. His arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand even a few inches of space.

You felt his voice rumble softly against your skin. “I just wanna stay here. Like this. All night.”

You giggled again, heart pounding in your chest. “You’re so clingy.”

He nodded cutely. “I don’t care. I missed you all day.”

And when you looked at him, wide-eyed and breathless, he smiled. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just so in love he couldn’t hide it anymore.

“Can I hold you closer?” he whispered.

You didn’t answer with words, just wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in like you wanted the same thing.

He leaned in and slowly kissed you. Not deep, not rushed, just soft and slow. His hands stayed gentle on your waist, fingertips warm against you, as if he didn’t want to ruin the moment by moving too fast.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His nose brushed yours. “Wanna get in bed?”

You nodded, too shy to say anything, heart fluttering all the way up your throat.

He didn’t wait. Just smiled to himself — that sleepy, sweet smile — and dipped his arms under your knees and back in one smooth motion, picking you up like you weighed nothing at all.

“Jungkook-!” you giggled into his neck, clinging to his shoulders. “You don’t have to carry me.”

“I want to.” he said simply, and you felt his voice rumble against your cheek. “You feel nice.”

The room was dim now, the lights soft and golden. He walked slowly toward the bed, like he didn’t want to drop even a second of this. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the damp strands of his hair brushing against your temple. He smelled like clean soap and something uniquely him. Comforting, sweet, like home.

When he finally set you down on the bed, it was gentle. Careful. Like placing something fragile. He climbed in right after you, pulling the covers over both of you, then immediately tugging you close again like he couldn’t bear the distance.

You ended up half on his chest, one leg tangled over his, your face tucked beneath his chin. His arm was under your head, cradling you like a pillow, while his other hand found your lower back and rested there — warm, steady, and completely wrapped around you.

Neither of you spoke for a second.

He was so close, you could hear his heartbeat.

“Are you comfy?” he asked quietly, voice already dipped in sleep.

“Mmhm” you whispered. “You’re warm.”

He smiled into your hair. “You’re perfect.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his collarbone. “Stop…”

But he didn’t. He kissed your forehead next, then your temple, then your cheek, one after another like he couldn’t stop. “I just love you,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin between every word. “I really, really love you.”

You laughed softly, nose wrinkling as he kissed the tip of it.

“I love you too. You're my favourite human ever” you whispered back, your voice sleepy and warm.

He hummed happily, then pulled you impossibly closer, like he was scared the night might steal you away. His hand rubbed soft circles into your back beneath the blanket, his breath slow and even near your ear.

"I wish I could keep you here forever" he looked down at you, placing a kiss on your nose. "I am staying here forever, I don't know what you're talking about" you giggle and move your face close enough to peck his lips.

"You're being so adorable on purpose right..?" He squints his eyes, leaning in for a kiss again, while you giggle at his teasing tone.

Then everything felt quiet. Safe. Like the world had faded out and it was just you two in this tiny universe of soft skin, tangled legs, and whispered love.

Then, right before sleep claimed him, he pressed one more kiss into your hair and whispered, “Goodnight, baby.”

You smiled against his chest, heart full to the brim.

“Goodnight, Koo.”

[sttoru]

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. husband!kento nanami x wife!reader. fluff, girl dad! kento, happy family bcs thats what he deserves. happy birthday ken <3

kento steps out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing out behind him. he’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants, his chiseled chest still glistening with beads of moisture. his damp blond hair is slicked back except for a few rebellious strands that fall across his forehead.

he makes his way back to the living room, where the soft giggles and laughter is coming from. the blonde pauses in the doorway and takes in the heartwarming sight before him.

his wife—you—and daughter are sprawled out on the couch. you’re wearing matching white face masks that are plastered across your skin. what tops it off are the cucumber slices covering your eyes.

you did tell him earlier that you’ll have your own little ‘spa time’ with your daughter. seeing that this is what you meant, kento lets out a small and low chuckle.

“how adorable,” he hums under his breath. he stalks towards you, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet beneath the couch. your daughter is the first to sense his presence and her little body stills from her squirming fit.

she bolts upright and the cucumber slices fly off her eyes. the little girl immediately giggles at the sight of her father, which has kento’s lips curl up into a warm smile as well.

“daddy!” she shrieks, pointing a chubby finger at him. “you’re not supposed to be here! it’s girls only!”

kento raises an eyebrow at his daughter’s playful words. it’s absolutely adorable how she’s basically a mini version of you. the way her bottom lip juts out in a pout and her nose scrunches up when she laughs— it’s so like you. it truly warms the blonde’s heart.

the sweet sight of his wife and daughter sharing this moment between them, being all smiles and giggles, is exactly what his dreams are made of.

“is that so?” kento reaches out and boops his daughter on the nose, ignoring her indignant squirming, “well, i think your mommy can make an exception for me. just this once.”

you snicker from your place on the couch, the mask that has dried on your face now cracking a little. you love hearing the playful banter between your husband and daughter—love hearing how that carbon copy of you is all giddy as she chats with her dad.

“mommy!” your daughter bounces next to you on the couch and shakes your arm a bit, already forgetting about the ‘relaxation’ part of your self care routine. she’s mostly focused on the person who ‘disturbed’ your little alone time. “daddy’s interrupting our spa time!”

you muffle another laugh at the dramatic way she shrieks in your ear. like it’s the end of the world. “oh no! we can’t have that now can we?” you gasp just as dramatically, lifting your daughter into your arms, the cucumber slices on your eyes rolling off with the motion.

your daughter nods with a big grin on her cherubic face as she’s held in your lap. “nope! ‘s only for mommy and me! girls time!” she says proudly, tiny hands resting on her middle.

“bad daddy,” she adds with a teasing giggle and sticks her tongue out at kento.

you laugh at her words before mischievously agreeing. “indeed, bad daddy,” you nod and stick your tongue out at kento as well.

kento raises an eyebrow at the way you indulge the child’s antics. a low, amused chuckle rumbles in his chest as he comes to sit on the edge of the couch. he reaches out and ruffles your daughter’s hair before gently pinching her cheeks together.

“really? bad daddy, huh?” his other hand comes up to tickle her sides, his eyes softening as he hears that addicting laughter again. what tops it off is seeing you smiling from ear to ear at your little girl’s joy as well.

kento lets out a sigh he doesn’t even know was needed. this family is exactly what he dreamt of. exactly what he needed.

“come here—both of you,” the blond man comments, voice low but filled with mirth. he leans down and covers both your bodies with his, peppering the chubby skin of your daughter’s arms with kisses before doing the same to your neck.

your daughter giggles and squeals as kento pretends to eat you both up, nibbling on your skin, his hair and stubble tickling your limbs. she’s already forgotten all about the fact that he crashed your little girl’s party.

you squirm and let yourself enjoy the moment as well. this moment of your family just… being a family. nothing else matters.

[maskedbyghost]

cw: friends with benefits, angst, smut, mild possessiveness

It was supposed to be simple. That’s the part that pisses you off the most when you think about it. Because you weren’t trying to fall in love. You didn’t want a relationship, not after the last one. You were still a little bit fucked up from it, if you’re being honest. Still not sleeping great. Still carrying all that heavy stuff around that no one really talks about after a breakup. And then he showed up.

Simon.

You didn’t even like him that much at first. He was quiet, and kind of a dick honestly. Always had this hard look on his face like he didn’t care about anything. But then again, maybe that’s why you kept looking. He didn’t flirt with you like the other guys did. He didn’t compliment you or joke around. He just stared sometimes. Stared like he knew things about you that you hadn’t even said out loud yet.

And somehow, that made you feel safe. In a really stupid kind of way.

He didn’t ask you questions. You could sit next to him and say nothing, and he wouldn’t try to fix you. He’d just… be there. And that made it easier. Being around him felt like pressing pause on everything in your head.

You both agreed it would just be sex. That’s all. You said it first. Told him straight up you weren’t in the place for anything real, and he just shrugged like it didn’t make a difference either way. He wasn’t looking for more, either. No expectations, no feelings, no “what are we” conversations.

And in the beginning, that actually worked. You’d hook up after long days, or when you were lonely, or when you just needed to feel something. He’d come over late, sometimes not say more than a few words, and still end up with his mouth between your legs like he belonged there. He was rough, kind of mean about it, but it made your head go quiet, and that’s all you wanted. You didn’t need soft. You just needed to forget.

And Simon was really good at helping you forget.

It was simple, for a while at least. No cuddling, no texting unless one of you wanted something, no sleeping over unless it was late, and neither of you felt like getting up. You never kissed him unless it was during sex, he never called you baby, and you never touched his face.

But then, little things started to change. He’d linger longer after, or light your cigarette for you without saying anything. You started to recognize the sound of his boots on your stairs. And sometimes, he’d show up without texting first, but you wouldn’t mind.

You told yourself it was fine. You still weren’t asking for anything. You weren’t falling.... You weren’t hoping.

Until one day you were. And it was too late.

Because Simon? He never changed the deal. He still kept his walls up, still kept everything at arm’s length, and still fucked you like you were just a warm body and not someone who looked at him like he hung the moon.

And the worst part? You let him.

You didn’t talk much during sex. It was just a thing you both did, like it was part of the routine. Sometimes it was at his place, sometimes yours. Sometimes after a night out when you were drunk and touchy and didn’t want to sleep alone. You’d cling to his arm, pull him into a dark corner, whisper something like “Come back with me,” and he always would. He’d follow you home without hesitation.

He never smiled during it, never said sweet things, nor asked what you liked. It was like flipping a switch, one second he was just standing there, and the next his hand was in your hair and he was pushing you down on the bed without saying a word. No soft kisses. Just heavy hands and rough thrusts and that low sound he’d make when you moaned his name, like he hated how much he liked it.

He was rough in a way that made your whole body ache after. Hands on your throat, teeth on your skin. Sometimes he’d grab your face, push it into the pillow so hard it felt like he wanted to fuck you straight through it. His voice was always low, wrecked, barely there, like he was losing his mind but trying not to show it. And when he came, he’d bury himself so deep and still not stop moving, chasing something that never felt like enough.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t sweet. But god, it felt good.

Too good.

You weren’t supposed to want someone like that. You weren’t supposed to need it like that. But every time he fucked you like you were the only thing left keeping him grounded, it made your chest hurt in a way you didn’t want to admit.

And you liked it, you liked it even when it made you feel worse after.

You didn’t fall for him all at once. It happened slowly and stupidly. In the kind of way where you didn’t even notice it at first, because you were too busy pretending it was still casual.

It was little stuff. Like how he always stood behind you in a crowd, not touching you or anything, just close enough that you could feel him, like a wall at your back. Or how he’d rest his hand on your lower back when you crossed the street, not saying a word, not even looking at you. Just doing it like it was natural. Like he cared without meaning to.

Sometimes, he stayed the night. Not every time, or often enough for it to mean something, but still it happened. He never cuddled, never reached for you after. He would just lay there, breathing heavily like he was thinking too loud. He didn’t sleep much, and you didn’t either. You’d stare at the ceiling, both of you pretending the silence didn’t feel like it was screaming.

You wanted to believe that meant something. That even if he couldn’t say it, he felt something. That he kept coming back because he needed you, not just your body. You started reaching for him more, after, during, even before. Just little touches. A kiss on the cheek, a hand on his chest, or a soft press of your lips when he was still inside you.

But the more you gave, the more he pulled back. Like he could feel you slipping, and it scared him. Like he already knew where this was headed and was trying to stop it before it got worse.

He started fucking you harder when you tried to kiss him slow. Rougher, meaner, almost. Like he was trying to shove the feelings out of both of you. Like he thought if he could just fuck the softness out of it, it would go back to the way it was.

And he’d leave faster. No lingering, talking, or sitting on the edge of the bed while you pulled on your shirt. He’d zip up his hoodie, say something stupid like “I’ll see you around,” and disappear like it didn’t mean anything.

But it meant something to you. And you think, deep down, it meant something to him, too.

He just didn’t know what to do with it. So he did what he always did... he ran.

That night felt different before anything even started. You don’t know how to explain it exactly. It was quiet, but not the good kind. Not the comfortable kind. Just this weird silence sitting between you like something waiting to be said. You didn’t say it, of course. You never did. He was already pulling your shirt off, already undoing his belt, already pushing you back like it was routine.

And it was. That was the thing. It had become routine.

But you couldn’t keep doing it like this anymore. You were tired. Tired of feeling used even when he wasn’t trying to use you. Tired of pretending it didn’t matter that he never looked at you when he came. Tired of giving everything and getting nothing back.

So you tried something different.

You didn’t moan for him the way he liked. Didn’t arch your back or scratch at his shoulders or whisper how good he felt. You just… touched his face. Softly. Like it was something you’d been wanting to do for a long time but were scared he’d push you away.

Your fingers brushed his cheek. Your thumb barely touched the scar near his jaw, and you just said, “Slow down.”

That was it. Just two words. And he snapped.

His hand went around your throat so fast it made your breath catch. His other hand grabbed your wrists, shoved them into the pillow, and held them there like you’d done something wrong. And then he started fucking you harder, rougher. Like he was trying to erase what you’d just done.

You didn’t say anything, couldn’t. His hips were slamming into you like he was mad, but not at you. Like he was mad at himself. Or maybe the world. Or maybe just the way your voice sounded when you asked for more than he could give.

“Don’t,” he growled into your neck, and his voice didn’t even sound like him. It sounded like someone scared.

You didn’t cry. Not right then.

You just lay there and took it. Let him fuck you like he always did, let him pretend it didn’t mean anything, even though it did. You felt it, how desperate it was, how shaky his breath was when he finally finished, how his hands didn’t let go even when it was over.

But you knew. You finally knew.

He couldn’t love you. Not the way you wanted. Not the way you needed.

And something deep in your chest cracked open. Just enough to let the cold in.

You didn’t say a word after. Just rolled over when he got up. Pulled the blanket up to your chest and stared at the wall, blinking too fast, trying not to let the tears win.

And he left like nothing happened.

But everything had.

The next time you saw him, you already knew it would be the last. It felt different the second you let him in, like there was something in the air that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You didn’t smile, he didn’t kiss you. You just walked back into your room in silence, still wearing the oversized shirt you’d borrowed from him weeks ago, the one you never meant to keep, the one that smelled like him no matter how many times you washed it, and you stood there with your arms crossed like you were trying to hold yourself together, like saying what you were about to say would physically hurt.

And it did.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to. You didn’t look at him because you knew if you did, if you saw the way he blinked at you, or the way his jaw clenched, or the way he didn’t even flinch like he saw this coming, it would break you in half. So you stared at the floor, or the wall, or anywhere but him, and you just said it. Because if you didn’t say it now, you never would.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t ask why. He just sat down slowly on the edge of your bed, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, and the rise and fall of his chest was shaky, like he couldn’t catch his breath, like your words had knocked the wind out of him but he was too proud to show it.

“I knew this would happen,” he said finally, and his voice wasn’t cold, it wasn’t empty—it was just tired. Like he was mad at himself. “Eventually.”

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and you could feel your throat starting to close up, feel the sting building behind your eyes, and your whole body felt heavy. “I wanted to pretend it wouldn’t,” you whispered, your hands twisting in the hem of his shirt, your voice cracking even though you were trying to stay calm, “but I can’t. I love you. And you don’t—or you won’t. And I can’t keep asking for something you’re scared to give.”

That made him look up.

His face was blank at first; he was trying to process it, trying to understand how it had gotten to this point, even though you both knew exactly how. And then he stood, slowly, like he was afraid too sudden a move would scare you off, and he walked toward you with that careful look he only got when he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing but was still trying anyway.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, at first, because he wasn’t sure if you’d let him. Maybe he thought you’d push him away. But you didn’t. You kissed him back even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. You let him press you into the wall, let his hands slide up under the shirt that technically wasn’t his anymore, let his mouth find your neck, your collarbone, your lips again, and none of it felt like the usual heat, it just felt sad and desperate.

You let him fuck you because you knew this was the last time. You let him take you to bed and pull your underwear down and slide inside like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

His hands were rough like always, his teeth scraped your skin, his thrusts were deep, a little too fast, a little too rough—but there was a shakiness in the way he held you, like maybe he already hated himself for letting it get to this point. He didn’t know how to say any of the things you needed to hear, so he fucked you instead.

And then, just when you thought that was all it was going to be—just another night, just another goodbye—he slowed down.

He stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, and he didn’t move. Just held you there, skin to skin, and everything about him felt different all of a sudden... softer... scared.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him.

Your chest tightened, and your voice broke when you tried to answer. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because if I let myself love you, I’d lose you anyway,” he said, and his voice was raw now. “You’d wake up one day and realise I’m not enough. That I can’t be what you need. That you deserve better than someone like me. Someone who’s barely hanging on. Someone who doesn’t know how to hold you without wondering if he’s gonna fuck it all up.”

You touched his face slowly. Like you were afraid he’d flinch away. But he didn’t. He let you, for the first time, he really let you.

“I don’t want someone else,” you whispered, and your thumb brushed his cheek, and your eyes were wet even though you were trying not to fall apart. “I wanted you. I still do.”

And when he started to move again, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and deep. Like he was trying to give you everything he’d held back for so long. His hands ran over your body like he was learning it all over again. His lips pressed to your shoulder, your jaw, your mouth. He looked at you the whole time, like he didn’t want to forget your face.

“I love you,” he said, and his voice shook, and his thrusts stayed steady, “I love you, I love you....fuck, I love you.”

You cried into his kiss. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your body trembled as he whispered all the stupid, sweet things he never let himself say before. You’re mine. I’ll do better. I need you. Please don’t leave.

And then, somewhere in the middle of it, somewhere between your broken sobs and his desperate kisses, he grabbed you tight, pulled you against him, and whispered it like a promise, like a threat, like a man who was finally ready to fight for something.

“Fuck that,” he growled, his voice suddenly shaking with something angry and scared and real. “You’re not leaving me. You’re mine. I don’t care how bad I am at this. I’m not letting you go.”

You were still crying. He was still shaking. And everything was still so goddamn complicated.

But he stayed, and that was a start.

---------------------------------------------

idk what this is honestly ...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373

[pr1nceofg0tham]

just thinking about laying with jason on the 4th, your hands over his ears as the colors pop in the sky—he feels silly, being afraid of fireworks when he shoots guns every night, but he’s so scared… scared he’ll go into some pavlovian shock where all the muscles in his body go taut, and his only impulse is to maim.

He loves you, too much to ever hurt you, yet as the booms reach their crescendo and your little apartment fills with light, he feels himself falling back into that old routine.

“It’s okay, Birdy,” you tell him, sweeping your hands through his hair and down his neck. “everything will be quiet soon…”

He hears the hope in your voice, the quiet prayer that the world will hush—that the only sound to be heard will be your breathing. He hopes so too… he hates worrying you, even though the worry is the third wheel in your relationship; He hates it, rather keep you content than concern.

“I love you,” he tells you, shuddering at the next bang, “so much, I’m so sorry.”

But when have you ever cared about anything but him? With your hands intertwined and your legs fit between each other, you tell him—honestly and truly—

“Worrying about you is one of my greatest treasures, if i didn’t worry about you, I’d be worried about something else,” he’s frowning even more now, even as his green eyes light with happiness. “And just between you and me, I’d rather be thinking of you than anything else.”

Jason smiles, an expression that ignites the room and the flame in your belly. You love him, he knows you do, and he would do anything to get you to keep looking at him.

When he kisses you, you taste like gummy worms and late night soda—a flavor so distinctly him it causes an eruption of goosebumps on his skin.

“I love you, honey.” he says between kisses, catching your answer in his mouth. “I love you.”

He kisses you even as the fireworks crash, he kisses you until after they go out… The whole time praying you’ll still be here next year to kiss his injuries away.

[pochaccoups]

cw — nsfw content minors dni, pregnant sex, size/strength kink, daddy kink, cheol calls reader ‘mama’ once, breeding kink, choking, light degradation, creampie. sequel to put a baby in me.

There’s something different about Seungcheol since he got you pregnant.

It’s not the increased attentiveness to you, or the more frequent spoiling and doting on you, or how extra protective and touchy he’d become. These things you saw coming.

It’s something physical. His aura had changed. Something about him is more… virile. Even more than before.

It’s hard not to notice it as he steps out of your en-suite bathroom with a towel around his hips, hair damp as he pushes it back out of his face, stray droplets of water dripping down his gleaming skin here and there over rippling, veiny muscles and full pecs.

“When did you get so big?” you say to your husband, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you’re squeezing your thighs together.

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling into something smug. He brings his arms forward and flexes them so that the muscles in his biceps pop. “You finally noticed.”

Normally you would consider throwing something at him for acting so cocky, but frankly your second trimester hormones have turned you into a wild animal. Unfortunately, his stupid display makes your entire body swelter.

“I’m bulking up so that I can be big and strong for you and the baby,” he continues, and for a second your entire vision flashes white.

Between your legs you’re throbbing so hard it hurts, and in your brain there is only Seungcheol’s shoulders, his pecs, his arms, his cock. You need it in you. You’ll die if you don’t get it.

“Fuck me?”

Seungcheol laughs, but he can’t conceal the gleam of arousal in his eyes as he watches you crawl across the bed and tug at the towel that’s covering what you crave.

“I just showered, my love,” he says without a single ounce of actual sincerity. He doesn’t even flinch when you unwrap the towel, let it drop to the floor, and take his cock in your hand as you stroke him to full hardness.

“And you have a pregnant wife who needs to get fucked or she’ll die, so what are you gonna do about it, daddy?”

He bites his lip for a split second, then he’s scooping you up in his thick arms and laying you against the heap of pillows at the headboard, slotting himself between your legs. His mouth is hot on yours, his tongue licking into you, while his hand sneaks its way between your legs and presses at your crotch.

“Do you want my mouth or my fingers first? Or both?” he quips, gazing at you through half-lidded, lust-filled eyes.

“Neither. Just want your cock in me, daddy,” you whine, reaching for his dick again.

“You know the drill, my love, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Cheol, I’m soaking wet twenty-four-seven because of the hormones. I’ll be fine,” you say, tugging at his cock like a minx.

Your husband is torn. One part of him wants to treat you with care; against your own judgement, he wants to open you up slowly for him like he always does, like the routine you both know. The other part, the part that is the reason you are as spoiled and adored by him as you are, sees no joy, no point, in not giving you exactly what you want.

The latter part also happens to be more animalistic, clawing its way to the forefront of his mind.

“If you insist,” he grins, tugging your shorts down your legs, spreading you apart for him, but not before he swipes a pillow from beside your head and tucks it underneath your lower back like you’re weightless. The action alone sends arousal flooding out of you.

He wastes no time then, prodding at your dripping cunt with his tip before he lines himself up with your hole. You gasp when he pushes in, slides every last inch into your heat without any resistance until he’s balls deep, until you’re stuffed full of him. While you’re you moaning from the mind-numbing stretch of his cock, his hips fall into a steady rhythm of rutting in and out of you.

His hands find themselves at the hem of your t-shirt, pushing it up over your swollen belly and over your tits too, bunching it up just under your neck.

“So beautiful, god,” he muses, drinking in the sight of you, his pretty wife, full of his child, while his warm hands dance all over your skin. “And all mine.”

He thinks you want to be coddled and pampered and made love to.

“Fuck me hard, daddy,” you whine, clawing up his biceps with your nails. It’s not enough to have him inside you, fucking you lazily like this. You’re greedy, hungry, for more.

There’s reluctance in his eyes as he stares at you, as he gives a glance at your belly. Usually it makes you swoon, how considerate he is of you, but right now it’s pissing you off.

“Ah, but, honey-” he starts, only to be cut off by you.

“I’m not made of glass, Cheol, so use those big muscles of yours and fucking pound me.”

He hisses at the way you clench your pussy around him, taunting him, his hand flying to the base of your neck. “Fuck. You’re being awfully demanding.”

“I think it’s only fair considering you knocked me up,” you grin, watching as he reels his hips back just to slam back into you.

“And who was begging me to a put a baby in her?” he teases, punctuates it with another harsh thrust that makes your mouth drop in a pathetic whimper.

He watches how your eyes roll back finally, feels the way your cunt clamps down on him again, and realises you weren’t being dramatic at all. You were craving a good, hard dicking down from him, and he sees that now, and he knows your cunt can take anything he gives you, so he leaves behind any hesitation, any mercy, and he starts to fuck you hard.

The switch is almost immediate. The tenderness leaves his eyes, replaced with something much darker, and all of a sudden Seungcheol is grunting as he pounds into your sopping hole, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to keep you pinned to the bed. His hips move fast, meeting yours with wet claps of skin against skin, and hard—so hard that the bed frame starts to squeak.

“Ah, f-fuck, Cheol!” you cry, clawing at the sheets beneath you as he hooks your legs over his arms and grabs at your hips, fucking your entire body along his length. His arms bulge as he manoeuvres you as he pleases, his shoulders so broad. The sight makes you hot, makes you gush even more of your juices until the sheets are a mess.

“Huh? Too much, baby? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growls. “Wanted to get fucked like a slut.”

“S-so big, daddy- ah!” you squeal, your nerves on fire with overstimulation as his cock carves open your walls, punches at your sweet spot again and again. The thing about pregnancy is it’s made you a hundred times more sensitive—everything he does, every touch, sends floods of hot, sparking pleasure through you and straight to your core.

You’re also warmer inside, and, like you said, wetter. Tighter, somehow, too. Seungcheol has to use twenty years of the mental discipline he’d learned from his training to not bust then and there from the way your pussy clings to him, tries to pull him inside and keep him locked there.

And he wants so badly to let you. Fuck, how he wishes he could stay inside your heat forever. He curses the Korean entertainment industry and he curses capitalism. He wasn’t born to be an idol, nor to work. He was born to stay buried in your sweet cunt, to keep you filled forever, to put baby after baby inside you.

Something compels him to bend over you, though he’s cognisant of your bump, and to catch your lips in a deep, heated kiss that makes your brain short-circuit. His cock is enough to make you go dumb, but his kisses are what kill every last thought in your brain, until all that’s left there is how good your husband’s dick is.

“My pretty mama,” he coos, hovering against your lips. His frame covers you entirely. “You take me so good, don’t you?”

“Yeah, f-fucking love your cock,” you sigh, grasping at his shoulders only for him to straighten up again a second later, back to letting you admire his figure.

He angles your hips up a little, hitting even deeper now with every stroke, his cock jumping as you reach for his abdomen so you can rake your nails along his soft tummy, behind which is a set of hard, toned muscles. You’ve always loved that he’s not just sharp, hard lines like stone, that when you cling to him, your fingertips sink into thick skin that’s only tough when he flexes.

Seungcheol nearly draws blood from how hard he bites his bottom lip, watching you writhe and whine and moan from the way he jostles you, as your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts. His handsome features are twisted into pure concentration and utter bliss as he pounds away at you, determined to make you come undone while simultaneously holding off his own release.

“Wanna cum, daddy,” you keen, tears brimming your eyes. “Want your cum, too. Wanna be full of you.”

“You’re already full of me,” he laughs, full of mischief. “What, my baby in you isn’t enough? Greedy little cumslut.”

“Cheollie, please! Right there.” You’re whining, your hand dipping between your legs to rub at your swollen clit, and you see stars starting to form.

“Cum on my cock for me, baby, and I’ll give you my cum,��� he moans, gritting his teeth as your walls tighten around him and your soul starts to leave your body before he can even finish his sentence. His heart leaps and twists with adoration and love as your tears finally spill over, as you tremble and shake in his hold, rapt with unimaginable bliss.

Your orgasm makes him let go, too, and finally he gives in to the hot, velvety chokehold of your pussy. He cums with what’s almost a whimper, lurching forward so that he can burrow into you impossibly deep and empty every last drop of his seed into you.

Even though he knows he gave you exactly what you asked for, Seungcheol can’t help the post-nut guilt that creeps up on him about the way he’d handled you—so vulgar. It’s even worse now that you’re carrying his baby. He’d fucked you like a toy, not the mother of his child. He’s a disgrace of a man.

Then there’s you, blissed out, skin glowing from being well fucked. You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Twenty minutes is enough for you to recover, right? Because I’m riding you next.”

[lupinqs]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU ━━ paige bueckers x ex-girlfriend!reader

☆ ━ summary: a night out leads you right back to your ex-girlfriend’s bed.

☆ ━ word count: 10.8K

☆ ━ warnings: smut (oral, fingering, strappp, scissoring, pure filth)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: not proofread and basically just porn goodnight

THERE’S NOTHING WRONG with Lucas.

You tell yourself that a lot. Not because you don’t believe it, but because you do. You believe it so much, it almost feels rehearsed.

Lucas is easy to love. Easy to explain. He says what he means and he follows through. He’s the kind of person who brings you flowers on a random Tuesday and remembers your favorite kind without needing to be reminded. He holds the door open for you—not in the forced, performative way, but just because that’s the kind of person he is. Thoughtful. Steady. Soft around the edges in a way that makes other people relax just by being near him.

Your friends love him. Your mom keeps saying things like “he’s a keeper” and “baby, he is so in love with you” and it’s not like she’s wrong. He texts back. He listens. He laughs at your jokes, even when they’re not funny. He gets along with your dad. He plays video games with your little brother. He always smells like laundry detergent and cinnamon gum, and when he kisses you, he cups your cheek like he’s holding something precious.

You like that. You like him.

It’s good.

It’s normal.

It’s healthy.

And for the most part, you don’t think about anything else. Not really. You’ve been… training yourself not to. You’ve developed entire routines around the art of not thinking about her—deleting old playlists and creating new ones, watching different shows, changing your route to class, rewriting entire chapters of your day-to-day life just so you don’t trip and fall back into the places where she used to live.

And it’s worked. Mostly.

Until it doesn’t.

Because Lucas will be saying something—something sweet, something thoughtful, something that would’ve made you melt if this were your first relationship—and you’ll feel this tiny flicker of something you can’t name. Not sadness. Not longing. Just… something. A quiet, sinking realization that you should be feeling more than you are. That what he’s saying is right, and hood, and all the things you’ve ever been told to want—but it’s landing in your chest like a feather instead of a thunderstorm.

And that’s the thing. Lucas is feathers. Warm, light, gentle.

But Paige?

Paige was fucking weather.

Not sunshine or softness or stillness, but storms. Paige was thunder and static and lightning under your skin. Being with her felt like leaning too far out of a window just to see what would happen. Like running a red light or driving a hundred miles an hour. Reckless. Stupid. Exhilarating.

Not that you think about her. You don’t.

You don’t think about the way she used to kiss you like it was the last time, even when it wasn’t. You don’t think about the fights that started over nothing and ended with slammed doors and tear-streaked apologies. You don’t think about the 2 AM screaming matches in her car that would turn into the 2:07 AM make-outs that made your head spin and send heat to your core. You don’t think about how being with her made you feel like a live wire—shocking, wild, electric.

Lucas makes you feel like you’re being taken care of. Like your future has clean lines and soft landings. He respects your boundaries. He never raises his voice. He doesn’t make you wait three hours for a reply, only to show up at your window like he’s in a movie. He’s never left you crying in the rain. He’s never made you cry in the rain.

It’s easy, being with him. Comfortable.

And maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe that’s why you said yes when he asked you out, and why you kept saying yes after that. Maybe that’s why you’ve tried so hard to get used to all this normalcy. You wanted someone who didn’t make your heart feel like it was constantly trying to break out of your chest. You wanted someone calm, steady, safe.

Lucas is all of those things.

He doesn’t make you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t make you feel like you’re on fire.

There are no extremes. No chaos. No bruised egos or tearful apologies or scream-raw throats. He doesn’t make you second-guess yourself, and he never looks at you like he’s seconds away from either kissing you or shouting at you. He just looks at you with kindness, with a quiet sort of adoration, like you’re exactly who he hoped you would be.

And still—still—there are nights when you find yourself lying awake next to him, the glow of your phone lighting up the ceiling, and you feel something sharp and shapeless pressing at the back of your mind. Not a memory. Not a name. Just pressure. The kind you used to feel when things were about to go wrong. Or when things were too good to be true. Or when she was around.

You don’t let yourself go there.

You shut it down

Because it’s not fair to Lucas, and it’s not fair to you. You’ve moved on. You’re fine. Everything is fine.

And besides, you already tried loving like that.

You gave everything—everything. You screamed and sobbed and kissed like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into someone like Paige Bueckers and got spit back out with bruises you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t sustainable. It wasn’t good.

You remind yourself of that whenever your mind drifts.

Lucas doesn’t make you cry.

Lucas shows up.

Lucas texts back.

Lucas doesn’t run hot and cold. He doesn’t storm out of rooms. He doesn’t pull you into closets at parties and fuck you until your legs are shaking, only to pretend like nothing happened the next day. He doesn’t keep you guessing. He’s consistent. Warm. Soft.

You can trust him.

You just don’t burn for him.

And maybe that’s what growing up is. Learning to choose what’s good for you over what feels good in the moment. Learning to stay steady instead of chasing the highs and lows of a love that made you lose your mind.

So, no—you don’t miss Paige.

Or, at least, that’s what you’re currently telling yourself.

You’re at Ted’s. UConn’s beloved, grimy, too loud and far too small campus bar. It’s girl’s night out—no Lucas, no boyfriends, just you and your friends. The music is bad, the floor is sticky, and you’ve already had one too many drinks, but none of that is really the problem.

The problem is that she’s here.

Paige fucking Bueckers is here.

Of course she is. Of course she’d pick tonight to show up, like the universe just can’t let you have a single night off. She’s across the bar, flanked by her teammates, posted up like she owns the place. And she kind of does. She’s got that charm, that draw—the one that makes people want to be near her, even if they don’t know why. She doesn’t even have to try.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen her since the breakup—seven months, not that you’ve been counting—but that doesn’t make it easier. The sting hasn’t dulled. The ache hasn’t faded. Every time you see her, it feels like getting burned in the same exact spot over and over again. Your body should be numb to it by now, but somehow it never is.

And worst of all?

She looks good tonight. So good it makes your stomach twist and shrivel.

She’s wearing black cargo id that sit low on her hips and cling just enough to the right places. A white collared crop top, short-sleeved and perfectly fitted, which gives you a detailed fucking display of her biceps and abs—both of which are bigger, sharper, more defined than when you had her. She’s been hitting the weight room hard this summer. You know it. Everyone knows it. She must want that natty bad.

She probably wants it more than she ever wanted you.

You hate how bitter that thought tastes going down, but it’s not like it’s new. That feeling—that doubt—was there the whole time. The fights. The jealousy. The nights she didn’t text back. The way her phone would light up late at night and she’d just turn it face down and mumble something about it being nothing. You wanted to trust her. God, you tried. But it was always like walking a tightrope with her. One wrong move and you’d fall.

She was a fuckboy before you got together, and you’re sure she’s a fuckboy again now. Probably worse. Seven months is plenty of time for her to rediscover all her old habits. You can practically see it written all over her tonight—the loose body language, the flirtatious smile, the way her eyes scan the room like she’s picking her next fuck. She’ll take someone home tonight. You don’t even have to wonder.

Some girl—probably sweet, probably impressionable, probably someone who has no idea what it’s like to be wanted and discarded by Paige Bueckers—will follow her home. She’ll get to experience first hand what all the hype is about.

You try not to think about how that was once you. Try not to think about the way Paige would toss you onto her bed and kiss you like she needed it to breathe. Try not to think about the desperate way she’d strip you bare. Try not to think about the skill her hands and mouth and hips held. Try not to think about the way she used to look at you—like she couldn’t believe she got to have you.

You try not to think about any of it.

You stare at her, hating her and wanting her and hating that you want her. And her hair’s down tonight—down—long and straight and golden under the bar lights. She never wore it down when you were together unless you asked, unless she was feeling soft, unless you were the only one she wanted to impress. She’d preferred it up, out of the way in a bun or ponytail. But now it’s out and shining like a fucking halo or something.

She’s laughing at something KK said, her mouth open and easy and happy, and you hate how good it looks on her. How it makes her shoulders shake just slightly, how her head tilts back, how she glows. She’s got a Dirty Shirley in hand—of course she does—and a devil-may-care look in her eyes like she’s on top of the world. Like nothing, not even you, ever touched her deeply enough to leave a mark.

She doesn’t notice you staring.

Good.

You tear your eyes away with more force than necessary, like dragging a splinter out of your own skin. It leaves you raw. But you want let yourself look again. You won’t.

Your drink is almost gone. You need more. You need to blur this out, soften the corners of the room until her shape doesn’t stand out in it anymore.

You mutter something to your friends and slip away toward the bar. Your legs feel heavy. Your skin too warm. You feel her presence behind you like a heat lamp, burning a hole in your back even if she’s not looking.

You shove through a group of guys yelling about the Celtics and wedge yourself between a couple of juniors who are too busy taking selfies to notice you. The bartender glances at you once, uninterested. You order a shot.

Then another.

Then, one more with your friend who just walked over.

You were tipsy before—now you’re full-on drunk. It’s dangerous and smart for this situation. You needed it, but it could also make things catastrophically worse.

You glance back—just once, just to be sure—

And she’s looking right at you.

Her mouth is still curved in a half-smile from the joke someone made. But her blue eyes are locked into yours, and for a second, just a second, the noise of the bar fades.

And you remember everything.

Every fight. Every fuck. Every late-night apology. Every quiet morning. Every lie you swallowed. Every truth you ignored. Every time she held you like she’d never let go.

And then did.

You break eye contact first.

Not because you want to. Not because you’re strong enough to look away. But because the heat of her stare is too much—it crawls beneath your skin, presses against your throat, makes your chest ache in that way that only she ever could. And you’re too fucking drunk to pretend like it doesn’t affect you. Too fucking drunk to pretend it doesn’t burn.

So you look away.

Swallow hard.

And then you turn your back on her, like the coward you swore you wouldn’t be.

Your stomach twists as you push through the crowd, arms bumping shoulders, elbows knocking against glasses. You’re headed for the bar bathroom, and you don’t even care how pathetic it looks. You need a second. You need air. You need to not be near her.

You make it to the restroom, barely missing the girl stumbling out with her heels in her hand and lip gloss smeared against her chin. You shut the door, lean back against it, and exhale hard through your nose.

It’s a shitty little bathroom. One mirror. Flickering light that doesn’t help stop your intoxicated brain from spinning. Peeling poster on the wall advertising Tequila Tuesdays. You avoid your reflection because you already know what you’ll see: mascara slightly smudged, lips parted, that look in your eyes—like you’re unraveling. You can feel it. You’re slipping. The drunk is mixing with the memories now. You’re seeing her hands on your skin again, hearing her laugh against your neck. You’re remembering the way she used to back you into this same wall when the two of you would sneak off here together, tipsy and breathless and stupid in love.

You press your palms to your eyes and mutter, “Fuck,” under your breath.

You hate her.

You hate her so much.

Except… not really.

You swore you didn’t miss her. You swore you over it. You promised everyone, including yourself.

But underneath all the anger and the betrayal and the hurt you still carry in your ribcage like broken glass, you do fucking miss you. God, you miss her. The way she smelled. The way she’d look at you. The way her voice would soften when she said your name. You miss what it was like when it was good—when she let you in, when she chose you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to breathe.

Then—the handle jiggles.

Your eyes snap open.

The door creaks. You forgot to lock it all the way.

And there she is. She slips inside like a shadow and shuts the door behind her, slow and certain. Her eyes are already on you—the same icy blue. You can tell by the look in them that she’s just as drunk as you are. You want to scream at her. You want to melt into her arms.

“You were looking at me,” she says simply. But there’s a rasp to it that makes your skin tingle.

You swallow and straighten your, your reflexes all sharp and brittle. “No, I wasn’t,” you snap, defensive, even though your voice cracks halfway through it.

She steps closer—crowding you, closing the distance in two long strides. You stumble back, spine hitting the cool tile wall behind you, and she plants her palms on either side your head, caging you in.

Her gaze flickers—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again. She’s reading you like she used to. And then she’s leaning in, breath fanning against your face as she tells you, “Don’t lie.”

Your breath catches. You look up at her, feeling small beneath her height. She was always good at making you feel that way. She’s still staring at your lips. You try not to stare at hers. “Don’t,” you say, and your voice is small, too small.

But she already knows that “don’t” means “do.”

Her hands find your waist, hot and certain. You should push her away. You should tell her to leave. But you don’t. You can’t. Your fingers curl into the collar of her shirt instead, and then she’s kissing you, and it’s not gentle. It’s rushed and tough and months too late. Her lips crash into yours like she’s staring for you, and you let her take what she wants.

Because you want it, too.

Paige’s hands are everywhere and nowhere, gripping and slipping and dragging fire down your sides. You can feel her breath stutter every time your hips tilt forward just slightly, like your body is trying to remember hers on instinct alone.

You’re both far too drunk, you know that. Her balance is all fucked, her touch a little too eager, a little too messy to be calculated, but she’s trying to make it feel that way. She’s trying to keep control. Her arm is braced next to your head, her body angled so your only exit is through her. She always used to do that. Always made herself a wall. And now she’s doing it again, caging you in like she owns the right to.

And worse—you’re letting her.

You’re letting her and kissing her and grabbing at her like you never want her to leave. You’re cheating. You know that. You know that Lucas is probably asleep at home, completely unaware that you’re pressed up against a bar wall right now with your tongue in your ex-girlfriend’s mouth.

And you should care.

But you don’t.

All you can feel is Paige—her mouth, her tongue, her teeth. All you can taste is her Shirley and whatever shots she’s been drinking and your lip gloss that’s been smeared across both of your mouths.

And beneath that—deeper than the alcohol and the anger—is the hurt. Yours and hers, bleeding through your kisses like you’re both too stubborn to admit how much it still matters. You hate her. You fucking hate her for what she did, for how she made you feel, for the way she stopped calling and let everything rot in silence.

But you also want her.

Desperately. Viciously. Shamefully.

She kisses you harder, lips slotting with yours like she wants to devour you whole. One of her hands drags up your side, long fingers bunching in your tank top until it wrinkles under her grip. Her other hand finds your hip and squeezes hard—possessive, rough, like she’s trying to bruise herself back into you. And you don’t stop her. You tilt your head back when her lips begin to trail downward, dragging along your jaw, your neck.

She sucks there, open-mouthed, like she wants to leave a mark. You gasp. Your fingers tighten on her shirt. Your knees almost buckle, and you’re suddenly very grateful the wall is there.

She knows what she’s doing. Of course she does. She’s always known.

When she gets to your ear, she nips—just the edge, sharp and quick—and you inhale so hard your vision blurs.

Then her hands slide from your hips to your waist and she presses her mouth right against the shell of your ear, voice low and warm and dripping with something that feels way too much like the past.

“Come back to mine, mama,” she whispers, pinching your waist for emphasis. “Let’s leave.”

Your breath catches. Everything slows, just for a second. You hear the music pounding from the other side of the door, the sound of someone laughing in the hallway. You feel her breath fan across your neck, her body flush with yours, her large hands holding you with a firm grip.

And you want to say no. You should say no.

But you’re drunk. And this is Paige.

You lean your head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips brush your throat again.

“Okay,” you breathe, so quiet you’re not sure she heard it.

But she does.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and pink, face flushed. She doesn’t smile. She just lifts her hand, swipes her thumb across your lower lip and chin, wiping her spit away. And then she grabs your hand and pulls you toward the door.

You stumble out of the bathroom together, the door creaking wide and hitting the wall like a gunshot in the haze of noise and cheap bar lighting. Neither of you say anything—you just look at each other and then move in sync, turning toward the back entrance like it’s muscle memory.

It is muscle memory.

The same hallway, the same emergency exit sign buzzing slightly overhead. You’ve done this before—slipped out together, ducking before your friends could ask questions or try to convince you to stay, walking home in that stupid little bubble where it was just you and her and the fucked-up, magnetic thing that kept dragging you together. It feels like that again. Familiar. Dangerous.

You push the door open, and the rain hits you in the face like a slap. It sobers you up maybe half a percent, just enough to register how soaked the ground already is. You look up in disbelief. The sky is coming down heavy now, full-on pouring—of course. Of fucking course.

Paige lets out this short laugh, all breath and surprise, like she can’t even believe the timing either. “Jesus,” she mutters, throwing one arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer into her side. “We gotta walk.”

You just nod because you already knew that. Her apartment isn’t far—not that you’ve been to the new one, just that you know the building. It’s about ten minutes if you’re sober and walking with purpose. Which, neither of you are right now. You’re drunk. She’s drunk. You’re dressed for the bar, not a rainstorm. And you’re making the worst decision of your entire relationship history, possibly of your life.

But you go anyway.

The two of you start moving down the sidewalk, feet slapping against puddles, your arm wrapped tight around her waist now, because fuck it, she’s warm and solid and familiar. Her shirt is clinging to her by the minute—white cotton soaked through and sticking to her torso, giving you a clearer outline of the muscle she’s been building all offseason. You glance at her abs, now shiny and wet with rain, and immediately look away again. Mistake. Everything about tonight is a fucking mistake.

Still, your body keeps walking.

The rain is cold and heavy, but your skin is buzzing and hot from the alcohol and the adrenaline and whatever this horrible, electric thing is between the two of you. It’s always been like this—heightened. Too much. Like your nervous system doesn’t know what to do around her except overload.

You try not to think. You try not to remember.

But you do.

You remember the last time it was late at night and raining and you were with Paige. Screaming in the middle of the street, voices cracking and soaked to the bone, fighting like it was the end of the goddamn world. And it kind of was. You ended up having angry sex in her car afterward, teeth and nails and hands clawing for something solid, something familiar, even if it hurt. You broke up the next morning.

You remember the heat of her skin, the sting of her words, the way she looked at you like she didn’t know whether to worship you or run from you.

But that’s how it always was.

You and Paige were never soft. You were sharp edges and blood-hot emotions and never knowing whether the night would end in a fight or a fuck. You both went a little insane because of the way you felt about each other—because neither of you ever knew how to not feel too much.

And now, you’re cheating on your boyfriend just to feel it again.

You shove the thought down as hard as you can. Focus instead on the way Paige’s fingers dig slightly into your waist every time you slip a little on the slick concrete. On the way her hair, long and straight and down for once, is starting to curl at the ends from the water. On how your teeth are starting to chatter even though the warmth from her body is leaking into yours, bit by bit.

And then, out of nowhere, Paige just stops walking.

You barely register it at first—your steps carry you half a beat too far until she tugs you back by the hand. You turn to ask what the hell she’s doing, but then she’s already kissing you.

Right there, in the middle of the fucking sidewalk in a downpour. No warning. No buildup. Just her mouth on yours like gravity snapped and she had no other choice. And maybe she didn’t; maybe neither of you do.

It makes sense.

When you were together and she was drunk, Paige always got like this. Clingy. Touch-starved. She’d pull you into her lap at parties, curl up behind you on the couch, mouth against your ear saying dumb little things that would make you blush. Always wanting to be near you, in you, around you, on you—like proximity made it easier to breathe.

That version of her is here now, kissing you like she’s trying to devour you. Her hands cup your face, holding you steady, but her mouth is anything but—urgent, greedy, moving over yours like she’s trying to memorize every part she’s been missing. Her lips are warm and insistent even through the cold, even through the rain that’s coming down heavy, pattering against the sidewalk, running down your neck, getting between your clothes and skin. It’s kind of miserable, but it also kind of doesn’t matter.

Because Paige is kissing you like she’s pissed off. Like she wants to make a point. Like she’s angry she still wants you, and the only way to get it out is kissing you hard enough to bruise.

And God, you feel it. Your body is lighting up from the inside, every part of you buzzing. You can taste the rain between her lips, the mix of it and her chapstick and the alcohol on both of your tongues. Her hands slide into your hair, tugging you toward her harder. It’s enough to coax a gasp out of you, and that only makes her groan and lick further into your mouth.

It’s clumsy and wet and messy, teeth knocking a little, breaths hitching, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for rational thought. And you let it happen. You lean into it. You want to punish her a little, too—want her to feel it like you do. So, you kiss her back just as angrily, like she’s not the only one with something to prove.

But then the chill starts to creep in. You’re soaked to the bone now, both of you only in tank tops, and the wind cuts sharp across your face as it whips through the street. As hot as you feel inside, you’re suddenly aware your body is freezing. Besides, you need to be somewhere inside to satisfy your real need—the one resting between your legs, pulsing and aching with want.

You pull back just a little—your lips slipping away from Paige’s, breath fogging between you—and try to catch your bearings. But Paige isn’t done. She follows you forward, mouth chasing yours like she can’t stand even the smallest bit of distance. Her nose bumps yours, big hands still gripping the sides of your face.

“Okay,” you mutter, voice breathless, dazed, trying to push her back with shaky hands on her chest. “Let’s go, c’mon.”

She stares at you, blue eyes wide and glossy under the streetlight glow, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

“Needa—apartment,” you stumble, the words coming out in fragments because your brian is still somewhere back in that kiss. “Like, now.”

Paige blinks like she finally remembers where the two of you are. She exhales slowly before nodding quicker, saying, “Yeah. Yeah.”

It doesn’t take much longer to get to her apartment. She’s in a different building now, not the same one she lived in when you were dating. You don’t even get a chance to look around before she’s telling you, a little breathless, “Jana and Allie are both staying at Azzi and Morgan’s tonight. We ain’t gotta worry ’bout none of that.”

You nod. “Good,” you reply, but it’s barely out of your mouth before she’s already closing the space between you once more.

Her mouth crashes into yours with this messy, impatient heat that catches you off guard even though you probably should’ve expected it. You gasp slightly, back hitting the wall with a dull thud as her hands find your hips and press in like she’s trying to fuse herself to you.

She kisses you hot and desperate, tasting like her Shirley and rainwater and you, like she’s been starved for too long and forgot what moderation is. Or maybe she never knew in the first place. Her breath is shallow against your cheek when she pulls back just barely, only to bite at your bottom lip, gentle at first and then not. Your knees buckle a little.

She starts walking you backwards eagerly, quickly. Your shoes squeak faintly against the hardwood floor, and every few steps, she pauses to kiss you again—at your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—each one a little sloppier than the last, like she’s trying to leave her mouth on every inch of your skin that’s currently available. You stop for a second to kick your shoes off, Paige doing the same, before her hands are right back on you.

You let her guide you, stumbling slightly but somehow never really tripping, your hands tugging at her shirt now without hesitation. Your fingers find the hem and you push upward, palms grazing the warm skin of her stomach, the firmness of her abs. She lifts her arms to help you, eyes fluttering shut for just a second as the tank top peels off her like a second skin, damp from the rain and sticking to her in places. You toss it aside without even looking where it lands.

She’s gorgeous like this—hair damp and sticking to her temples, broad shoulders gleaming slightly from the rain, eyes half-lidded and wild, white sports bra soaking into her skin. You pull her back in. She lets you, fingertips digging into your waist as she spins you slightly and then walks you back the rest of the way.

The door clicks shut behind you, Paige’s hand still on the lock as she flicks it closed without even looking. You only catch a blur of her bedroom before she’s pushing you, your back hitting her mattress with a dull thud. The bed’s soft, and it dips underneath you as Paige follows right after, crawling on top of you without a second thought.

She kisses you hard the moment she’s close enough. No pretense. Just mouth on mouth, rough and messy and hungry. Her knee slips in between your thighs like it belongs there, and suddenly she’s pressing forward, using the weight of her body to open you up, her hands already sliding up your sides, tugging at the hem of the tiny tank top you wore out tonight.

She’s always been like this—especially when drunk. She got clingy, reckless, possessive. All hands and teeth and sharp exhales against your throat. She never hesitated to take what she wanted. Clearly, nothing about that has changed.

You can barely think. Your brain is cotton. Static. Her mouth moves down along your jaw, biting just a little at your skin as her hands palm over your chest through the thin fabric, rough and eager, hardening your nipples. It’s overwhelming in the same way you remember. Like she’s trying to devour your whole. Like you’re the last drink of water on Earth and she’s been crawling through the desert.

You let her take. You’re not even sure if you could stop her if you tried.

“Paige,” you murmur, just her name because you don’t know what else to say. She hums against your neck, doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t slow down. Her mouth catches your collarbone bow, her teeth scraping skin, and you can feel your tank top sliding further up, her hands bunching it near your ribs.

You try not to think. About anything. Not about where you are. Not about who’s on top of you. Not about Lucas. Definitely not about that.

But your guilt creeps in, just for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

You’re cheating on your boyfriend.

You’re actively cheating on Lucas with your sort-of insane ex-girlfriend—who, to be fair, is currently kissing along your body like you’re something deserving of worship. Like she wants to go back to the night you broke up, grab it by the throat, and shake it until it gives you a different ending.

And the worst part is that you want her to.

You want all of this. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s messy. Even if tomorrow comes and you have to lie through your teeth about where you were tonight.

Thankfully, you’re pulled from your thoughts as Paige’s fingers hook into your tank top, pulling it up over your head in one smooth, urgent motion. It gets caught for a second, snagged under your arm, but she doesn’t even hesitate. Just lets out a breathy laugh and helps you lift your arms the rest of the way, tossing the top somewhere behind her.

She pauses when she sees you.

You’re bare from the waist up—unlike her, you didn’t bother with a bra tonight. The tank top was enough. You shiver slightly, skin still damp.

“Fuck, baby,” Paige mutters hoarsely. Her eyes roam across your chest like she’s recommitting your breasts to memory—which, she probably is.

And then she leans back in, mouth fast and greedy. Her lips graze across the swell of your chest, her tongue flicking out against one of your pert nipples. She sucks, cheekbones becoming prominent, as her hand stimulates the other bud. You arch into the touch, a quiet gasp escaping your lips, and Paige just groans in response.

She moves even lower, trailing wet kisses down your stomach like she’s trying to worship every inch of you in the fastest way possible. Her hair is still wet from the rain. It sticks to her forehead, her cheeks. You reach down without thinking and brush some strands behind her ear, and for a flicker of a second, her eyes spring up to meet yours.

There’s something in them—something messy and unspoken and so achingly familiar it almost knocks the breath out of you. She looks at you like she doesn’t know whether to say “I missed you” or “I’m gonna ruin you,” and honestly, it might be both.

You swallow hard as her fingers slide down your sides, wet palms skimming your hips. She shifts slightly above you, her knee pressing deeper between your thighs, and then she mutters, low and little slotted, “’M takin’ these off.”

It’s not a question, or a warning. Just a statement of fact, like she knows it’s already a done deal. Like she knows how much you want her. It pisses you off, but she’s right. You don’t bother trying to argue; you’re too impatient for that right now. Instead, you lift your hips, giving her room.

The denim peels off in slow, wet scrapes—Paige tugging your jeans down clumsily, muttering something under her breath about how soaked they are. Her hands fumble at your ankles, pulling the cuffs off before she throws the mess of fabric to the floor. Her hands are cold and your skin is goosebumped from the downpour, but somehow it just makes everything feel sharper, more alive.

You watch as her gaze returns to you before stilling. The grin sidles upon her face before she even says anything. Her lip quirks, slow and smug. She blinks once, then twice, like she’s confirming something.

“Well, would you look at that,” Paige murmurs, titling her head. Her voice is thick with amusement.

You frown. “What?”

She reaches out, brushes her fingers over the lace of your underwear before snapping the waistband against your stomach. “You wore these,” she replies matter-of-factly. The way she says it makes your face go hot.

You glance down, your stomach twisting the second you register. Lavender lace. The soft pair she got you when you were still dating, the one that belongs in the set with the bra. Purple is her favorite color. You hadn’t meant to wear them tonight. It just—happened. Bad luck. Or maybe subconscious salvatore. You’re not sure.

“Shut up,” you mumble quickly, but your voice is weak, defensive. You shift your hips slightly, trying to throw her off, but she doesn’t let up.

“Nah, nah,” she says, laughing. “You wore these. Tonight. These.” Her fingers curl just under the waistband once more like she’s framing the evidence. “These are my panties.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”

Paige just chuckles again—low and smug, the sound all warm breath against your thigh—and leans in. She presses her mouth to the inside of your leg, right above the lace, and bites. Not too hard, just enough to make you gasp, make your hips jerk. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you still as she drags her teeth across your skin again.

You feel her fingers trail up between your legs, teasing, lazy. She doesn’t even go for the waistband. Not yet. Just presses her fingers over the damp lace, at your clothed clit, where she knows you’re already pulsing for her. Her touch is light, maddeningly so. Just pressure, then a slow little circle, then nothing. Then again.

You exhale sharply, a little whimpering escaping before you can stop it.

“Yeah,” she breathes, all cocky and satisfied, rubbing at your pussy through your underwear—her underwear. “You want this, huh?”

You want to roll your eyes. You want to curse her out. You want to tell her to shut up again.

But you also want her hand between your legs, so.

“Obviously,” you mutter instead, shifting your hips closer to her fingers. “Jesus.”

She smirks. “Still so easy for me,” she murmurs, running her thumb in a slow, purposeful drag over your covered clit again. “Still so wet, even with these on. Shit.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way your body is reacting to her—how warm and staticky and shamefully good it feels, even after everything. Especially after everything. It’s fucked yo. It’s so deeply, stupidly fucked up. But the thing about Paige is that she’s always known exactly how to pull you apart, and tonight’s no different.

Her lips move up your thigh again, kisses slower now, mouth more deliberate. She’s still teasing you with her fingers, but at least she’s pressing harder now. Your legs twitch a little under her hands, breath coming faster.

You grab at her wrist. “Paige.”

She hums against your skin. “Mm?”

“Either take ’em off or don’t.”

Another smug little grin. “Bossy,” she mutters, but she finally starts to tug them down.

And you think she’s gonna rip them off just like the jeans and your tank top, quick and careless, like she can’t get them off fast enough. But she doesn’t. She goes slow with it. Real slow. The lace peels off your skin in soft, damp stretches, catching slightly on the curve of your hips, then your thighs, like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s careful with it, rolling them down past your knees, then over your ankles one at a time.

And then, instead of flinging them off to the side like the rest of your clothes, she hesitates.

She holds them, twisting the fabric around her fingers once. She looks at them for a second, like she’s remembering something. And then, without a word, she sets them down—right beside you on the bed, neat and deliberate like she’s placing something valuable. You roll your eyes; you know she’s trying to emphasize the fact that they’re “her” panties.

You watch as her blue eyes trail over you, before settling between your legs. She can see how soaked and slick you are. When she looks back up at you, that teasing edge in her expression is gone. Replaced by something darker. Heavier. Like the sight of you naked knocked the air right out of her.

“Fuck,” she breathes, more to herself than you.

And then she moves.

No more games. No more slow burn or smug comments or smartass remarks. Just Paige, leaning in with a newfound desperation.

The first thing you feel is her breath. Hot and shaky against your cunt, curling over you in waves that make your toes curl. Then her mouth—her lips, soft and plush and open, parting against you like a question she already knows the answer to.

Your hips buck involuntarily and she groans—low and satisfied and a little dizzy—like the taste of you hit her like a shot to the head. Her hands grip your thighs firmly, thumbs digging in just enough to hold you still as she licks a slow stripe between your folds.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Paige doesn’t say anything, but she hums like she’s pleased with herself, and the vibration makes you whimper. Her mouth works steadily, not frantic, not messy, just focused. Eager, but in control. She’s pacing herself like she knows exactly how long it’ll take to make you cum—and plans to stretch it out just enough to make you lose your mind before it.

You feel her shift, settling between your legs like she’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. One of her hands slides up, presses lightly over your stomach, while the other stays clamped around your thigh, keeping you open and spread for her. You’re breathing hard already, fingers fisting the sheets, head tilted back against the pillow.

But then she flicks her tongue just right—right there, straight on your clit, the perfect little spot she always used to find without trying—and your whole body goes tight.

“Fuck,” you choke out, hips twitching, hand flying to the back of Paige’s head without thinking. Your fingers tingle in her hair, damp and messy and soft, and she lets you, even leans into the pressure like it spurs her on.

“Mm,” she hums again, mouth still locked on you. Her eyes flick up for a second—just long enough for you to see the heat beneath them—and then she closes them again and gets back to work.

Her pace picks up, beginning to circle her tongue on your pussy with more pressure. Like she’s chasing something now. Like she’s chasing you. And when your hips roll up again, she moans softly like she loves that—like she needs it just as much as you do.

“Paige—” you stumble, her name coming out half-broken.

She pulls back for one second, breath ragged, lips slick and swollen, her nose a little wet too, and murmurs, “I gotchu, mama,” before ducking her head again.

And you know she does—in this position, she always does.

She sucks, lips around your bud, and your legs shake.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

Her fingers finally move—trail up your thigh again, then find their way between your legs. Her mouth moves down, tongue finding your entrance, thrusting inside. Her fingers, on the other hand, rub over your soaked clit in slow strokes.

You’re a mess now. Moaning soft and breathless, biting your lip, fucking Paige’s face. It’s too much and not enough.

Paige’s grip tightens. She keeps moving her tongue, rubs her fingers faster. The sounds emitting are obscene. Your whole body is trembling, your thighs clenching around her shoulders, your heart pounding so loud you can barely hear anything else.

You’re about to cum. You’re right fucking there. You know it, Paige knows it too.

And then: she stops.

Just for a second. Just long enough to make you want to scream.

Her mouth doesn’t move far. Her fingers don’t leave. She just slows everything down—lets her tongue go lazy, softens the pressure of her fingers into something more like a tease than an intention. Just enough to cool the fire without putting it out completely. Enough to keep you hovering in that frustrating, impossible space where you can feel your orgasm burning in your gut, but you can’t reach it.

You whimper, pathetic and desperate. “Paige,” you say. It doesn’t even sound like a protest—it’s too soft. Too needy.

And she just chuckles. Low and rough and stupidly smug. “Sweetheart, I know you ain’t think I was gon’ let you finish that fast,” she chastises.

She licks a lazy stripe up your center, just enough to make you shudder, then pulls back again to speak. “Uh-uh.” Her lips brush the inside of your thigh now. “Nah, baby. Not yet.”

You try to buck your hips, to chase the pressure, but her hand flattens against your stomach again, pinning you down.

“Be good,” she scolds.

It’s cruel. So cruel. But it’s not mean. She’s not doing it to punish you—there’s no spite in it. It’s worse than that. She’s doing it because she wants to. Because she likes this. The control, the way she can make your whole body lose itself with nothing but her mouth and a couple fingers.

She starts again. Slow. Gentle. Just lips and tongue at first—no fingers—circling softly, tasting you with this lazy rhythm that makes your whole body ache. It’s good. God, it’s so good. But it’s not enough.

Every time she gets you close—every time your thighs start to tremble and your hands fist in the sheets and your stomach starts to tighten like you’re gonna explode—she backs off again. Pulls away just enough go to keep you right there on the edge. And it happens again. And again. And again.

You lose count around the fourth time. Maybe the fifth.

Your entire body is flushed, sweat beading down your neck and across your chest, your breathing ragged and high in your throat. You’re begging now, pride gone. Just soft, broken pleads slipping from your lips.

“Please,” you whisper, over and over. “Paige, please.”

She hums like she’s thinking about it. “Please what?” she asks, voice all innocent like she doesn’t already know. “Whatchu want, baby?”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to cum. But mostly, you want her—her mouth, her fingers, her everything. The full weight of her attention. No more teasing. No more games.

“I want—” You can barely get the words out. Your voice is hoarse. “I want to cum. Please.”

She grins into your thigh, and you can feel it.

“Yeah?” she asks. “You want me to let you?”

You nod hard, nearly gasping. “Yes. God, yes, baby, please.”

She takes her time, still. Like she’s filing that away for later—your voice all cracked and pleading, your body practically shaking with want.

But then—finally—her mouth returns, this time with her fingers. Two of them, slow at first, just enough to ease inside, stretch you open at this perfect pace that makes your eyes roll back. And then her tongue follows—firm and fast and focused again.

She doesn’t let up this time.

Her fingers pump deep, curling just right with every thrust. Her mouth locks onto your clit, her tongue flicking and circling, and you feel it. You feel the difference. You feel her let you.

It builds so fast you almost don’t believe it’s happening—like your body can’t trust it yet, like it’s waiting for her to pull away again. But she doesn’t. She keeps going. Keeps fucking you with her fingers and sucking with just the right amount of pressure until you’re moaning like mad. Until your back arches clean off the bed.

And when you finally cum, you really cum.

It hits like a wave—full-body, all-consuming, a rush of heat and noise and sensation that floods your chest and curls your toes and makes your vision blur. You cry out, loud and unfiltered, Paige’s name breaking on your tongue as everything finally snaps.

She holds you through it. Keeps her fingers moving just enough to ride it out, keeps her mouth pressed against you like she doesn’t want to miss a single second of it. And when your thighs tremble and your hips jerk and you try to push her away, overstimulated, and breathless, she only pulls back slowly, letting you come down soft and dizzy and completely gone.

You collapse against the bed, boneless, the sheets twisted beneath you and your skin flushed everywhere. Your chest is rising and falling like you ran a marathon, your eyes fluttering shut, and your lips are parted like you forgot how to close them.

Paige crawls back up your body, slow and smug and glowing like she just won something. Her mouth is shiny, her chin wet, her eyes softer now. She leans in, kisses the inside of your knee, then your thigh, then your hip, then right between your ribs like she’s following a map only she can read.

And then she finally kisses you. You taste yourself on her tongue.

“Still alive?” she murmurs, pulling back just barely, her breath fanning over your lips.

You nod tiredly. She grins.

“Good,” she says, nudging your nose with hers. “’Cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

“Paige,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut. You can’t, you swear. After all the edging and teasing, you’re fucking spent.

“C’mon,” Paige breathes as her fingers trail back down, teasing light circles on your clit like she’s checking to see if you’re still there. Still dripping for her. Still a mess. You are.

But instead of going soft or gentle—instead of giving you a break—Paige just laughs, low and smug and annoying, leaning closer until her forehead brushes yours. She’s smiling down at you like she’s seen this movie a hundred times before and already knows how it ends.

“You can’t take anymore? Really?” she asks, faux innocent, like she didn’t just spent twenty minutes dragging you to the edge and yanking you back every time you even thought about finishing.

You shake your head, too wrecked to even be embarrassed. Your legs twitch under her, and your breath stutters when she dips her hand again, rubbing faster now, rougher. Quick circles.

Your eyes fly open. “Paige—!”

She’s right there, hovering, looking so calm it’s almost rude. Her voice drops low, warm and coaxing. “You got it,” she murmurs, then leans in, kissing you languidly. “I’mma strap you, ’kay? It’s gon’ feel good.”

You blink at her, heart stuttering. The words hit you like a wave of something—lust, maybe, or memory, or just plain old holy shit, it’s been a while type of adrenaline.

Because, with Paige, the strap is something different. And you remember.

You remember how it used to turn her into almost someone else entirely—more focused, more intense, like she stepped into a role made for her. All that cocky, athletic confidence of hers funneled into every thrust. It used to drive you insane. She’d smirk down at you, hold you steady by the hips, mutter stuff under her breath that made your brain go static. Always so good at knowing when to push, when to slow down, when to whisper something filthy in your ear like she owned you. And, back then, she kind of did.

So, if you already here, already ruined and half-gone and trembling in her bed—you might as well let her finish the job.

You nod, barely, and Paige’s smile shifts into something more serious. Still soft, but hungrier now. Like she knows this means something and she’s not gonna waste it.

“Okay,” she says, voice lower. “Don’t move.”

Then she kisses your cheek. Your jaw. Your collarbone. Her mouth is everywhere at once, moving down in quick little bursts of affection like she can’t stop touching you, even for a second.

You hear the drawer behind her open, the soft jingle of the harness. It takes her no time at all. She shimmies out of her cargos and boxers thickly, and fits the purple thing—same color as those panties she got you—to her hips with the same efficiency she’s got on the court.

She climbs back over you, eyes scanning your face like she’s checking in, making sure you’re okay—not just ready, but okay. Her hand slips under your thigh slowly, lifting it gently to drape over her waist.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just runs her fingers down your side again, resting them low on your hip as she settles between your legs. The silicone presses soft against your skin, and you twitch, already sensitive.

“Look at me,” she tells you, quieter now. Not demanding, more like a reminder. You do. You meet her eyes, and she gives you this look—tender, steady, locked in—that makes your stomach flip.

“You still want this?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.

You nod. “Yeah. Want you, P.”

Something flickers across her face when you say it. Then she leans down, kisses you once, deep and slow. Her hips roll forward just a bit, her strap dipping into your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” she mumbles.

Then she starts to move.

And—God.

You forgot how good she is at this. How well she reads you. How every stroke is meaningful—hips snapping forward in a rhythm that builds slow, steady, patient. She’s not fucking around anymore. She’s locked into this, onto you.

Your hands scrabble for purchase, fingers digging into her back, her shoulders, whatever you can hold. Your legs fall open wider around her hips, and the air goes thick between you—all breath and skin and sound.

She leans down, forearm braced beside your head, sweat already starting to gather along her hairline. Her voice is right against your ear now, rough and low, saying, “Fuck, missed this. Missed you.”

You gasp, nails digging into her skin.

She keeps going. Her hips rock into you steadily and your head tips back into the pillow. She’s so deep, so good, and your body is still humming from everything before—all that edging left you raw, still twitching and clenching down around nothing, and now she’s filling you. Driving into you with smooth, practiced thrusts.

She moves like she owns you—like this is hers, has always been hers, and you’re just finally getting back to what was supposed to be. You can barely catch your breath. The slick sounds between you, the pressure building low in your stomach, the quiet grunts coming out of her mouth every time she drives back—it’s a lot.

Paige’s body hovers over yours, strong and steady, blonde hair falling a little wild into her face—and yours—as she stares down at you. Her cross chain dangles above you as well. It makes you wet. Her eyes flick over your face like she’s tracking every breath, every twitch. Making sure she’s hitting the spot. Making sure you feel all of her.

You do.

Fuck, you really do.

Your fingers curl deeper into her shoulders, your voice slipping out in little gasps and stuttered moans.

“Shit,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” Paige says, breath warm against your mouth. She’s grinning again, cocky as ever. “That feel good?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “So good. Jesus—”

“Mmm,” she hums, and then she leans in again, nipping lightly at your jaw and throat. Her hips roll deeper, sharper, like she wants to remind you exactly who is doing this to you. “Don’t bring him into this. You know I’m the one that fucks you like this.”

You shudder—because yeah. She is.

And this shouldn’t be different. Theoretically. Mechanically. You’ve been having sex with a man for months now—Lucas, your boyfriend. He has a real dick and everything. And, with him, it’s been fine.

But this?

This isn’t fine. This is Paige. And what she’s doing to you—this focused, obsessive, filthy thing she’s doing with her strap and her body and her mouth and her fucking words—it’s not even in the same universe.

It’s better. So much better.

She’s in a whole different mode now. Not the teasing, soft, cocky Paige from earlier—not even the sweet, grinning, “let me make you feel good” Paige. This version of her? The one who puts the strap on and immediately goes a little feral? You almost forgot about this side of her. Or maybe you blocked it out because of how goddamn dangerous it is.

She moves harder, faster, her rhythm never faltering as she slips a hand under your thigh and pushes it up, opening you more, giving herself a better angle.

Her voice drops again, gravelly and low, lips brushing your ear. “You miss this dick, huh?”

You gasp. “Paige—”

She laughs, all breath and grit. “Yeah, you do. Don’t lie. You’ve been lettin’ him touch you, yeah? That boyfriend of yours.”

You blink yo at her, brain short-circuiting, and she moans when she sees it—the way you clench around her strap, the way your eyes roll just a little. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You let him fuck you?” she asks, still thrusting, her voice starting to get breathless. “Let him hear you make all those sounds you used to make for me?”

You shake your head—not because it didn’t happen, but because that’s not what matters right now. Not when Paige is here, inside you, her hand gripping your thigh tight and her hips snapping forward like she’s trying to make you forget everyone who isn’t her.

She leans down, pressing her forehead to yours, still talking through shallow breaths.

“He ever get you this wet? Huh?” she asks. “You ever beg him like this?”

You’re too far gone to answer. All you can do is whimper, grabbing at her shoulders, your legs shaking with every thrust. Your body—your cunt, mostly—feels like it’s on fire.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” she mutters, more to herself now. “You can let him date you, whatever. But you always come back to me for this. Don’t you?”

You nod. Or try to. Everything��s blurry now—pleasure curling in your spine, building too fast again. The way she’s thrusting, angled to brush against that gummy spot deep inside you every time, it’s criminal. And she knows it. She keeps her hand on your hip, guiding you into her rhythm, using your body like she built it herself.

“Paige,” you gasp. “I’m—fuck, baby, I’m close.”

Her eyes flash, and she slows just slightly, grinding instead of thrusting, pulling out a ragged moan from your chest. “Yeah?” she whispers. “You wanna cum for me?”

You nod fast, begging with your eyes now.

She leans in again, presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your lips.

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs. “Go ’head. I got you.”

She thrusts—so fucking deep—and your body goes completely out of your control. That pressure builds too fast, too tight, and your thighs shake. You clench around Paige, voice cracking into a high whimper. Your legs go stiff, whole body arching. Paige rides you through it, hips still moving, her mouth catching the sounds you can’t control.

You cum harder than you have in a long, long time. Even harder than the first one tonight.

And Paige—sweaty, wild-eyed, her strap glistening between you—just smirks down at you like she knows.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek again. “That’s my girl.”

She eases out of you slow, careful, knowing you’re tender, and even still, it makes you flinch a little. Your whole body’s buzzing—nerves fried, legs weak, brain a complete blur. And the second she’s out, that emptiness hits you like a gut punch. You sigh, deep and shaky, already missing the weight and heat of her even though she’s right there.

You’re still leaking, thighs sticky, body limp. You don’t move—can’t, really—so you just watch her through heavy-lidded eyes as she undoes the harness and slides it down her legs. She tosses it lazily toward the floor, not even looking where it lands, and then she crawls up beside you, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her pale skin is flushed and glistening. You feel the mattress dip as she pulls herself closer, wraps on long, sweaty arm behind your back, and drags to right on top of her like you weigh nothing.

You don’t resist. You just melt into her.

Her skin is damp and hot against yours, her abs tight beneath your belly, and she lets out a small, winded laugh as you settle in, tucking your face into her neck. Her other hand reaches up, pulls at the hem of the sports bra she’s still wearing. She shimmies it off with some difficulty, then flings it somewhere behind her with zero aim, sighing like she’s been dying to get it off for a while now.

You glance up at her, and she looks down at you, her mouth soft, a little swollen. Then, she leans in and kisses you again—slow this time. Not needy or rushes. Just warm.

You’re so lost in it that you barely notice the way she’s shifting—until her thigh hooks around yours and suddenly her cunt is pressed right against you’re. Skin to skin. Heat to heat. It sends a shockwave through you, makes your breath hitch in your throat and your hips jerk without thinking.

“One more, mama,” Paige murmurs against your lips. “Please.”

You almost say no. Almost.

Because your body is fried. You’ve cum twice—hard, both times. And you’re sore and wrung-out and still trembling in little aftershocks. But then she’s calling you mama in that voice again—sweet and wrecked and a little desperate—and you know exactly what she’s asking for.

She deserves at least once. She’s been so patient. So fucking good to you tonight. You don’t even think she cares about cumming, honestly—she’s always been the type to chase your pleasure more than hers—but still. You want to give her that. Want to watch her fall apart, too.

So, even though your body is screaming at you to rest, you give a little nod. And then another.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. One more.”

Paige kisses you hard this time, all teeth and tongue and gratitude, and then she’s adjusting your hips again, sliding one of her legs between yours and guiding your thigh up over hers. And then you’re there, pressed together, pussy to pussy, and fuck—it’s a lot. There’s no slow build. You’re already soaked and swollen, and so is she, and the friction is fast and immediate and sweltering.

She groans into your mouth as you grind your hips down into hers, and you can feel her grip tighten on your waist.

“God, baby,” she mumbles. “Fuck, you feel s’good.”

You whimper, already teetering on the edge again. “’M not gonna last,” you admit, breath catching. “I’m so—God, P—”

“I know,” she says, not missing a beat. “I know. Just wanna feel you. Wanna cum with you.”

She guides you with her hands, rocking your hips against hers, keeping the rhythm steady when your thighs start shaking.

“You’re so wet, holy fuck,” Paige breathes. “You’re makin’ a mess on me, mama. You hear that?”

You do. That obscene, slick sound where your pussies meet, the wetness mixing and sliding. It makes your cheeks burn, but it also pushes you closer.

You want to finish with her—you really do. You want to hold you, want to grind together until you both cum at the same time, messy and gasping. But your body has other plans. You’re too sensitive, too overstimulated, and it’s Paige. That combination doesn’t give you a lot of room to breathe.

So you finish first—again—your body seizing up on top of her. It’s not big like the others, but it’s sharp and sweet and hits you right behind your eyes, whitening your vision. You let out a breathy little moan and shudder all over Paige, your thighs twitching around her hips, your chest collapsing against hers.

“Fuck, baby, yeah,” Paige groans, feeling you cum against her, sliding along her own pussy. She doesn’t stop. She just keeps going, grinding up into you a little more insistently now, chasing her own orgasm.

Her grip on you tightens, essentially manhandling your hips now. She tilts up into you, breath catching, and you feel her tensing under you, her thighs locking around yours.

“God, I’mma cum—shit,” she yelps, one last grind of your pussy sending her over the edge.

Finally, you both go still, the air between you thick and humid and exhausted. You collapse fully on top of her now, cheek smushed against her collarbone, her arms wrapped loosely around your back, her heartbeat pounding under your ribs.

Neither of you talks for a minute. You just breathe.

And then Paige sighs, light and wrecked.

“Fuck,” she curses. “Are we gonna regret this tomorrow?”

You’re too tired to think about it. Too dazed to pretend like you have any clue what the hell any of this means.

So you just press your face into her shoulder, and mumble, because you do know this one thing, “Definitely.”

[jacksabbotts]

. ᵒ .༄ JACK ABBOT x MORGUE!READER !  ࿔* ·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🩻 possible trigger warnings .' anxiety  ‧ 🥼 ‧ ━━ WC 1.5k

series masterlist || inbox || ggc request form ━━━ ao3 * ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune and @uzmacchiato

⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · .  COLD AND PREDICTABLE ━━ chapter one ⋆ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ summary in which you ( the reader ) are a overworked and under appreciated morgue tech for the pittsburg trauma medical center. you are solely responsible for clearing out the deceased patients from the emergency department. but when there is a delay and all your cold storage lockers are full, jack pays a visit to this morgue tech he's never heard of ( aka you ) and basically tells you to do your job better ; ' (

you liked the morgue.

that wasn’t something you could say out loud—not even to the handful of people who actually knew your name. but it was true. you liked the quiet hum of the refrigerated walls. the soft thunk of a drawer sliding into place. the hum of the vents. the artificial stillness that wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. it was the only place in the entire hospital that didn’t ask you to be anything other than quiet.

upstairs, the world buzzed. phones rang. radios barked. nurses called to each other across fluorescent hallways and doctors stomped past with clipboards in one hand and coffee in the other. everything moved too fast. everything was too loud.

but down here?

the dead didn’t rush you.

they didn’t care that you wore your scrubs one size too big to hide your hips. they didn’t care that your voice was soft and slow and hard to hear over the hum of machinery. they didn’t ask why you never wore makeup or styled your hair or joined in on break room gossip. they didn’t notice your anxiety. or if they did, they were too far gone to care.

the morgue was a constant. cold and predictable.

you liked that.

your shift started at 6:00 pm, but you always arrived by 5:40. early was better than noticed. being early gave you time to breathe, time to fall into your routine. you changed in the staff locker room, tied your hair back into a low bun, and slipped your badge onto your lanyard—backward. You always wore it backward. the sight of your name and staff photo made you flinch.

there was something about seeing it—your full name, government bold in black and white—that made you feel visible in the worst way. better to leave it unreadable. it feels safer that way.

the other morgue tech on rotation left at 6:15 with a nod and a yawn. you didn’t mind being alone. you preferred it. you’d already checked the autopsy schedule—two expected tonight, maybe three. the overflow drawer was full, but you had room. you always kept it clean, always organized. the medical examiner said you were the best at inventory, and he was old-school—stingy with praise.

it was 6:42 now.

your dinner sat beside you on the break room table: a thermos of reheated lentil soup, a single slice of soft bread, and the green stanley thermos you brought every night with coffee made just the way you liked it. the same thing. every shift. routine was comforting to you.

you weren’t much of a talker. small talk made your palms sweat. eye contact made your pulse spike. you’d been called shy, cold, quiet, even weird—usually by people who didn’t realize you were listening. you always listened. you heard everything. that was your job.

you noticed the smallest fractures in bone. the subtlest bruises beneath the skin. you labeled instruments with care and sketched anatomical details in your private notebook—not because anyone asked, but because it helped you focus. because it gave your hands something to do. because it made you feel useful.

useful was the closest thing to confident you’d ever been.

you stirred your soup, carefully. the fluorescent lights above flickered once, twice, then steadied.

you didn’t eat in the upstairs break room anymore. not since that nurse in green scrubs—jessica, maybe—had looked you up and down and laughed, 'don’t you work with the dead people? what, they let ghosts have lunch breaks now?'

you hadn’t replied. just packed your food and left. she hadn’t meant it cruelly, probably. but the words stuck. most words did.

your thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of heavy boots on tile. you glanced at the clock.

3:14 am. too early for the medical examiner’s rounds. too late for the janitorial staff. too heavy to be anyone but—

the door slammed open.

you jumped.

a man stormed in—tall, broad, shoulders tensed under navy scrub top and dark wash cargo pants ( different from the normal doctor attire you were used to, but man he could pull it off ).

his chest rose and fell with labored breath, his short sleeves stopped mid bicep, exposing thick meaty forearms. his id badge bounced off his chest with every step, and his eyes—sharp, dark, furious—scanned the room like he was ready to fight someone.

you froze halfway to your mouth with your spoon, soup forgotten. 'can . . . i help you?' the voice was so soft, he almost missed it. like the words had to squeeze through a locked throat.

jack stopped dead. not the sight he expected. not even close.

tiny thing. curled up on a rolling stool, eating a thermos of soup like she was afraid it might fall spill out of your hands. drowned in baggy scrubs. barely looked old enough to drive, let alone be the only morgue tech on duty.

he shook off the flicker of surprise.

'you can explain,' he barked, taking a step in. 'why there are three bodies still in my er taking up beds i don’t have.'

her hands immediately retreated to her lap, soup abandoned. she didn’t even flinch—just… deflated. like someone used to being spoken to like that.

you blinked but otherwise still didn't answer. he advanced two more steps, hands on his hips, jaw clenched. 'can someone explain that to me?;

'i—I know,' she said, not quite looking at him.

'you the tech on tonight?' he asked as if he didn't already know the answer. you nodded. he exhaled through his nose. loud. 'perfect.'

you swallowed hard. 'i’m sorry. 'didn’t mean—'

'don’t apologize,' he snapped. 'just do your job. i’ve got live patients bleeding out in hallway beds while corpses are parked in mine like they’re waiting for the fucking valet.'

you flinched.

'why the hell are they still upstairs?'

his voice was like gravel—low and hoarse and too loud in the cold quiet of the morgue. you looked down, pulse in your throat.

'i can’t bring anyone else down,' you said softly. 'the storage is full. every drawer. every overflow table. i’ve been waiting on the funeral home pickup since midnight. they said morning. i—i sent three emails. no one responded.'

'who’d you email?'

she hesitated, eyes flicking to the badge on clipped to his scrub top pocket, then back down.

'uh, you.'

a beat of silence. just turned on his heel and walked straight out.

didn’t say thank you.

didn’t say sorry.

didn’t even close the morgue door gently behind him.

the door swung shut behind him with a dull clack.

you stared at it. then stared at your soup. then back at the door.

your fingers were still curled around your spoon, but your hand had gone numb. a familiar prickle crawled across your scalp and down your spine—the start of the cold-sweat panic you knew too well. it always came after. after the confrontation. after the humiliation. after the worst-case-scenario played out in real time.

you hadn’t cried. not yet. but your eyes stung.

you pushed your soup away, the smell suddenly sour.

why did you apologize? he told you not to. and you still did.

you always did that.

and of course it had to be him.

of course the first person to raise their voice at you in six months had to be that doctor—the one everyone talked about like he was a war god with a scalpel. jack abbot. trauma attending. king of the fucking er.

you’d seen his name on postmortem charts before, but you’d never met him face-to-face. he was a phantom. a rumor. a string of growled curses through stairwell doors.

but now?

Now he was the man who yelled at you while you held a spoon and shook like a leaf.

your heart wouldn’t settle. it beat in your throat, heavy and wet and fast. you stood slowly, hands trembling as you carried your tray to the small break room sink. dumped the soup. rinsed the mug. mechanical movements. muscle memory.

you didn’t do confrontations. you just weren’t built for them. every sharp word echoed inside you like it was etched into bone. every second of that encounter—his voice, the way he looked at you, the rage on his face—played on repeat, looping again and again with increasing sharpness.

why are there four bodies still taking up beds in my er?

like you’d chosen it. like you wanted the drawers full. like you weren’t down here alone, managing twenty-two corpses in twelve hours with no help and no backup and no one reading your emails for you.

and when you’d finally explained?

he hadn’t even looked at you. just turned around and left.

did that mean he believed you?

or that he just didn’t care?

you stood in the middle of the break room with water dripping off your hands and your badge still flipped backward on your chest. you didn’t move. you couldn’t.

you tried to shake it off. to tell yourself that it didin't matter. that him and his words were nothing to you.

you’d had worse days. you’d heard worse things.

but somehow, this felt different.

because this wasn’t just any doctor. this was jack abbot.

and you hated—hated—that even now, with your pride in pieces and your chest still tight from holding back tears, part of you still cared what he thought of you.

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