#fem reader

[reignpage]

Splish Splashing

Summary: in which Merman!Nanami courts and fucks Mermaid!reader Warnings: smut, f!reader, penetrative sex, lovemaking, mutual masturbation, merman anatomy, loss of virginity/couple's first time, dirty talk - praise, biting, blood drinking, cum eating, exhibitionism, unfortunate slips from past to present tense sorry lol - not proofread - will probs be edited later and more detail added Word Count: 2.7k

Merman!Nanami, for as long as he could remember, had always had a crush on you, another mermaid in his pod. How could he not with your iridescent scales, captivating hair which flows in waves around you, and seductive smile?

You were kind and graceful, offering your help whenever you could and leading the way for your family. A beacon of light in the darkness that he could not look away from. The quick conversations on his way to patrol the surface and you to teach the merlings were no longer sufficing; he wanted more. Merman!Nanami wanted to go home together, wanted to be in your presence from high tide to low, to know you inside and out, to be the thing that kept you tethered, the way you were for him.

For many moons, you two had been swimming around, grazing fingers and exchanging heated glances. In your eyes a curious, lingering depth could be found, enticing him to dive in, to succumb to the whirlpool and drown in all that you could give him. There was no doubt about it; you liked him back. He knew what he needed to do. 

The courtship began with small gifts like a small trident that he found from a shipwreck, fallen-off claws for your hair, and a hard-fought shark tooth as a protection charm. They were little trinkets that you could use every day; knowing you carried him with you as part of your routine made his heart soar. You accepted his gifts and his songs happily. 

But you deserve much more. So his search led him to the seafloor for something just as vibrant, as vivacious, and gorgeous as you. It was no easy feat but Merman!Nanami would not give up. He could not. Shaking off the persistent desire for mentorship from a pink-scaled guppy, he ventured into a burning, forbidden zone, where no mermaids or mermen dared look in the direction of – his fingers were sore and healing for weeks after he foolishly rummaged through the scalding rocks by the volcanic rift south of his pod’s coral palace, all to find a glowing emerald stone he had a friend fashion into a golden diadem. 

Of course, he had no regrets. 

At the full moon’s peak, when the whole Pacific Ocean’s humble citizens came together to celebrate the heightened forces that bind the community into a peaceful coalition with a feast, you two found each other in the crowd, practically drawn together, hearts beating as one. 

Your tails intertwined. Eyes locked. Voices humming the same tune. Palms pressed against the other, his fingers longer and webs slightly bigger, he led you through the other bodies searching for one another, the towers of coral, and rains of pearls, all the way up to the surface. Illuminated by the moon’s light, you looked up at him, shyly, and eagerly accepted his gift. It looked much better on your pretty face than he could have ever dreamed. 

“It’s beautiful, Kento.”

He breathed out, “Yes…you are. Uh, I mean, it is. No, you are. Beautiful. So beautiful.”

You laughed. “Thank you. But I do hope the night won’t end with just a dance and a crown, Kenny.”

Emboldened by the physical manifestation of his devotion, which weighed heavy upon your head, you reached up and kissed him. You shared the same air, fuelling his ambition and urging him to grip your hips with his calloused fingers. That was the furthest you two had ever gone, too shy to go too far too quickly. Nothing was holding either of you two back anymore. 

Turning ravenous, the kiss became sloppy and messy, saliva dripping down his chin, tongue mingling and teeth nibbling on sore lips. Merman!Nanami asked, “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

“Ken…if you don’t fuck me tonight, I’ll drown you myself.”

“Always so violent,” he mused. “Alright, my love. Let me feel you.”

The rubbing and grinding of your lower halves together was driving him wild. Like an impish eel, your arm slithered down, dainty fingers expertly navigating the sensitive slit on his tail. 

Merman!Nanami gasped. No one but him had ever touched him like that. No one else had delved into the burning pocket there and felt the smooth skin inside, swollen with need. He jolted. Your fingers are softer than his, more gentle, and satiny. It felt like Olympus submerged. 

“Have you touched yourself here before, Ken? Be honest.”

Red-faced and a little ashamed, he admitted, “Yes. Sometimes it feels better than touching my cock.”

“Hmm, I bet. I’m sure you could cum just like this right?” With your spare hand, you coaxed out the hot length of his cock and rubbed up and down, thumbing the underside of his leaking cockhead. “Wow…you’re so big. I’m almost scared it won’t fit. But we’ll make it fit, right, Ken?”

“S-sweetheart, p-please.” He didn’t know what exactly he was begging for. All he could think about was how right it felt to have your body pressed so close to his, breaths mingling, and tongues exploring the wet caverns of parted mouths. Merman!Nanami let slip a frightened whimper when something foreign begun to grow from his scaled slit. “What’s happening? That -ngh!- t-that feels odd.”

You nipped his bottom lip, swallowing the bead of blood and moaning at the sweet rush of his addictive taste. “No one told you about this, Kenny? You’ve never found it yourself? Oh, you’re like a poor little guppy.”

Clinging onto your breast and flicking the nipple there, hidden under jellyfish-like tendrils, he demanded, “Don’t make fun of me.”

The giggles from your soft lips almost brought a smile to his. 

“Sorry, Kenny. It’s a spur. It’s supposed to make me feel good…here.”

His fingers were guided to your slit. He was a stuttering mess, overcome with delirium and flustered at finally being able to feel what he’d envisioned during late nights and had only heard about through seaweed vines from bragging mermen. Hot, sticky and exceeding expectations, Merman!Nanami could only fumble about, poking and prodding like a useless clownfish. You should have left once you saw his inexperience. He wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Instead, you held him tighter and whispered encouragements.

Similar to his own, your slit had thin-scales surrounding the vulnerable area. When he groped there, you shuddered. And inside, it was smooth and swollen. Once he got a grip, emboldened by the marks you were leaving on his skin and the pumping of your fist up and down his throbbing cock, he pushed his fingers deep inside, webs flexibly pushed back.

A strange shyness overtook you, unused to baring yourself to someone else, forcing you to hide your face in the crook of his neck. There, you dug your teeth into his flesh, sending venom into his bloodstream just as you drank his blood mercilessly. His hips stuttered. "Good girl...it's alright...keep -hah- drinking."

The venom was making him lightheaded. You'd penetrated him, your very essence coursing through his body and filling him up. It was addictive. Maddeningly so. In that moment, Merman!Nanami understood the obsession mated pairs had with drinking from each other until they were rendered paralysed and unmovable for days.

Shaking his head to keep focus, he wrangled through the euphoric haze derived from being able to sustain you to your mesmerising cunt.

Whereas his was only a shallow space which hid his cock, yours seemed to go on forever. Impossibly tight and delectably gummy, he found himself scissoring his fingers, not to stretch you in preparation as he knew he should have but rather, just to feel you. 

At the apex stood a small clump that, when rubbed in circles, elicits louder moans from you. That must have been what all the mermen of his age were so proud to have found, he realised. 

There were pleats by the entrance and then a pillowy area reminding him of the heads of jellyfish. He curled his fingers against it. You moaned. “Does that feel good? Hmm? Do you want more, sweetheart?”

You jerked him off faster and faster. The feeling , coupled with your delicious voice, was going straight to his head. “Yeah, Ken. Please.”

“Oh, so polite. What a good girl. Come here, sweetheart. Come give Kento a kiss.” The novelty of the feel of your lips might never wear off, he thought. It was a kind of bliss no one could ever deserve. And the mere suggestion that you’d welcome him so wholeheartedly, under the dazzling stars and full moon, embracing him – all of him – was sending him deeper and deeper into a world of joy he’d kill to keep. 

The breast covering you wore had torn off some time ago, leaving your bare flesh touching his. Manic, he found himself muttering anything that bubbled in his head. “I c-can’t believe I’m supposed to go inside here. In your pussy. You’re far too tight, like a clam.” 

Through whines and whimpers, you scolded him. “Don’t compare my pussy to a clam, Ken. That’s bad.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He swallowed hard. Truthfully, he wasn’t thinking. No one could think clearly when the most beautiful thing to have graced the depths of the sea is in their arms, moaning their name and baring their mark upon their head and on their supple body. 

Merman!Nanami sent vibrations through the water with his sudden thrums; your teasing tongue had found his gaping gills. He had never felt that kind of pleasure before. Poseidon be damned, he didn’t even know he was sensitive there. More and more you were teaching him all about the body he’d carried his whole life, awakening him to a world of wonders and pushing him to want more. 

“Oh, my darling pearl, can I put it in now? Please. I want to cum -hah- inside of you. I want to feel you. To be one with you.” You hastily mumbled affirmations into his mouth. He sighed, relieved and impatient. Clumsily, he lined up with his cock, thumb accidentally skimming his newly-discovered spur and hissing at the sensitivity there. Inch by inch, he made his way inside. “Fuck! Ah, fuck, so good, so tight, so -hngh!- warm.”

Feeling your gummy walls with his cock was so different than with his fingers; it was as if he could feel you better. You were scalding, softer than anything anyone could find in the sea and on land, he was willing to wager, and so tight he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. Never in a million years. Not even if the gods themselves commanded it.

When he bottomed out and the spur at the top of the base of his cock met your clit, you both gasped. “K-ken…what a dirty mouth you have.”

“Forgive me, my love.” He pleaded, hips instinctively driving through your clenching walls. Merman!Nanami knew he should have taken things slow, should have been more romantic and made sure you were alright but your pussy was sucking him in like the most deadly current and he could only go along for the ride. “I just need to -hah- to make you mine. All mine.”

“I am yours, Ken. Always.”

A shaky smile filled your sight. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I-I promise to treasure you for life.”

You pricked a finger against his canine and allowed him to suckle at the blood trickling out of it. Merman!Nanami whimpered at your taste, already feeling the powerful effects of your blood in his system. He sucked even more down his throat, suddenly finding himself so thirsty. As if urged on by a supernatural force, his hips gyrated his spur against your clit in tight circles. 

“That’s really -oh so good, Ken- sweet. But I want to h-hear you say you’re mine too.” He cooed and kissed your pout away.

“I’ve been yours before I knew that our souls are one, sweetheart. I was only ever made for you.” His fingers trailed along the fins lining your spine, touch light against the crevice. The membrane twitched just as your walls clamped down on his dick. “Don’t! Ah, f-fuck, don’t tighten on me like that.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw hanging and flashing your sharp teeth. “Then don’t say -hngh!- romantic things to me. Ugh, fuck, I’m close, Kento. More. Give me more.”

“Yes, sweetheart, w-whatever you want.” Merman!Nanami was ramming and pounding and plunging into your quivering cunt. His spur was rubbing and grinding and kissing your pulsing clit, all while he tickled your spinal fins with one hand as the other kept your lower half in place. “I’ll give you the world. Anything to make you happy.”

Hand over his chest, feeling the rapid beating there, you said, “I only -ah, wait! Hey! I’m trying to be sweet too. Hmm soo good… you’re distracting me.” 

He whispered an apology on your cheek, not slowing down at all despite your complaints. “You’re already plenty sweet, my love. The sweetest. But go on, darling. Make my teeth rot, you adorable thing.”

In retaliation, you flicked his nipple just to watch his head be thrown back with a hiss. “I was saying…I only need you, Ken. Just you and your beautiful heart.”

“Say the w-word and I’ll -hah that’s it, sweetheart - I’ll take it out and give it to you.” And he meant every word. There would only ever be one deity he’d swear his life to and she was wrapped around his cock. Just one sign from you and he’ll roam the seas looking for whatever will make you happy.

Tails intertwined and no longer working to keep you two afloat, you both spiralled beneath the surface, falling deep into the depths of the water, uncaring of who could see. As far as he was concerned, there were only the two of you. You and your sweet laughter, your sloppy cunt, and loving embrace. 

The diadem on your head rattled with both the weight of the gemstone and the force of your rocking and jostling. You'd never looked more majestic.

So, when your mind-shattering orgasm, which left you a babbling mess on the crook of his neck, propelled him over a cliff, he painted your walls with a grunt. 

“Kento!”

There was no rhyme or rhythm to his thrusting, only a desperation to be emptied so you can be warm and filled up. Some drops of his cum were pooling out. He quickly scooped them up and brought them to your mouth. Finally, his cum wasn’t going to waste, beading into pearls in the water. You were absorbing them into your body, greedily gulping the spend and clamping for more. 

"Delicious, Ken...you've saved up a lot for me, haven't you?"

Merman!Nanami cradled your body as he slumped down on the seabed, sand disturbed. He was still inside you, albeit quickly softening, but neither of you made a move to get him out – the closeness was comforting. "All for you..."

Freshly fucked out, he still couldn’t grasp the fact that he finally touched your skin, tasted your kiss, and heard your melodious voice calling for him. It was everything he dreamed of and beyond. A life full of darkness, of loneliness, of swaying with the waves with no direction or destination ended. Together, everything laid out, bare for each other, you made vows that would last for an eternity. 

“We should probably go back to the party, Ken. Our friends will be looking for us.”

Merman!Nanami pinched your chin and tilted your head back. Unable to help himself, he stole another kiss, swallowing your moan. You giggled. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing the infectious laughter from your lips. If he could bottle it up and take it with him anywhere, he would, even if he had to sell his voice for the opportunity. 

“Hmm, I think they can wait after one more round, no, darling?”

You laughed even louder. “We’re not going to see them at all tonight, are we?”

He smiled. “No, I suspect we won’t.”

"You may not be planning on seeing us but we sure as Tartarus have been seeing you. A lot of you, actually. Perhaps too much, one could say."

Merman!Nanami's smile dropped and a deadpan expression took its place. "Hello, Gojo...and the entire pod."

[kingkaisen]

SATORU GOJO decided to spell his name while eating you out.

His large hands were gripping your thighs, fingertips digging into your soft flesh to stop your squirming, and he slowly swirled his tongue from your clit to hole, forming the letter S.

He took his sweet time when it came to the letter T. The motion of forming that uppercase letter had him gliding his tongue across your clit. His bright blue eyes glanced up and noticed the way you were gripping the sheets, your thighs trembling around his head.

His last name contained two syllables, so Satoru thought it was only appropriate for him to pump two fingers inside of you, of course.

A puff of air hit your slick clit when Satoru gave a small laugh, finding it amusing that, when his tongue circled your pussy once he reached O, you start to come — during which he attached his lips around your clit and sucked — as if O stood for orgasm rather than the final letter of his last name.

He wasn’t finished though! You started to rise, but he reached up, pushed down on your hips with his large hands until your back was flat against the bed again.

Your name was next.

@sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib @http-bell @meretrixla

[chososcutie]

MAKE THAT PULL-OUT GAME WEAK!

synopsis❤︎: jjk men when they 'accidentally' cum inside..

featuring❤︎: gojo, toji, nanami, & choso

tags❤︎: fem!reader, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl, premature ejaculations, breeding kink, praise, petnames, office sex, voyeurism, needy!men, submissiveness, slight dubcon

SATORU GOJO

“h-hah baby.. fuck!” satoru throws his head back, hips arching upward as you bounce on his cock reverse cowgirl style.

he looved this position for a variety of reasons, mostly because of the way your ass would move, reaching out to squeeze a handful of the soft, supple globes and watching as your pussy greedily swallowed every inch, slamming up and down on him repeatedly, echoing smacks! of skin on skin filling the room.

you had been going for quite some time now, your hips never faltering as satoru feels his taut stomach grow even achingly knottier, each heaving breath an effort as his eyes fall half-lidded.

“s-slow down.. mmph!” he moans as you pause, only to roll and gyrate your hips, cock molding your gummy insides perfectly as his thickened tip hits deep into your cervix, dragging swelteringly hot strokes back n’ forth as the sensitive veins lining his dick thump thump!

“such a biiig stretch..” you toss him a look over your shoulder, eyelashes lowered and fluttering, and your cheeks flushed. “feels s’good ‘toru..”

he closes his eyes briefly, the coil in his stomach tightening as your sticky thighs and dripping cunt hover over him and raise yourself up and down, riding him into oblivion with a mischievous little smile.

you knew what you were doing.

his hands come to your hips, helping you to bounce faster, feeling your pussy clamp tight before spasming, a slutty little moan drifting out of your mouth as you cream all over his cock, drenching him in honeyed slick. “mmph.. cumming, cumming..!”

and as your cunt tightens and clenches hard around him, until every ridge and vein of his is contoured to your warm, plush walls, it’s all too much.

“baby..! get off! get off!”

satoru tries to warn you desperately of his furiously fast-approaching orgasm, his cock throbbing deep into you, as he tries to hold off and lift you off him, but you’re too far gone, coming down from your own climax with euphoria.

he screws his eyes shut tightly, trying to last but then you wriggle your hips, wedging him deeper, pussy squeezing like a vice and it’s over.

endless spurts of ribbons n’ ribbons of creamy white pulse into you as steadily, satoru’s grip on your hips pins you down on top of him while he fills you up, a milky white ring forming around his base as he sucks in gasping heaves of breath.

you shudder, your voice coming out in a whine. “s’toru are you.. cumming?”

his cock is still drooling stringy wads as his answer comes strained and breathless. “fuck.. m’sorry baby. i couldn’t.. pull out.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“please doll.. need you s’bad.” rough palms slide up your stomach to cup your breasts, toji’s veiny, thickened tip bumping your entrance as he leans over you, jagged scar on his lip coming to brush your cheek gruffly as he pleads with you.

“b-but we don’t have an.. ah.. condom!” you manage to breathe, your body betraying you as it squirms and tries to align itself with toji’s round, pulsing cock head, smearing the sloshing slick of your cunt back n’ forth with a hoarse grunt.

“i can pull out.. heh.” his already sweaty forehead is pressed to yours, head drooping downward as he sucks in feverish breath after feverish breath, hips slightly grinding against the plush softness of your tummy for relief.

your legs part slightly, revealing the beads of shimmery sheen dripping from between your thighs, your need palpable from the way your puffy clit twitches and throbs. “o-okay.. just please.”

he chuckles lowly at the sight, voice catching in a slight growl as he slots himself between, heavy jumping cock resting against you.

he splays a big hand across your stomach, just above your belly button, and you feel him start to push in, chubbed inch by inch. “gonna feel me all the way here..” he pushes down slightly on the growing bulge steadily sheathing itself deep inside you.

you moan out something caught between a whimper and a plead, and with one sharp thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, bludgeony tip prodding into your cervix and heavy balls smacking against your ass.

and he’s already moving, one hand coming to your throat, holding you down as he ravages you, shamelessly throwing his head back and grunting.

you had never felt him raw before, and your glassy eyes rolled back at how every delicious vein, curve, and ridge of his cock was plummeting inside you, shaping your insides to fit him perfectly.

“ohh.. so mm’ fucking tight..” he growls softly, slamming his hips roughly into you, grip bruising as he hits your cushy, sweet spot repeatedly, watching your face contort in drunken pleasure, lascivious drool pouring out of your slacken jaw. “feels even better without a.. hah.. piece of rubber in the way.”

thick digits wander down to your puffy bud, rubbing slow circles as you squirm, whining how close you are, before all of a sudden, you’re cumming hard, absolutely drenching toji’s muscular lower abdominals in your squirt, his nasty hips reeling back before suddenly pausing.

“did you jus’..” he shudders, hips twitching frantically as he begins to pull out, but he’s too slow as his sudden orgasm washes over him all at once, hot, sweltering gushes of seed that fill you to the very brim of your overstuffed cunt, so much pouring out in creamy sheens, it has your stomach bulging and sloshing with it all.

“toooji..” you whine, peering at how gooey wads of white dribble down your thighs messily, clearly not having pulled out.

and still cumming, he looks up at you sheepishly with glossy eyes.

"wan' be a pretty mama, doll? 'cause you just might be after this.."

KENTO NANAMI

nanami was a practical man, he worked hard at his office, he was sweet to you even during intimacy, his hands were always gentle and composed, and he definitely didn’t forget protection.

but that all went out the window the second you, his pretty wife came to visit him at his office, bringing along a special lunch you had cooked just for him, knowing how stressed and overworked your poor husband was.

and a few minutes later, with his sloppy hips pistoning in and out of you, and your tits pressed harshly against his desk with your cheek squished against his neatly stacked paperwork, it turned out he was hungry for something else..

“got all dolled up jus’ f’me?” he coos softly, slamming his reddened cock, blushing and beading pearly precum at the tip in n’ out roughly, your skirt and panties bunched up at your waist carelessly, visible to anyone who walks by kento’s office.

but he doesn’t seem to care, usually neatly trimmed blonde hair sticking to his forehead sweatily, plunging himself so deep into you, you swear you can feel him all the way in your throat, a dumb little fucked-out expression on your face as you cling onto the rattling desk for dear life, back arched so sluttily as his hands grasp tightly onto your hips, rolling you back n' forth onto his cock, you're surprised no one else hears the filthily wet noises echoing throughout the office.

“darling, i might have to pull out..” he sucks in gasping heaves of breath, brows knitting together almost painfully as he tries to hold off his oncoming orgasm, placing his hands on your hips gently to slide himself out of your gummy warmth, much to your dismay.

“w-wait, m’so closeee!” you whine, backing up steadily into him to suck in more of his fat cock. “just a lil’ longer, c’mon..”

and oh, who was nanami to say no to his darling wife?

with a winding tightness in his stomach, he fucks into you harder, hips slapping against you with every thrust, until you’re whining, messy tears spilling from your eyes as your scorching hot walls clamp so tight around him, he couldn’t pull out if he tried.

and then you’re cumming, your pussy drooling your saturated shimmery essence, and fluttering around nanami’s sensitive, twitching dick.

“honey.. ngh!”

and that’s all he can say, before he’s absolutely dumping loads n’ loads of sticky white seed into your clamping pussy, euphoria overtaking his senses as he drills his cock deeper, forcing you to take every last drop.

"fuck sweetheart!" he curses low as his hips snap ferally into yours, unable to stop the copious amounts of hot white cum he's endlessly spurting into you, your traitorous cunt milking him for all he's worth as you squeak in surprise.

"kentooo.." you watch his milky dredges drip! drip! drip! out of your messy, sloppy pussy, folds stickily glued together, as his hand comes almost reverently to push on the little bump in your stomach, watching in awe as all of his creamy ropes instantly gush out of you generously.

"sorry honey.." his voice is raspy, strained, but his eyes are heavy-lidded and filled with desire. "but this makes me think.. wan' have a baby?"

CHOSO KAMO

your plushy thighs sprawl apart under the frantically panting man above you, practically ripping your panties off as he nuzzles his cock between your thighs, humping softly with needy little tears pricking at his dark, fluttering lashes.

“i knooow i didn’t bring a condom..” he whines, thick leaky member pulsating steadily in between you, thickened mushroomy head ever so slightly bumping the entrance of your pussy as he pleads.

"buut i'll be good, swear! m'gonna.. hah.. pull out! please just let me.."

his dick nestles itself in between your sappy sticky folds, choso's hips rutting animalistically back n' forth between them, barely restraining himself from just plunging into your hot, gooey walls right then and there.

"s'okay cho.." you whisper, stroking through his messy black space buns and tugging slightly, causing a whine to leave his throat. "just fuck me."

instantly his hands are fumbling to wrap around your waist, as he sloowly pushes himself in, groaning at your tight clamping muscles of resistance as you squeeze around him tightly.

you had always used protection, so the feeling of him going in raw was completely unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

every throbbing vein, pulsing ridge, and his hot bulbous tip pressed directly into your cervix is magnified, making the room hot n' humid, choso's feverish forehead dropping onto yours with a pathetic little moan.

experimentally, he pulls out until only the tip is inside you before slamming himself back in harshly, the wet sound of skin on skin echoing as he quickly finds a pace, fucking you roughly, with your legs intertwined behind his back.

you moan softly as his hefty balls slap into your ass with every thrust, tits pressed against his sweaty bare chest only heightening your sensations until you're so close to cumming, you can taste it, your vision starting to blacken at the corners.

choso is close too, obviously not able to last very long with the feeling of your bare pussy wrapped around him like a vice, his grunts turning breathier and needier as he feels his stomach go taut.

and just as he's about to regretfully pull out of your warm, welcoming cunt, you squeal, legs tightening around his back and effectively trapping him as you gush all over his poor, sensitive cock, stringy drools of your slick running down all along your thighs messily.

"uungh..! baby! baby open your legs!" he tries to get out, but he's barely able to finish the last word before he's absolutely spurting heaps of buttery seed, unable to stop as he shudders, hips stuttering and bucking into you sloppily.

you have a cute little flushed look on your face as you come down from your high, staring at where you two are connected, and watching choso's hot, slithery ropes seep out of you steadily with a little giggle.

you shift, widening your legs as you press a kiss to his nose. "s'okay cho, i'm on the pill."

he lets out a shameless whimper, throwing his head back as his hips press further into you. "that's good 'cause m'still cumming.."

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!!

[c-monthecob]

"Y/n threw her long blonde hair into a messy bun"

[jeankirschteinsimp]

Shaving your husband Toji Fushiguro, sitting on the sink and him standing between your legs.

His large hands gripping your thighs while his eyes watch you intensely, following your every move.

“You’re having fun, woman?” he said gently, feeling your soft hands on his jaw.

“Yes i do, Toji. I like to do things for my husband.”you replied smiling up at him and noticing the shift in his eyes and stance.

His grip on your thighs tightened and he leaned in grabbing your throat softly.

“You like to do things for ya’ husband? Then why don’t you turn your cute ass around and bend over the sink to make him real happy.”

This wasn’t going to be the last time to shave your husband Toji. He even demands it…

Art by @0mxmo on X

[veraiku]

best friend!geto who listens to your rants about your cheating boyfriend while treating you better than him (in bed and outside) !!

╰ — cw ! fem! reader, riding, fluffy smut I think, loverboy geto hehe, reader’s bf cheats and she cheats back w geto ♡. / smut below.

best friend!geto . . . who has always had this odd animosity towards your boyfriend, because he just didn’t seem to click with him - and even so, he doesn’t have anything to prove that your boyfriend really wasn’t the one for you.

best friend!geto . . . that when he finally finds out that he’s a cheating prick, is more than willing to listen to your rants all while taking care of you to help you get through the harsh news that he’s been secretly hoping for so he can snatch you right up. ♡

“h-he’s just such a dick—”

best friend!geto was listening to your words carefully - alright. his ears were wide open, hands caressing your hips softly to comfort you through the devastating news of your boyfriend being a cheating asshole after all.

he offers you comfort late at night, despite the initial grogginess - he opens the door with arms wide open despite it being 2:44 in the morning, shutting the door with his feet as you stumble into his arms with tears streaked cheeks, arms rubbing your back gently as he coos sweet words into your ear to reassure you - taking a few whiffs of the perfume you were wearing while he was at it.

“Hah - h-he keeps forgetting our dates,” you managed to coherently mumble out, lifting your hips slowly, before slamming right back down on his cock, your ass hitting against his pelvis in the most delicious way, in a way you never got to experience with your boyfriend.

He was letting you take him at your own pace - hands on your hips to guide you through each drag, all while his violet eye lock onto yours so longinngly, like hes been waiting for this for ages.

“Ugh - tell me about it.” He grunts softly, brows scrunching together softly at the way your walls seemed to clench a little tighter when it reached with mushroom tip, making him have to bite back a groan and throw his head back whenever you drag your walls up, up, up against his twitching dick.

“A real prick, dont’cha think?”

His voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back - holding himself back from doing something he might regret end up doing later despite it seeming like the best decision in the heat of the moment.

And he was.

He loves you - truly, he does. And he wants to be there for you when you experience those rocky moments in your life, but having you talk to him about it with your walls wrapped around him was not making it easy, no - not the slightest. Honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s loving this decision or feeling somewhat guilty for using your current emotions over your boyfriend - now ex - to get what he wants. He was biting back the urge to move you a little faster, to buck his hips upwards to shove his dick a little bit deeper.

But he’s got to control his desires - he thinks. If he gives in so easily, give into his lustful, dirty desires too quick - will that really make him much of a batter person than your ex?

No, it wont.

“U-uh huh,” your hands were splayed onto his chest, using it as support as you continue to slowly ride him - trying to ease into the girth stretching you out, threatening to split you in half. In your defense, you’ve never really had seen someone with this big a dick before - not even your boyfriend could compare. Who knew your usually reserved best friend had such a monstrous cock hiding behind those pants?

“.. I wouldn’t do that,” he starts it off slowly, trying to coax you into going a little faster as soon as he sees the way the tension leaves your shoulders bit by bit the longer seconds pass.

“I’d be a damn fool to not treat a sweet girl like you right.” He sighs shakily, and his chest heaves - his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink which he was certain the night moonlight would’ve highlight if his windows weren’t blocked and shadowed with curtains right now. He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bopping as he guides your hips.

“Y’think so?” And he swears he’s doing something right either the way your walls clamp around him tighter. He couldn’t resist the soft grunt escaping his throat, lips parting open slightly in pleasure. Whatever that is that he’s doing right - he sure as hell is gonna continue it.

“‘Course i do,” his voice was breathy, slightly shaky - he practically had hearts in his eyes. You looked so beautiful like this - not that you weren’t beautiful in any other way, but seeing the way your lips were slightly parted, soft pants slipping past and your cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink?

Oh, he’s hooked.

“I’ve known y’longer than him.”

“know what kind of person you are,”

He bites the inside of his cheek at the way your nails dig into his chest slightly - like you were trying to give a small warning to not lie to you.

Not that he could ever lie to you. He could hardly ever resist you, there’s no way he’d be able to lie - to your face, especially.

“how - haa, sweet you are.” The pace he kept you going at was slow, but deep enough to hit the spots inside of you that had you weak. Slow and thoughtful, showing you that not everything has to be rough and quick - like what your ex had showed you. That love, too, can come slowly at its own pace.

“how your eyes light up when I mention the cafe just across my apartment,”

“the way you huff out a exasperated breath when you’re upset.”

His eyes were half lidded, both from pleasure and from the weight of the amount of love he feels for you right now. Sure, you came here with glassy eyes and tears prickling the corners of your eyes - but he can change that.

Turn that into you coming into his apartment with a smile, with him waiting for you - with a soft embrace before pressing a gentle peck onto your lips. Not tears, not the harsh truth your boyfriend had revealed to you - just pure adoration.

“..you recognize all that?” your hips stutter slightly, feeling his fingers dig a little deeper into the flesh - making your eyelashes flutter.

“how can I not?” he asks - as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

And to be fair, it was - everybody seemed to know about his little crush on you, except you. Everybody noticed the way he looked likes kicked puppy when you revealed you got a boyfriend.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip gently, heart beating against his rib cage as he practically confesses his love to you.

“recognizing your habits has got to be a bare minimum on what a man should do.”

He leans forward, keeping you still - his cock still inside of you, but he doesn’t want you to move - not yet. His eyes gaze into yours, leaning his face closer, just close enough to count the amount of eyelashes on your eyes.

“and clearly, your ex is no man.”

You swallow thickly at the proximity, the tension growing - but it wasn’t unpleasant. You could feel his body heat, feel the weight of his gaze on you. A small smile tugs the corners of your lips, your head tilting to the side slightly.

“then why don’t you show me what a real man can do?” you mumbled softly, the tip of your nose just barely grazing his, warm breaths mingling. He returns the smile, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into a soft, genuine grin - his hand lifting to cup your jaw gently, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheek.

“well, I can’t exactly deny my lady, can I now?”

a/n ! not proofread oops .. but I enjoyed writing this smm, sorry if I haven’t been posting lolz idk what 2 post ^_^ .. reqs r open though, feel free 2 drop by !! (per usual, reblogs r very appreciated ♡)

I do not consent for plagiarism, copying, or translating in any form whatsoever. thank you!

[edensrose]

𐔌 𖹭 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 . ִֶָ๋

ᡴꪫ. smut & oral 𖹭 f. reader 𖹭 part 2 ˖ ࣪ꮽ˳

satoru refuses to let you suck him off.

he'll swim between your legs for hours. until his lower face is all glossy and eyes glazed the pussy-drunk daze while he needily laps on your cunt.

but the second you're even beginning to oggle his tent and lower yourself to your knees? he's yanking you up and splaying you over the nearest piece of furniture he can. can't suck his dick when you're dangling over his desk now can you?

at first you assumed maybe he's just not into that. maybe he doesn't feel comfortable with it. you can respect that —

until you found out the real reason.

"I wanna make you feel good instead, baby." you could barely take his pouting seriously as he hovered over you, bare. he'd lean down to nuzzle your neck with a few kisses to follow. "don't want you to worry 'bout me too much. feel good making you feel good."

which started the long and frankly, trifling operation: suck satoru gojo's dick.

the idea that he felt bad over the idea of you pleasuring him reminded you of the same reason you fell in love with him in the first place. no way in hell are you ending this year without getting your boyfriend's cock down your throat!

this strings a series of, honestly, comedic events. you went with the obvious, waking him up with it. you planned strategically, trained yourself to wake up just an hour before him and awaited for the perfect time to strike.

you only got to pulling the waistband of his boxers down before bright blue eyes stared you down, processed, and yanked you over his face instead.

damnit. maybe during a movie? he's so engrossed in his latest geek obsession that surely he wouldn't notice your head lowering, right? until you were nuzzling his crotch through the blanket and he jerked, squeaked, spilling the bowl of popcorn.

"no no no don't even —" buzz.

infinity!? he put infinity on?

"satoru. gojo." you warn through glaring eyes. it ended with you strung over the sofa arm with two, strong hands holding you down while he's ball's deep. fucking you dumb through the end credits with a mean thumb to your swollen clit.

"yeah baby? yeah? so impatient for me huh?" anything to get your mind off of the previous agenda.

don't even try the shower. his hand buried into your hair, yanked you off and then hoisted you. shoved you into the wet tiles to instead get bullied by his cock. legs helplessly strung around his waist while his ragged pants found your ear.

"pretty girl's just so needy huh? wants my cock so bad? you can have it baby, don' worry."

hell, even after a busy week where he's deflated across your bed and you're grinding on him to get you both there. your slick heat coating his pulsating dick. catching his tip on your clit and spilling your joined moans through the room.

the second you tried your luck he's shuffling for a pillow with a rushed; "he's shy! leave him be!"

it seemed that your little operation was failing miserably. satoru is just too fast for you. too infuriatingly good at making your mind go blank with his tongue, mouth or dick. you'd forget what you even started in the first place. but you're a stubborn woman.

so, what's the next scheme?

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

[lexawritex]

—the maid

★ karina yu, the yu family’s precious gem, the only daughter, married to a man she once believed was the one for her. now she suffers a one sided marriage, imprisoned in her cold mansion. when hope seem to have disappeared, one young maid enters her life. karina x fem!reader 7.3k wc ⚠️ adult content, smut, dom!reader, fingering, cunnilingus, swearing, violence, lee jae wook

karina remembers it very clearly.

how bright and colorful her life was when she met her husband, mark. she loved him and he loved her. that was enough. 

or so she thought. 

because just a week after their wedding, that bright, colorful life began to fade into something dull and lifeless. his heart turned stone cold, and his eyes no longer held the warmth she once knew. he was no longer the man she had fallen in love with.

but when they went out to parties or social gatherings, he slips into the role of a loving husband. a skillful performance that masked the coldness beneath. and the moment they were away from prying eyes, the act vanished like a switch being flipped. behaving like strangers.

karina understood why. it was painfully clear. he hadn’t married her—he married her money, and he never even put any effort in hiding it.

so now she’s trapped inside her cold fortress, broken down by someone who doesn’t even spare her a glance, emotionally and mentally bruised.

-

karina lifted her head up upon hearing the sound of door opening. she paused from her painting session and watch as an elderly woman walked in carrying a tray.

it was the head maid, donna.

"where's the young maid?" karina asks.

donna placed the tray and turned to face karina.

"she was pregnant, she resigned." karina nodded, resuming on her painting.

"but the new one should start this evening."

karina hums, "make sure she's well debriefed." 

donna nodded before leaving the room.

karina looks at her painting. a dull mixture of gray and blue. symbolising the mental situation she is in.

a few rooms away from karina’s, you stood before the head maid, donna. her expression was stern as she went over the house rules and your chores.

you stood still, hands clasped in front of you, fingers picking at the small scab on your knuckle.

“you will start this evening. miss karina needs her tea whenever she goes out on the balcony. i assume you know how to make tea?” she asked, eyes fixed on you expectantly.

you nodded, offering a small smile.

“yes, i do.”

“good.”

after explaining your duties, she handed you a uniform—a black dress that stopped just above your knees, with white cuffs and collar, and an apron trimmed with frilly edges.

you wore it and smiled at your reflection in the mirror before being called to the kitchen.

the clock struck 9 pm, the time karina does her nightly stay on the balcony, so you began preparing her tea. you made sure to ask the chef how she liked it—better safe than sorry. you’d learned the hard way in previous jobs, when messing up meant getting scolded or worse.

carrying the tray, you passed by karina’s husband, jae wook. you greeted him quietly, but he didn’t even spare you a glance, walking past like you were invisible.

“what a dick.” you muttered under your breath.

reaching the balcony, you saw a woman in a black silk robe that looked like it cost more than your entire paycheck.

you gently knocked on the glass door, quietly announcing your presence.

karina shifted, turning her head to the side, revealing a profile so breathtaking it stole your breath away.

she looked like a statue in a museum. every feature perfectly carved by gods and goddesses.

“i said, put it down on the table.”

a firm voice snapped you out of your trance.

you flinched and hurried to place the tray on the glass table.

‘great job, yn.' you muttered to yourself.

afterwards, you stood at a respectful distance—not too close to invade her space, but close enough for her to call on you if she needed anything.

a week had passed and you observed many things in the mansion.

karina and jae wook barely interacted. scratch that—jae wook ignores her completely, no matter how many times she tried to reach out. you couldn’t help but pity her. it was painfully clear how much she loved him, how desperate she was just to get a sliver of attention, a single sign that he cared.

then came jae wook’s suspicious habits—coming home late at night, often drunk, sometimes smelling like he’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes. you could tell he was hiding something. something painfully obvious. an affair.

men often smoke to cover the scent of perfume, and jae wook’s constant cigarette smell every time he walked through the door gave him away.

it made you feel sorry for karina, seeing how badly he treated her, how little she deserved it.

you felt it was unfair for her. though you have not known the woman enough, but you felt like she deserved better.

“yn." donna called.

you looked up. “yes, madam?”

donna called another maid over and nodded toward you. the maid smiled and took over the dishes.

“karina asked for you.”

you nodded, dried your hands, and headed toward karina’s room.

you knocked softly before entering. inside, karina sat on a stool with her back to you, facing a large canvas.

her head turned, eyes meeting yours briefly before she looked back at the painting.

“you asked for me, miss?”

karina hummed. “i wanted to ask your opinion.”

she stood and stepped away from the canvas, inviting you to look at her work.

the painting was a swirl of blues and grays, strokes scattered seemingly at random. to most, it might look empty and plain, but art was a language of feeling—and this piece spoke volumes about what karina carried inside.

“everyone else said it looks empty." she said quietly.

“it is empty.” you agreed.

karina’s eyes searched yours, unreadable.

“but it perfectly captures the artist’s feelings—an empty chaos.” you added.

she let out a soft, faint chuckle. for you, it was a moment that felt like life itself.

the sound seemed to tickle you. you wanted to hear it again.

“finally. someone who understands.” she said, settling back onto the stool.

you looked at her face—once so blank, now softened with a hint of relief and amusement. her eyes sparkled with a new glint of interest as they met yours.

“what’s your name?” she asked.

“yn, miss.”

“yn... yn...” she repeated, as if testing the sound.

you liked how it rolled off her tongue, how her voice softened when she said your name. suddenly, you found yourself liking your name more than ever before.

the next day, she called for you again.

you stood by the door, close enough for her to feel your presence as she sat at the vanity desk, brushing her long black hair.

“do you enjoy art, yn?” she asked, eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

“i do. it fascinates me how people express themselves in so many different ways.” you answered.

karina hummed in agreement.

“art is... very interesting. it helps me destress when things get too hectic to handle.” she said softly.

then she paused and turned to face you.

“do you paint?” she asked.

you shook your head. “unfortunately, i wasn’t gifted with the talent for it.”

karina chuckled, the sound once again pleasing to your ears. the fact that you had sparked it made you feel unexpectedly warm.

“how unfortunate. i would have asked you to paint with me.” she said, turning back to the mirror.

then she paused again, looking at you through the reflection.

“be my muse.”

you froze, eyes wide, mouth hanging open before you could find the words.

“pardon?”

“be my muse. since you can’t paint.” karina said casually.

she stood up and walked to the spot where she usually painted. grabbing an empty canvas from the corner of the room, she settled it on the easel.

you remained frozen in place, like a statue, watching her prepare.

karina glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

“do i have to drag you myself?” she asked.

you snapped out of it and quickly moved to where she wanted you to stand.

“there. perfect. don’t move.” she said, sitting on the stool.

you stood still for the entire afternoon. though it was uncomfortable and unpleasant, the way her eyes lingered on you made it worthwhile. you liked how she studied your features, how her gaze held you. you enjoyed the attention more than you expected.

the moon hung high when karina finally finished. you let out a sigh of relief, grateful to finally move. you reached out to peek at the painting, but karina held up a hand to stop you.

you looked at her, curious.

“i’ll show you tomorrow.” she said softly.

you nodded and left her room.

karina watched the door close behind you before turning back to the painting. she took one last look, then stood and walked toward the bathroom.

jae wook arrived late. again. as he entered the mansion, he spotted karina sitting on the couch, watching a show. hearing his footsteps, she looked up and stood, eyes widening. 

she followed him as he made his way to his office.

“you’re late. again.” she said quietly.

“i’m tired, karina. not now.” jae wook replied curtly.

“you smell like cigarette. you smoke now?” she asked, nose wrinkling at the stench.

jae wook sighed, turning to face her. his eyes were dark, dull—not the ones she once loved.

“can you just leave me alone, karina? i don’t want you up my ass every single second!” he snapped, turning his back on her.

karina’s eyes glistened with tears. she bit her lip, trying to hold back a sob. without another word, she turned and hurried out of his office, running to her room.

you saw it all—the sadness in her eyes, the weight on her face. no, you didn’t like it. she didn’t deserve this.

you stared at the closed door of jae wook’s office before padding back to your room. face shadowed with something dark.

the next morning came and you were met with a calm karina. her face peaceful like she hadn't just cried over jae wook last night.

"good morning, miss karina." 

her eyes landed on you, the stare giving a tingling feeling on your skin.

"good morning, yn." she greets back. your heart raced at her response. that was a first. she usually just hums or nods whenever you greet her.

"are you curious to see that painting?" she asks and you nodded, excited to see how you look like in her perspective.

karina flips the canvas so it's facing you and the second your eyes landed on it, you were speechless. frozen on the spot, eyes marvelling at the art before you.

"miss karina?" you managed to call out.

"hmm?" she hums, looking at your face. interest swimming in her eyes as she takes in your fascinated expression.

"am i looking at a mirror right now?" you asked but what answered you was a beautiful melody.

karina laughed. she laughed. albeit short, it was soft, angelic, something that came from heaven. you wanted to hear it again.

your eyes tore off the canvas as you look at her, enchanted by her laugh.

there, a small smile rested on her lips. you made her smile. you made her laugh. you couldn't be prouder.

"what do you think?" she finally asks.

you look back at the painting. you were looking at yourself. a portrait of you so beautifully painted, your features perfectly captured.

"miss karina, this is breathtaking! you really are blessed with such talent!" you exclaimed, stepping closer to examine the painting.

karina felt her lips twitch upward upon hearing your words. something unfamiliar swelled in her heart, it made her happy, seen, recognized, acknowledged.

she rests a hand on where her heart is, unsettled with such unfamiliar feeling.

your eyes caught it, a smile carved your lips.

"you should be proud, miss karina." you said.

karina blinks, looking at her work.

"i feel weird." she says.

"that's pride, miss karina. be proud of what you made." 

those words never left karina’s mind. even when she was in the shower where she usually thinks of the past, your words echoed repeatedly. 

it had been so long since she's heard genuine kind words. she almost forgot how it felt to be seen. and for the first time, she felt free, not chasing for jae wook’s attention.

and all of it was because of you. a young maid that was supposed to be just another person. but you became someone in her life.

maybe someone she can learn to trust.

-

you laid on your back, eyes staring at ceiling. paint peeling off, a thin carpet of dust on it and cobwebs decorating the corners.

your mind flashed back to walking past expensive vases, paintings, small sculptures and handcrafted wall decorations. all of it looked very pricey. the yu family really are filthy rich.

your eyes glimmered at the thought of having your hands on it.

 after all, it was your main intent in getting this job.

it was easy. rich people tend to get lonely and sad very easily. you get them to trust you, break their walls down, take their treasures and then disappear. 

but karina.

you couldn't imagine doing such thing to karina. 

she wasn't just any rich person with a treasure. for you, she was the treasure herself. a neglected one. 

you remembered seeing her face for the first time. you felt like looking at a statue in a museum. the way her tears looked like pearls when she cried, or when you caught yourself staring at her smooth skin that looked like she bathed herself in milk.

her melodic voice that sounded like a siren's song and an angel's instrument. and lastly, her hands. those hands. skillful, blessed with talent.

oh, she was more than just treasure and it's driving you insane. she's driving you insane and you might just become obsessed.

one night, on your way to your room, you saw karina sitting in the living room. a show played on the tv, but she didn’t pay attention to it. instead, she stared down at her phone, waiting for a notification to light up the screen.

your blood boiled. she was clearly waiting for jae wook.

again.

you walked over to her.

“miss karina?” you called softly.

she looked up, meeting your gaze.

“oh, yn. heading to sleep?” you nodded, eyes fixed on her.

“how about you, miss? aren’t you going to sleep?”

karina shook her head.

“i’m waiting for jae wook." she said, and your stomach twisted.

you almost scoffed, but held it in.

“but it’ll be late when he arrives. will you be okay?”

“i will, don’t worry. you should sleep, yn.” with a helpless nod, you left and walked to your room.

but sleep wouldn’t come.

you tossed and turned on the hard mattress, your mind racing. why did karina still care for that man? jae wook didn’t deserve her. he didn’t deserve such a treasure.

then you heard it—faint voices. a man’s voice, loud and angry.

you sprang to your feet, pressing your ear against the door.

“i told you it’s nothing!”

jae wook yelled, anger bubbling beneath his words. karina scoffed, refusing to believe him.

“i’m not stupid, jae wook. that’s a hickey!” she snapped back, eyes locked on the red mark barely hidden on his neck.

he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, jaw clenched tight as he bit back the words threatening to escape.

“i had a rough day, karina. don’t start." he said, then stormed past her, his footsteps heavy and angry.

karina stayed rooted in place, eyes cast downward, until the sharp slam of a door made her flinch.

her fists clenched tightly as tears welled up in her eyes. she padded down to her room, slamming the door shut behind her as she slid down with her back against it, sitting on the cold tiled floor, letting her emotions spill free.

she hugged her knees, resting her head on her arms, trying to muffle her sobs.

then a faint knock echoed through the room. she paused.

“miss karina?”

it was your voice.

karina wiped at her tears with one hand while the other shuffled to open the door.

when the door opened, she was met with your worried face.

“miss karina? are you okay? i heard the doors slamming and thought something happened.” you said softly, your voice gentle.

you saw her red, swollen eyes, the faint traces of tears still glistening. her lips, chapped and red from crying, looked almost too tender.

karina closed the door behind you and then wrapped you in a tight hug, burying her face in your shoulder as her body trembled with muffled sobs.

you stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to do.

then your hands moved—one patting a slow, comforting rhythm on her back, the other gently stroking her hair.

karina’s grip tightened, but you didn’t pull away. not when the woman you were beginning to care for was seeking comfort in your arms.

when her body stopped trembling and her breathing calmed, you lifted her in her arms. she was surprisingly light, making it easy for you to tuck her in bed. 

you left her room as quiet as you can after making sure karina was comfortably asleep. taking one last look at her now peaceful face, you closed the door softly. 

walking back to your room, you paused just outside jae wook’s office, eyeing the closed door before resuming your way to your room.

-

karina sat by the glass doors leading to the pool, staring at the water as her mind drifted. jae wook had left before she could even talk to him. she had just learned from the driver that he’d gone out of town for a business trip.

she didn’t believe it.

her eyes followed the moon’s reflection dancing on the water’s surface. then she looked up as donna passed by and called her.

“please call yn.”

donna nodded and hurried off to fetch you.

you rushed over as soon as donna told you karina had requested you.

karina looked at you, a small smile gracing her lips when she saw you.

“i feel like taking a swim tonight.” she said, standing up.

“i’ll go prepare your swimsuit." you said, turning to leave, but karina stopped you.

“no need.” she slid open the glass door and stepped outside.

you watched her helplessly before following.

then, without warning, she slipped off her silk robe, letting it fall to the ground.

your eyes widened at the sight, cheeks flushing, ears probably turning red.

karina wore a black silk nightgown that stopped just mid-thigh. her milk-like skin glowing softly under the moonlight.

you quickly looked away, your mouth suddenly dry from the unexpected sight.

then you heard a splash. you glanced back—and immediately wished you hadn’t.

karina emerged from the water, wet hair slicked back, the nightgown clinging to her figure.

her eyes met yours, and your breath hitched, feeling as if you’d been caught staring. you couldn’t help it.

“come join me.” she said, pulling you out of your trance.

“pardon?” you asked, voice barely steady.

you watched karina step out of the pool, your eyes unconsciously drifting down to her curvaceous figure.

suddenly, she was standing close to you.

“come join me. it’d be boring if it’s just me swimming.” karina said, her voice a low, breathy whisper.

your heart pounded wildly.

“b-but i don’t have a swimsuit.”

karina chuckled, trailing a wet finger along your shoulder.

“and i’m not wearing one, right? come on.”

her hands found your shoulders, turning you around so your back faced her. then you felt the zipper being pulled down. you swallowed hard.

the faint vibrations of the zipper sliding down sent a shiver through you. it stopped just above your lower back.

“join me, yn." she said, this time firm.

you let out a soft “yes.” shrugging your dress off and letting it fall down. now left in your underwear, you felt your skin burn under karina’s intense gaze.

you turned to face her, noticing how her eyes avoided yours. the feeling of being naked under her stare was almost overwhelming.

then her eyes lifted to meet yours again. you almost flinched.

“you’ve got a nice body." she commented, sending your senses into chaos.

then she dove into the pool, the splash pulling you back to reality. karina emerged from the water and called out to you.

you stepped forward and jumped in.

a small smile curved karina’s lips watching you jump in. she swam to you as you emerged to the surface.

“can you swim, yn?” she asked.

you looked at her and nodded.

“race you to the other side then.” she said, her voice playful before she turned and pushed off, swimming ahead.

your eyes widened, a smile spreading across your lips. you chased after her and in the end, karina won.

she rested her arms on the ledge, folding it to lay her head down. you settled beside her, back against the ledge, arms supporting you.

karina watched you closely, studying your side profile, your eyes, nose, and lips. her gaze lingered longer on it before rising to meet your eyes again.

“thank you, yn. for last night." she said softly.

you smiled warmly.

“it’s no problem, miss karina.”

she hummed.

“just call me karina.”

you looked into her eyes and were met with a gaze that held something different—something that made your stomach warm with a quiet flutter.

“ok, karina.” the name felt unfamiliar on your tongue, yet oddly satisfying.

then followed a comfortable silence, filled only by the faint chorus of crickets and the occasional song of distant birds.

karina broke the silence.

“have you ever felt trapped, yn?”

you met her gaze, noticing the solemn expression painting her face—a face marked by love and loss.

“betrayed?” she added softly.

you paused, thinking.

“at some point, i might have.” you answered quietly.

“did you get out?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

your mind flashed back to the dark memories you had long grown numb to recalling.

“i did.”

karina looked at you, the intensity in her eyes twisting something deep inside you.

“i don’t want to feel trapped anymore...”

your lips parted, heart pounding fiercely. her words sounded like a plea—a desperate request, a silent call for help. like she was reaching out, hoping you could pull her from the depths of her misery.

karina’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and almost pleading, as if she saw something in you that could save her.

“will you help me, yn?”

then she closed the distance between you, her hands resting firmly on your shoulders, gripping as if anchoring herself to you.

you drowned in her gaze, and you let yourself gladly sink into it.

“if you let me...” you whispered, your hands sliding to her waist, pulling her close.

“there’s no turning back.” you finished, voice low and steady.

karina’s arms snaked around your neck, drawing you in. your lips crashed together, moving hungrily, a desperate hunger shared between two souls seeking solace.

your arms tightened around her, drawing a soft sigh from karina. seizing the moment, you deepened the kiss, your tongue gently exploring hers. she pulled you impossibly closer, her warmth a tender contrast against the chill of the night air.

karina knew it was wrong—to kiss someone who was supposed to be working for her. but she couldn’t help it. it felt right. you felt right.

you were the only one who truly saw her. so how could she let the one person who finally acknowledged her slip away from her grasp?

-

you dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it under your shoe, exhaling the smoke slowly.

you took a day off, using the excuse of family matters. donna didn’t hesitate to let you go. karina, however, hesitated.

karina. 

after that night by the pool, everything between you two had shifted. you weren’t just maid and mistress anymore. no, you were something more. at least, that’s what you hoped.

your eyes landed on an open duffel bag, thick wads of cash spilling out—money from a previous job. 

a job not so different from this one.

a job where you worked as a maid, befriended a rich, broken soul, broke down their walls, earned their trust... only to steal their treasures one day.

a skill you’d perfected. it was easy. you’d done it many times.

so why were you hesitating now?

you told yourself not to get attached. but here you are—heart racing wildly whenever karina looked your way, blood boiling whenever her husband was near.

you wanted to deny it. deny the fact that you were starting to care, to feel, to be obsessed.

but the kiss muddled everything.

and the look karina gave you? priceless. no amount of money could ever replace the pleasure it brought. you wanted to see it again. you wanted to see her again.

-

karina lay on her bed, restless.

she wasn’t used to you being gone. or maybe she’d grown to love your presence.

her lips still tingled from the memory of your kiss. it had freed her, made her feel, for once, truly free—as if it had pulled her out of the darkness.

and maybe she let her thoughts run too wild.

because her mind was now replaying the image of you from that night—clad only in your underwear, water clinging to your skin. how your hands had touched her so right. it had felt so right.

without realizing it, karina’s hand slowly slid between her thighs, fingers brushing against her warm, clothed core—throbbing, aching to be touched.

she closed her eyes, letting herself imagine it was your hands exploring her instead.

a soft sigh escaped her lips as her fingers slipped beneath her panties. her middle finger traced along her slick, sending waves of pleasure rippling through her body.

she moaned softly, circling her clit, picturing your face—looking at her with lust and possessiveness.

then she slipped a finger inside, pumping it slowly before adding another. karina’s moans grew louder, her voice thick with need.

she didn’t even realize she was whispering your name.

the thought of you made her wetter, her body aching as she pumped her fingers deeper.

 oh, how badly she wanted it to be you.

karina now stood before the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection, thoughts running. water dripped from her face, strands of hair sticking on her face. 

the sound of her phone ringing pulled her out of her thoughts. she takes one last look of herself before walking out of the bathroom.

she answers it upon seeing her father’s name.

"have you seen the news?"

her heart dropped.

karina struggled getting a word out as her hands gripped the phone tight. she rushes to her tablet, opening it. 

she searched up her name and immediately, articles about jae wook being involved in an affair spilled out. all of which were recently posted.

karina almost dropped her phone.

"what a disgrace to our name!" he father hissed on the other end.

she flinched upon hearing his words, heart hammering in her chest.

"fix this mess." was all he said before hanging up.

karina finally breathes, heavily, before her short breathes became ragged. rage quickly bubbled in her as she threw the table across the room, smashing into pieces upon contact.

she screams, an angry screams. her hands grabbed the nearest object and hauled it across the room. same followed the others, expensive objects flying across the room.

you heard the commotion upon arriving. donna looked at you, worry painting her face. the sounds were coming from karina’s room.

you rushed to her room, footsteps echoing as you basically ran.

you opened the door and ducked when you see something flying past you.

karina’s eyes met yours. she froze, a vase in her hand.

"karina?" you called out, walking slowky towards her.

her eyes red from crying, tears painting her skin, and her lips trembling as ragged breaths come out.

as you neared, karina broke down, dropping the vase slowly before falling on her knees. you catched her, wrapping your arms around her figure.

she quickly curled into you, arms tight around you, hands gripping your jacket, tight, like she didn’t want to let you go.

her body trembled against you, broken sobs coming out muffled. your hand stroked her hair, attempting to soothe her. 

you felt her pull away. you loosened your arms around her and met her bloodshot eyes, puffy and wet with tears.

"i knew he was cheating...i..i just didn't think it'd hurt so much seeing it." she says, voice raspy.

your hands reached to cradle her face, thumbs wiping the tears rolling down.

"i loved him...i really did..." she adds, voice breaking at the end.

you pull her into a hug in which she accepts, her arms coiling around your neck. you could feel her warm breath tickling your skin. 

when karina calmed down, you brought her a cup of warm tea. you set it on the table beside her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

she watched you, noticing that you weren't wearing your maid uniform. you probably ran straight to her room upon arriving from a day off. 

that touched her heart.

you offered a small smile at her before walking to the bathroom and coming out with cotton, bandages and alcohol.

you kneeled in front of her, looking up at her.

"can i?" you ask, voice soft.

karina almost stopped breathing at the sight before nodding wordlessly.

you looked down at the wound on her leg, most probably from the glass pieces. gently, you held her leg, pulling it near before dabbing on the wound with cotton.

you hear her hiss as the alcohol seeped into the small wound. you muttered a soft apology, touch so gentle, it almost felt like a feather brushing on her.

after appling a bandage on it, you looked up at her and gestured for her hands. 

she lifted it to her lap and saw the small cuts and blood that she failed to notice.

you immediately worked on it, cleaning the blood and putting on bandages. after working on it, you cleaned the used cottons and stood up.

"thank you, yn." karina says.

you meet her eyes. soft orbs shining as they met yours.

your eyes slightly curved as you offered a smile.

"no problem, karina."

karina’s eyes landed on the mess behind you, a sigh escaping her lips. she looks down at the cuts on her hand that were now bandages. her skin tingling as the feeling of your gentle touch lingered.

she heard shuffling and looked up to you removing your jacket, revealing you in a white tank top and unexpectedly toned arms.

karina’s throat bobbed. lips slightly parted.

she had not expected her young maid to have such....package. she didn’t even notice it when you got in the pool with her. or maybe because the lighting in her room was much brighter than in the pool, making your muscles stand out.

upon realizing she was checking you out, she looked away and reached for the warn cup of tea, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

she turns her eyes back at you who was now crouching and picking up the broken pieces of objects, plastic in hand. 

you cleaned the mess. hands carefully picking up the shards of glass and the broken furniture pieces. 

what a waste of money. you thought as you shoved broken expensive objects in the trash bag. 

after clearing the bigger pieces, you took a broom and sweeped the smaller pieces. you worked hard. you could feel the sweat start gathering in your denim pants and the occasional drop of sweat from your face.

karina noticed that. your skin covered with the thin sheet of sweat. not just on your face, but on your arms that she couldn't help but look at. mouth going dry as the muscles flexed whenever you moved.

after making sure there were no more broken pieces on the floor left, you let yourself breathe as you leaned against the wall. your hand reaching for your top, gripping it and fanning yourself with it.

karina watched, she couldn't help it.

you noticed and stopped.

"i'm sorry, it was hot." you apologized, dropping your hands.

she shook her head, "it's ok...i should be sorry for making such a mess." 

"thank you again, yn." she follows.

you smiled once again. you turned to grab your jacket hung on a chair, preparing to leave.

karina didn't miss the way your biceps popped out as your arms folded. she bit her lip, stomach pooling with something warm. 

her thighs squeezed, a sigh coming out at the pressure. she couldn't help it. you looked so irresistible in your clothes. 

"yn?" she called.

you look at her. you didn’t miss the way how her voice nearly trembled at the end.

karina crawls out of the bed and slowly walks to you without breaking eye contact. her eyes hazy, clouded with something you’ve seen before. 

you didn’t even notice how close she was now.

karina lifted a hand and ran it over your sweat-slick arms, fingers tracing over your faint muscles. her touch warm, inviting and dangerous.

your eyes dropped to her mouth and watched it move as she spoke.

“i need you.” 

your breath catches, looking at her with wide eyes, caught off guard by her words.

you stammer out a reply, “w-what?” 

karina said nothing. instead, she drags her hand to your neck, wrapping her fingers around it and pulls you close, her lips ghosting over your ear. warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

she whispers, “i fucking need you.” 

then without warning, she crashes her lips against yours. 

your body stiffened, eyes wide with shock at her display of raw emotions. 

her lips pressed against yours, pulling you out of your trance. you closed your eyes, surrendering to the emotions you once wanted to bury, letting it take control. 

your hands snaked to karina’s hips, gripping it firmly as if to ground yourself, while hers curled around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. mouths moving in a heated dance, each fighting for dominance. 

your hands slid to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as her legs wrapped tightly around you, never breaking the kiss. step by step, you carried her to the bed, lowering her gently onto the soft mattress.

her arms found your neck almost immediately, pulling you into a hungry, demanding kiss. with your knees planted firmly on either side of her, you hovered above her, the heat between you crackling with unspoken desire. 

you pull away slightly, catching your breath. your eyes met, each clouded with lust, need and something more, something unspoken.

"stay..." karina whispers, eyes shining with plea.

you pressed your lips against hers, and karina welcomed it, tightening her hold around you as if afraid you might disappear.

your lips traveled down to her jaw, leaving wet kisses as you traced a path to her neck, sucking and nipping gently at the  skin.

pulling back, you met her eyes, silently asking for her consent.

karina sat up and slowly lifted her nightgown off, revealing her bare skin. you marveled at her, your eyes wandering but your body remaining still. she smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction.

you were only taken out of your stupor when she held your chin, you hadn’t even noticed that she leaned closer.

"you will do anything for me, right yn?" she asks, voice soft like a whisper.

you felt entranced, held captive by her gaze. without even thinking about it, you spoke.

"anything..." 

karina smiled, then pulled you with her as she fell back onto the bed, your lips crashing together in a heated kiss.

you pulled away briefly and quickly latched onto her nipple, swirling your tongue around the bud while your hand played with the other.

karina spilled out breathy moans, your name falling from her lips like a chant, filled with need and longing.

karina let her hand comb through your hair, pulling you closer and occasionally fisting your hair. you moaned softly, the vibrations sending shivers across her skin.

you released with a soft pop before turning your attention to the other side, your tongue warm against karina’s skin. she sighed blissfully, her breath heaving with pleasure.

when you felt you’d given enough attention to her chest, you kissed your way down her stomach to her abdomen, where your fingers played teasingly with the hem of her underwear.

your face ghosted over her clothed core, pressing a gentle kiss on the fabric, already feeling her wetness beneath. karina whined, pushing into you, but you held a firm hand on her thigh, squeezing it as a warning.

then you stuck your tongue out, dragging a long, slow lick over her clothed clit. karina moaned loudly, hands gripping the sheets as her legs twitched uncontrollably from the pleasure.

"yn fuck!" 

you glanced up at karina, her face painted in pure pleasure—eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded, lips red and swollen from your kisses and from how hard she’d bitten down to hold back her cries.

you dragged your tongue over her again, slower this time, your gaze never leaving her face. the way her features contorted in bliss was intoxicating—a sight you wanted to memorize.

without another moment’s hesitation, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs, tossing them aside. then you leaned in, latching onto her clit with your lips.

karina’s whole body jolted at the sensation, a loud, guttural moan ripping from her throat as your tongue worked her with hungry devotion. her hands found your hair again, desperate and trembling, holding you close as her hips bucked up, chasing every wave of pleasure you gave her.

the air was thick with her scent, with the sound of her need, with the electric connection that pulsed between you both—making every touch, every moan, feel like something neither of you would ever forget.

while your tongue played circles on her clit, you slid a finger in karina, taking out a gasp from her then followed with a moan. you pumped it slowly, her slick making it easy to slide in and out. 

you slipped in another finger, gradually picking up your pace. karina's grip on the sheets tightened with her knuckles turning white. moans spilling out of her mouth endlessly.

while your hand worked magic in her, your mouth was still latched on her clit, circling your tongue on the bud and occasionally sucking it, overwhelming karina with pleasure. so much so, her legs would twitch and close in around you.

you rest your free hand on her thigh, holding it down when you felt her climax coming. her moans becoming louder and breaths coming out ragged, her stomach tensed as she nears her release.

"fuck! don't stop!" karina moans, her hand landing on your hair to grip it.

when she came with a loud moan, releasing her juices, you didn’t stop. you couldn’t. not when you've had a taste of her. she was so addicting.

you maintained your pace, pumping your fingers in her until she reached her second climax. you couldn’t care less if you injured your hand.

karina almost screamed as she came for the second time, legs shaking and eyes rolled back. 

you slowed down to help her ride her. orgasm. after, you pulled out your fingers and brought then to your lips, sucking her juices whilst looking at her in the eye.

releasing your fingers with a pop, you leaned back to her pussy, drenched in her release. you lapped up her juice, sucking her dry and clean before you left kisses from her abdomen up to her neck.

karina brought her hand to your neck and pull you in for a kiss, tasting herself in your lips.

“only in your touch do i feel so free.” karina whispered as you slowly pulled away.

her words tugged at something deep inside you—a raw, aching part of your soul that longed to protect, to heal, to be the reason she felt that freedom.

"then let me be your freedom." you whispered back.

karina looks at you with those eyes. the ones that looked at you like you hung the stars. 

"will you do anything for me?" she asks, voice soft.

you grabbed her hand that was wrapped around your neck and brought it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss on it.

with your eyes not leaving hers, you answered.

"everything."

-

karina’s words echoed in your mind, her image lingering far longer than you expected. you didn’t mind—it only fueled your determination.

you sat in the rental car, eyes fixed on the building ahead. the clock struck 9 p.m., and jae wook was supposed to emerge from his “work.”

then the doors slid open.

your gaze landed on a man, unmistakably jae wook, holding a woman in his arms, clearly not a friend.

they got into a car and drove off. you followed from a distance, your mind clouded with hatred and anger.

he was the reason karina felt trapped, hurt, and suffering.

this moment sharpened your resolve to protect her, to be the one who could finally set her free.

you soon reached an empty stretch of highway. streetlamps flickered weakly, and barely a building stood nearby. it was the perfect chance.

you stepped on the gas, speeding up until your car deliberately bumped into jae wook’s sports car.

their vehicle slowed, pulling over to the side, and you followed close behind.

jae wook climbed out, eyes narrowing as he inspected the damage. then he stormed over and knocked aggressively on your window.

you rolled it down and stepped out. his voice was loud, sharp as a bark.

“are you fucking blind?! can’t you see how wide the road is?!”

you met his gaze, your face blank but your eyes burning with dark intensity. he faltered, almost thrown off by the look you gave him.

then he froze—recognition dawning. you were the maid.

he stammered something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

your fist connected hard with his gut, knocking the breath out of him. your hands grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his face against your car with a sickening crack that echoed through the night.

a car door slammed nearby, and you looked up to see the woman stepping out, eyes wide in shock, mouth opening to scream. you didn’t let her.

let’s just say they got dealt with that night.

-

karina woke up the next day, her body heavy and muscles sore, especially in the places that still tingled with last night’s touch. her throat felt dry, and she immediately reached for the glass of water on her nightstand, gulping it down in one thirsty swallow.

she lifted the blankets and caught sight of her naked body, the warmth of the morning light casting soft shadows across her skin. memories of last night surged through her mind—every kiss, every touch, every whispered word.

a stupid, satisfied smile slowly crept onto her lips as she reminisced.

the door opened and you came in carrying a tray of food, a gentle smile softening your features as your eyes met hers.

karina smiled back, watching as you laid the tray carefully on the table. you moved to her closet and picked out a light dress.

“eat first, then bathe.” you said, handing her the dress.

karina hummed in response, slipping into the dress. she crawled out of bed and sat at the table, digging into the food you brought her.

you watched her, your heart lightened now that the burden was gone. she was free.

karina was free.

she reached for her phone and unlocked it.

the sudden clatter of utensils dropping echoed through the room, followed by a sharp gasp.

her hands trembled as she read the breaking news:

“jae wook and mistress found dead in car crash.”

[scftangl]

Me, getting distracted for a moment in just in smut and now I don't know what position they are in:

[opheliaandherpeaches]

I said I'm sorry!!

Summary: It's been a few days since you've spoken to your JJK boy and they're really not handling it well! Commence the groveling!

ꕥIncludes: S Gojo. S Geto. K Nanami. T Fushiguro. S Kong. A Todo. R Sukuna. Y Itadori. M Fushiguro. T Inumaki. C Kamo. N Zenin. I Takuma.

TW: None! Light swearing. Name calling from Naoya but I swear he's not that bad in this one!

Part one!

Here's part two!! What do we think?

Whose worth forgiving and who isn't? 🧐

I feel like I'm thanking you guys ever other post but how can I not constantly show my appreciation when under two weeks of creating this blog I've already reached 300+ followers? 🎀

[gnarly-words]

things we don't say

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

description: after being together for three years, you'd think you and george would know everything about each other.

warning: established relationship, mentions of sex, pregnancy, vomiting, swearing

word count: 5,516

april, 1995

you knew the twins were up to something after weeks of whispering in between meals and classes. they hadn't even done any of their usual pranks for an entire week, scaring most professors with what the weasley twins could be plotting.

the great hall was in chaos as you walked past, fireworks spiraling each which way. professor umbridge was being chased down the main aisle by a giant dragon shaped firework, the fifth years that were taking their owls doubling over in laughter. two bodies flew above the chaos, a streak of fireworks following behind their broomsticks. they lead the crowds out into the courtyard, shooting one final explosion of fireworks above them.

you stood frozen at the edge of the crowd, your heart in your throat as you watched the twins cheer on the roaring students. fred and george were sailing off, having staged the most glorious departure hogwarts had ever seen. and he didn't even tell you. you'd spent that very morning discussing your next hogsmeade trip over breakfast, having begged fred to let you and george finally have some alone time.

he caught your eye as they did one final swoop over the crowd, giving you a cheeky wink and smirk. you couldn't give him the same energy back, the shock of their departure still present on your face. you wished you hadn't waited so long to go to madam pomfrey, or to work up the courage to tell someone your fears. maybe the twins wouldn't have left so soon and would be there for you to lean on.

your vision grew blurry as tears welled up in your eyes. you walked away before anyone could see, wiping your face and walking straight back to the common room. your bed was still in the state of disarray that you'd left it earlier that morning when you'd ran to the bathroom to vomit. your half written letter to your parents was abandoned on your dresser, where it would remain for another week.

you barely left your bed for the rest of the day, katie only trying once to get you to come down for dinner before she gave up at the quiet sobs she could hear through your curtains. your other dorm mates weren't brave enough to try and bother you, remembering your outburst when they'd tried to wake you up early to sneak out and watch the sunrise during the winter break.

you slipped the small vial from your pocket, glaring as it glowed at you mockingly. pomfrey's words as she handed you the vial repeated over and over in you head; "pink means positive, blue means negative."

you always hated pink.

the days seemed to drag after the twins' departure, umbridge's reign of terror just getting worse. more rules were put into place, the inquisitor squad gaining more power. the new status seemed to go straight to malfoy and co's heads. you couldn't count how many times you'd found them harassing some poor first years and getting them into detention with umbridge.

you felt powerless against them, not having the usual protection of the twins that gave you the confidence to confront the slytherin. malfoy knew this and took full advantage of your new vulnerability whenever you tried to help the younger students. your hands were marred with countless scars, words overlapping one another, unintelligible.

madam pomfrey grew more and more worried each time you'd visit to get a balm to heal the wounds. she was still the only person in the whole school to know of your secret, only keeping her promise of not telling mcgonagall as you'd agreed to visit her weekly for check ups. katie, alicia and angelina had started to grow suspicious after the third weekly check up, cornering you in the common room after you'd come back one day.

"are you sick?" angelina bluntly asked.

"n-no?" you almost asked back, still shocked by having been lifted off your feet and carried to the quiet corner by the three girls.

"then what the fuck is up?" katie crossed her arms, the youngest seeming to have the biggest reaction to your visits.

"it's nothing. just drop it." you looked down at your feet, knowing full well if you looked at the trio you'd break down and tell them everything.

"is it umbridge? i know you've been getting detention but not every week." alicia lent against the wall beside you, her tall stature making you curl in on yourself.

"we're worried, y/n." angelina's worried eyes made you crack, tears welling up in your eyes.

"oh god." katie was the first to pull you in for an embrace.

"look what you did." angelina shoved the brunette chaser.

"me? you were the one going all mama bear on her." alicia shoved the girl back, the two squabbling like siblings as they covered your shaking form still in katie's arms.

"uhh, katie? why are you trying to suffocate y/n?" ron's voice broke through the girl's attempts at comforting you, the three jumping back to reveal your sobbing form to your brother-in-law. "bloody hell. what did you do?"

he pulled you in for a tight embrace, his familiar scent bringing you a small bit of comfort that you'd missed since george had left. that familiar weasley scent of their mother's baking that seemed to cling to all of their clothes, like molly had magicked them so they would always have a part of home with them.

"i'm okay, ron." you sniffled, pulling away reluctantly from the boy. "i'm just emotional cause of my period."

"oh, okay. right." ron's cheeks blushed furiously, his ears almost going the same colour as his hair. "do you need anything?"

the boy looked over his shoulder, his eyes searching for harry or hermione so he could escape the awkward situation he'd put himself in. you chuckled at his attempts, pushing him towards where the other halves of his trio had walked into the common room.

"i'm fine, ron. go relax before hermione starts badgering you to study." you waved the ginger boy off, smiling as the curly haired girl did exactly as you said she would and dragged him over to an empty table to study.

you sighed as you turned back to your trio of friends, their worried eyes still staring through you. grabbing angelina's wrist, you began dragging her up towards your dorms. you prayed that the other two got the message and would follow you up, their footsteps falling heavy against the steps as they ran to catch up.

you fell heavily onto your bed with a sigh, pulling the still glowing vial out of your dresser and setting it down on your bed. the trio of girl stared down at it in confusion, reminding you that all three had dropped potions after nearly failing their owl exams.

"are we supposed to know why that's glowing?" alicia whispered not so quietly to katie, who shrugged whilst racking her brain for what the potion could be.

"is it a love potion?" angelina picked up the vial, twirling it between her fingers before shaking it. "i thought they were clear."

"it's not a love potion." you took the vial from her hands, setting it down in your lap.

"then what is it?" alicia asked softly, sitting down at the edge of your bed.

you started down at the pink glow, finger trembling as you fiddled with the remnants of the small label you'd ripped off. you couldn't look up at them. what would they think of you when they found out?

"madam pomfrey gave it to me. said it was easier than casting a charm, less magic exposure.” you shrugged, hoping you wouldn't have to say the words out loud.

“exposure to what? you're in a bloody school for witchcraft ad wizardry.” katie asked, blinking slowly and sharing an equally confused look with alicia.

"to the uh... to the baby." you mumbled, refusing to look them in the eye.

angelina's mouth dropped open slightly, her eyes bulging out of her head as she turned to look at the other two. their faces held looks of equal shock and disbelief, each looking to the others to be the first to speak.

"you don't have to say anything. i just needed to tell someone before it went too far." you sighed, falling back into your pillows.

the three girls continued to share confused looks, each trying to get the other to be the first to speak. angelina glared at the younger duo that had seemed to decide that she was picking the short straw.

"are you uhm... are you gonna keep it?" angelina winced as she spoke, not meaning for her words to come out so harshly.

"i have no fucking clue." you groaned, rolling over to plant your face in your pillow. "he doesn't even know."

"what?" the trio asked in unison, angelina ripping the pillow off of your face.

"how have you not told him? you tell each other everything. it's annoying." katie gagged jokingly as she thought of you and george's relationship.

"i only found out the day before he left." you mumbled, rolling onto your side to face your friends. "he didn't exactly give me much time to tell him."

"he's gonna freak when you tell him." alicia chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed in between the other two girls.

"if i tell him." you shrug, already plotting how you were going to hide this from everyone at hogwarts.

"how exactly would you do that, exactly? aren't you staying with him over the summer." angelina stared down at you, a concerned look on her face.

"shit." you sighed, dropping back into your pillows, wishing they would swallow you up and let you escape the situation you'd found yourself in.

july, 1995

the crowds of king's cross came into view as they train pulled into the station. you sighed as you spotted the crowd of ginger that had formed near your parents. it seemed you wouldn't be making a quick escape without at least saying hi to the weasley bunch. you followed katie off of the train, waving her off as she rushed to greet her own parents.

you grimaced as the twins waved enthusiastically as they spotted you approaching, fred pushing his brother forward to hug you first. the tall boy scooped you up into his arms, twirling you both around as he peppered light kisses into the crook of your neck. his kisses trailed up to your face, pressing one final firm kiss to your lips.

"hi, georgie." you giggled, finally setting your feet back onto the ground, trying and failing to pull away from him arms.

"oi. i haven't seen you in three months, you're not escaping me that easily, love." he pouted down at you, keeping his arms wrapped around your shoulders as he walked you over to your families.

"and who's fault is that?" you glared jokingly at him, giggling as his spare hand tickled your waist.

"y/n/n!" fred shoved his brother away from you, pulling you into an equally bone crushing hug.

"hi, freddie!" you gasped, pushing the boy away as his arms tightened around you.

"oi! let the girl breath!" george pushed his twin's arms away and bringing you back into his arms.

"you both let the girl breath." mrs weasley rolled her eyes, pushing her sons away from you to pull you into a warm hug. "y/n, dear. how are you?"

"i'm good, mrs weasley." you sighed, enjoying as much molly hug time as you could get.

"three years you've been dating my son. it's molly to you." she raised her eyebrow at you, smiling as she pushed you over to your parents.

you smiled as you parents pulled you into a group hug, your mother whispering in your ear, "did you still want to come back with us?"

you nodded against her shoulder, pulling away with a worried expression. she gave you a questioning look, knowing you'd been looking forward to your stay at the burrow since george had suggested it during the winter break.

"we forgot to say, y/n's coming with us to france for the summer. sorry we didn't tell you sooner, molly. i hope you didn't have too much planned for her stay." your mother pulled you into her side, sensing you needed her comfort in that moment.

"oh, that's alright. is everything okay, y/n, dear?" molly's gaze was piercing, her knowing

"y-yeah. i just wanted to spend some time with dad’s family. i haven't seen them in a while." you smiled awkwardly, trying your hardest to ignore the twins' confused looks.

your father spoke to the side with arthur, their conversation too quiet for you to hear but you heard the words "order" and "meetings" and knew better than to ask. your trio waved the weasleys off as you all reached the entrance of the platform, george stepping forward to wish you farewell. you fell behind your parents' steps walking to meet the boy.

"why didn't you tell me you weren't coming with us?" george pulled you into his arms, his confusion not seeming to out way his love and care for you.

"why didn't you tell me you were leaving early to open your shop?" you huffed, burying your face into his chest.

"touche." he chuckled, pulling away to look at your face. "are you okay?"

"what? of course i am, georgie." you smiled, confused where the boy was going with his question.

"ron mentioned something about you crying a lot right after we left." he caressed the side of your face gently, a worried look in his eyes.

"little tattle." you scoffed, knowing the youngest weasley boy was just trying to bed helpful but still resenting his kindness. "i'm fine, georgie. we're fine. i just missed you."

"you missed me?" a wide grin spread across the boy's face, a teasing look in his eyes. "you missed me like a sad little puppy, admit it.”

"george." you groaned, burying your head into his chest again to escape his teasing.

you couldn't stop smiling as you looked up at him. your smile faltered as you remembered the reason you wouldn't be spending the summer together. you knew you should tell him, it wasn't something that could be written in a letter. but looking up at his face, you couldn't break the happiness that was radiating off of him.

"i'll write you as often as i can." you smiled, kissing his cheek lightly.

"you'd better. remember, i'm not the one that failed their apparation exam." george teased, grinning as you rolled your eyes.

"whatever. i'll come visit you at the shop when i go to get my supplies." you smiled, leaning up onto your toes to press your lips together.

"y/n! hurry up! the portkey is almost open!" your father shouted for you, making the two of you jump apart.

you smiled awkwardly at your boyfriend, giving him one final hug before running to catch up with your parents. the pair were stood next to an umbrella, your mother already opening her arm to pull you into her side

"shit, my bags." you hissed, starting to rush to get your bag from the platform attendants.

"your father already had them sent ahead with kippey." your mother rolled her eyes, still not used to her husband's pureblooded tendencies that he'd been brought up with.

"she wanted to be useful as she's gonna be stuck at home for a month." your father scoffed at your mother, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "right, you ready, y/n?"

you nodded, placing your hand on the umbrella and waiting for the familiar twisting feeling. the world warped around you, your head feeling like it was being turned inside out. you landed softly in your back garden, stumbling as thew world stopped spinning.

your stomach churned as you tried to steady yourself, the feeling of your breakfast coming back up sending you running to the small stream at the bottom of the garden. you barely made it to the water before you were hunching over and heaving up the contents of your stomach. your head pounded as you curled up into a small ball beside the stream, your vision turning black as your parents raced to reach your slumped form.

the blinding lights was the first thing you saw as you peeled your eyes open. your parents were outside in the hallway, worriedly talking to a doctor outside. their eyes lit up as they saw your eyes groggily looking round the room, racing to open the door and reach your side. 

“mum?” you croaked, reaching for her hand as she landed at your side. 

“hi, sweetheart.” she smiled, tears in her eyes. 

“are we at st mungo’s?” you looked around, not recognising the room you were in. 

“we’re at the muggle hospital near ours.” your father smiled from your other side. “mrs anderson saw you collapse and called an ambulance.”

you nodded, remembering the elderly lady from next door often looking out for you whenever you’d run too close to the road or the stream. your parents shared a worried look over you, a silent conversation happening above you. 

“kiddo, the doctors ran some tests.” your father started, stopping as he didn’t know how to ask you the question they both wished to be answered. 

“did you know?” your mother beat him to punch, her eyes drifting from her lap to your stomach. 

“i’m sorry, mum. i’m so sorry.” tears formed in your eyes, a sob building in your throat as you felt the disappointed speech coming. 

“we’re not mad, sweetheart. we’re just worried.” you mother cradled your face gently, wiping the tears that had run down your face. 

“how long have you known?” your father sat on the edge of the bed, cradling your hand between both of his own larger ones. 

“since george left.” you mumbled, gripping their hands tightly.

“jesus, kiddo.” your father sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “does he know?”

“n-no. i didn’t know how to tell him and by the time i’d worked up the courage, he and fred were flying off.” you hiccuped as you spoke, all of the emotions you’d been bottling up bubbling to the surface at once. 

“okay, it’s okay. calm down, sweetheart. the doctor said you should avoid too much stress.” your mother pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into her shoulder. 

the doctor walked into the room as you were still in your mother’s arms, your sobbing quietening into silent tears sliding down your face. 

“hi, y/n. i’m dr. lee.” the doctor sat down in the free chair by your bed, a chart in hand. “we ran a few tests whilst you were unconscious. i’m sure your parents have told you the biggest surprise but we need to discuss a plan with you going forward.”

you nodded your head, pulling away from your mother to face the doctor directly. you could see the pity behind her eyes, a small reassuring smile breaking through the obvious emotions she was truly feeling. 

“we did an ultrasound and it looks like your about twenty one weeks along. it would put you at a due of around december twentieth.” dr lee read from the chart, her eyes briefly looking up at you. “everything looks good with baby and they are perfectly healthy for their age.”

you sighed slightly in relief, knowing full well that you had not been eating enough to sustain both yourself and the baby at hogwarts. katie had begun sneaking food out of the kitchens for you but you hadn’t wanted to burden her at almost three in the morning when you were craving pumpkin pasties. 

“your parents said you were on your way back from boarding school when you collapsed. is there anything that could’ve triggered it?” you shared a look with your parents, worried how to respond without revealing anything wizard related to the muggle doctor. 

“we live down a lot of country roads. y/n’s always had a bit of a weak stomach from motion sickness.” your mother smiled, only half lying as you did often have to keep your head out of the window if your father decided to drive home. 

“and have you been eating and drinking enough? we had to give you two iv bags.” dr. lee flipped through her chart once more. 

“we’ve had some end of year exams. i guess i might’ve skipped a few meals by accident to study.” you grimaced remembering that it was far more than a few, specifically breakfast almost every morning. 

“you’ll need to make sure your keeping your fluid and food intake up when you go back in september. you’ll find you’re going to be needing more fuel the further into your pregnancy you get.” dr. lee wrote something on a slip of paper, passing the slip to your father. “i’ve wrote you a prescription for all of the vitamins you need to start taking. we can schedule a follow up appointment when you leave at the front desk.”

dr. lee smiled at your family, standing and leaving the room with a small wave to you. your parents exchanged a look once more, your father sighing as he lost the mental battle they were having. 

“we want you to stay with us and finish your final year from home.” he sighed, already seeing the rage brewing behind your eyes. 

“why? madam pomfrey said she could set everything up so that i can finish the year.” you looked between your parents confused, realisation dawning on you as you remembered your father’s conversation with mr. weasley. “this isn’t just about the baby. this is about the death eaters isn’t it?”

"we'll talk more when we get home." your father sighed again, standing to get the discharge papers from the front desk. "i'll meet you out by the car."

you remained in silence, your eyes following as he left the room. your mother remained sat twiddling her thumbs, her eyes not meeting your own.

"is dad mad at me?" your lip wobbled once more, the tears already flowing before you could stop them, internally cursing the new surplus of hormones coursing through your body.

"i think it's just a lot right now, sweetheart. the ministry has been asking him to help out more and he might have to come out of retirement fully." your mother placed a reassuring hand on your own.

"i didn't realise it was getting that bad." you lent back against the pillows. "i knew something had happened at the ministry a few weeks ago with harry but i didn't know how bad it was."

"you don't need to worry about any of that right now, y/n/n. we need to focus on you and this baby, okay?" she smiled at you reassuringly, leaning down to grab a set of clothes for you from her handbag.

“okay, mum.” you nodded, accepting the clothes with a grateful smile.

august, 1995

the world seems to be laughing unforgivably at you, the summer heat heavy and unbearable. it was a record high for your hometown, with everyone either locked inside with their fans on or cooling at the local swimming pool. you were enjoying the former, lounging on your bed as two fans blasted you simultaneously with lukewarm air. you’d already gone through three separate glasses of iced drinks your mother had brought you, the ice melting within minutes of you sipping the drinks. 

you pressed a light hand against your stomach, feeling the slight bump that hadn’t been there at the start of the summer break. dr. lee had assured you that the smaller than usual bump was normal in first pregnancies, especially due to your young age. you’d grown worried after not feeling the baby kick even though you were over four months pregnant. 

you had barely left your house since you’d come back from the hospital except for appointments or to go for late night walks with your dog, rufus. the trip to france had been cut short, your father’s side of the family shunning you once they found out. they are painfully uptight and traditional, whispering loudly behind closed doors whilst you’d packed to leave their toxic household. 

you father had almost hexed his own sister after she’d suggested abandoning you, your mother being the only thing standing between him and a long stay at azkaban. your parents didn’t say a word once you’d returned home, locking themselves away in their room for a full day before they finally emerged. 

so, instead of walking the streets of the town your father grew up in and helping your grandfather out at the family vineyard, you had spent the abnormally warm summer holed up in your bedroom. the only thing that had kept you going was the constant stream of letters from george and your friends. you’d lost track of how many times you’d heard his owl, errol, smack into your bedroom window, the sound becoming almost second nature as it occurred nearly daily. 

still, after tons of letter send back and forth between you, you never found a way to work in a way of telling george. you would pick up your quill to start writing the words but they always fell flat. they never seemed right, never seemed to feel like the right way to say what needed to be said.

george's letters grew irregular in frequency once the shop had opened, but were still filled with the same warmth that his presence would give. he wrote about the troubles they were having getting their shipments approved and the buzz that diagon alley seemed to have as students going for their school supplies would always make a stop into the shop.

you felt your heart swell with pride at how successful the twins' dreams were going, remembering when their mother would throw out their inventions and tell them to focus on studying instead. you had always offered to help the twins start up their business, wanting to put some of your enormous inheritance to use. but they always refused, wanting to get the money and open their joke shop by themselves.

ding dong.

you waited with baited breath for one of your parents to move to answer the door, rufus already racing down the stairs to bark at the stranger. you cursed yourself for forgetting both of your parents were out getting your school supplies, grunting as you rose from your bed. you threw on a large top of george's you 'borrowed' before leaving your room, your parents' warnings of not letting anyone else outside the family know your secret ringing in your head.

you patted rufus on the head as you passed his happy form, opening the door with a gasp. george's broad smile beamed at you from the other side of the doorway, his arms already opening wide for you to race into. you launched yourself into his waiting arms and sighed at the familiar comfort.

"hi, georgie." you giggled, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him.

"hi, y/n/n." he smiled back down at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

"wait." you jerked your head back, confusion clear in his eyes. "how'd you know i'd be home?"

"i saw your parents in diagon alley, assumed you'd be home alone." george wiggled his eyebrows at you, laughing as you tried to push away from him in protest.

"hush you." you rolled your eyes, finally pushing away to drag him into the house. "now, come inside before you let all the cold air out."

you continued to drag him through your house until you reached your bedroom. you both flopped onto your bed, george instinctively pulling you into his chest. your breath hitched as his hand brushed the side of your waist, praying he wouldn't notice the new roundness of your stomach.

"how was france? you didn't say much in your letters." george rubbed his thumb against the small bit of skin exposed above your hip.

"it was alright. dad's family weren't as loving as i remember." you tried to sound nonchalant, hoping he wouldn't probe further. "guess the rose coloured glasses finally slipped."

"what's that supposed to mean?" george looked down at you, trying to see around your halo of hair to get to your eyes.

"mum always warned me of their ways. the traditional pureblooded way they want things to be." you shrugged.

"did something happen?" george was never one to jump too quickly to conclusions, but your lack of an explanation worried him.

you froze slightly in his arms, head still resting on his chest. your face was thankfully turned away from his own, grateful that he couldn't see the worry crossing your own features. the warmth that radiated off of him was usually comforting, but in that moment, it just felt suffocating.

"i told you." you murmured, keeping your face out of his probing eye line. “just some family drama. it’s not worth getting into.”

he didn’t speak at first, just simmering in his thought. you could feel the tension building in the way he held you; still gentle, but less relaxed.

“y/n. you’ve barely left the house all summer." he said quietly. “you stopped mentioning france almost immediately. and when i saw your mum and dad earlier, they looked like someone had died. you’re hiding something.”

“i’m not,” you said a little too quickly, internally wincing at your tone. “george, i’m fine. i just- i needed a quiet summer. that’s all.”

“you expect me to believe that?” george pulled back to look at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

Your jaw clenched. “Believe whatever you want.” your jaw clenched, your heightened emotions getting the better of you.

he stood suddenly, pacing once before turning to face you, running a hand through his hair.

“bloody hell, y/n " the worry etched into his features broke your heart, your hands itching to reach out and hold his. "you think i haven’t noticed how different your letters have been? shorter, less you? you’re barely even looking at me.”

you stayed seated, arms folded protectively over your stomach. you knew he was right,but admitting that you were wrong wasn't an option your mind was giving you right now.

“i didn’t ask you to come here." you said, the words sharper than you meant.

he flinched like you’d struck him. for a moment, he looked like he might step back. your eyes were already watering at the pain you'd caused him. but instead of moving away, he just exhaled, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“yeah. i can see that.” he shook his head slowly, looking down at the floor between you. “but i came anyway. because i love you and i-”

he stopped, jaw working as he swallowed whatever he’d almost said. he turned away for a second, like he needed to gather himself. he turned and faced you again, his eyes were softer now, worried but softer.

“hey.” he said, voice quiet but steady as he knelt before you. “look at me.”

you didn’t.

you couldn’t.

your gaze stayed locked on the worn quilt bunched around your legs.

“hey, love.” he gently reached out, his fingers brushing your elbow. “you don’t have to tell me everything right now. i’m not leaving, no matter what.”

your throat closed up, the tears you’d been fighting finally spilling over. a sob ripped from your chest, his arms immediately wrapping you up. he pulled you close to his chest and cradled your head in his hands.

“you don’t understand,” you whispered against his chest after your sobs had finally subsided.

“then help me understand.” his thumb traced small circles over the back of your head. “i’m not going anywhere, love. not until you tell me you want me to go.”

“it’s not- it’s not that i don’t trust you." you shook your head helplessly, fresh sobs catching in your chest. "i just… i don’t know how to say it.”

“then don’t say anything yet.” his hand slid to cup your cheek, warm and reassuring. “we’ll just sit here. i’ll stay with you. and when you’re ready, you can tell me.”

you finally looked up. hurt was still swirling in his eyes. but they held the same love that had always been there. it made your heart ache to stare into the blue depths of his eyes, knowing what you would tell him would ruin the life he was creating for himself and his brother.

“i don’t deserve you." you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“that’s bollocks,” he said, a flicker of a smile breaking through. “you’re stuck with me, y/n/n. no matter what.”

and when he pulled you into his arms again, you didn’t fight it.you pressed your face to his shoulder, crying harder than you had in weeks. and he just held you, like he always had, like he always would.

[bunnis-monsters]

Have this idea about reader going to watch porn for the first time in a while. It looks like they’re in costumes, the guy has demon horns and a tail… and he doesn’t seem very interested in the girl he’s fucking.

Honestly, he looks bored and his cock is only semi-hard. The lady’s fake moans echoing through the preview even turn you off.

When you click the video and watch, suddenly he looks into the camera and his cock twitches, getting hard.

Then he jumps through your screen! You somehow clicked on incubus porn, and now you’re being pounded by a sexually frustrated incubus.

Your fat pussy just looks so pretty, taking him so well! He’s gonna have to put a claim over your womb now…

He’s never felt this good before, there’s no way he’s leaving without forming some kind of contract with his cute little human toy!

Should I do something with this idea..?

[cherry-lala]

The Devil waits where Wildflowers grow

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing:Female! Reader x Remmick 

Genre: Southern Gothic, Angst, Supernatural Thriller, Romance Word Count: 15.7k+ Summary: In a sweltering Mississippi town, a woman's nights are divided between a juke joint's soulful music and the intoxicating presence of a mysterious man named Remmick. As her heart wrestles with fear and desire, shadows lengthen, revealing truths darker than the forgotten woods. In the heart of the Deep South, whispers of love dance with danger, leaving a trail of secrets that curl like smoke in the night.

Content Warnings: Emotional and physical abuse, manipulation, supernatural themes, implied violence, betrayal, character death, transformation lore, body horror elements, graphic depictions of blood, intense psychological and emotional distress, brief sexual content, references to alcoholism and domestic conflict. Let me know if I missed any! A/N: My first story on here! Also I’m not from the 1930’s so don’t beat me up for not knowing too much about life in that time.I couldn’t stop thinking about this gorgeous man since I watched the movie. Wanted to jump through the screen to get to him anywayssss likes, reblogs and asks always appreciated. 

The heat clings to my skin like a second husband, just as unwanted as the first. Even with the sun long gone, the air hangs thick enough to drown in, pressing against my lungs as I ease the screen door open. The hinges whine—traitors announcing my escape attempt—and before I can slip out, his voice lashes at my back, mean as a belt strap. "I ain't done talkin' to you, girl." His fingers dig into my arm, yanking me back inside. The dim yellow light from our single lamp casts his face in a shadow, but I don’t need to see his expression. I've memorized every twist his mouth makes when he's like this—cruel at the corners, loose in the middle.

"You been done," I whisper, the words scraping my throat like gravel. My tears stay locked behind my eyes, prisoners I refuse to release. "Said all you needed to say half a bottle ago." Frank's breath hits my face, sour with corn liquor and hate. His pupils are wide, unfocused—black holes pulling at the edges of his irises. The hand not gripping my arm rises slow and wavering, a promise of pain that has become as routine as sunrise. But tonight, the whiskey’s got him too good. His arm drops mid-swing, its weight too much. For the first time in three years of marriage, I don't flinch. He notices. Even drunk, he notices. "The hell's gotten into you?" His words slur together, a muddy river of accusation. "Think you better'n me now? That it?" "Just tired, Frank." My voice stays steady as still water. "That's all." The truth is, I stopped being afraid a month ago. Fear requires hope—the desperate belief that things might change if you're just careful enough, quiet enough, good enough. I buried my hope the last time he put my head through the wall, right next to where the plaster still shows the shape of my skull. I look around our little house—a wedding gift from his daddy that's become my prison. Two rooms of misery, decorated in things Frank broke and I tried to fix. The table with three good legs and one made from an old fence post. The chair with stuffing coming out like dirty snow. The wallpaper peels in long strips, curling away from the walls like they're trying to escape too.

My reflection catches in the cracked mirror above the wash basin—a woman I barely recognize anymore. My eyes have gone flat, my cheekbones sharp beneath skin that used to glow. Twenty-five years old and fading like a dress left too long in the sun. Frank stumbles backward, catching himself on the edge of our bed. The springs screech under his weight. "Where you think you're goin' anyhow?" "Just for some air." I keep my voice gentle, like you'd talk to a spooked horse. "Be back before you know it." His eyes narrow, suspicion fighting through the drunken haze. "You meetin' somebody?" I shake my head, moving slowly around the room, gathering my shawl, and checking my hair. Every movement measured, nothing to trigger him. "Just need to breathe, Frank. That's all." "You breathe right here," he mutters, but his words are losing their fight, drowning in whiskey and fatigue. "Right here where I can see you." I don't answer. Instead, I watch him struggle against sleep, his body betraying him in small surrenders—head nodding, shoulders slumping, breath deepening. Five minutes pass, then ten. His chin drops to his chest. I slip my dancing shoes from their hiding place beneath a loose floorboard under our bed. Frank hates them—says they make me look loose, wanton. What he means is they make me look like someone who might leave him.

He's not wrong.

The shoes feel like rebellion in my hands. I've polished them in secret, mended the scuffs, kept them alive like hope. Can't put them on yet—the sound would wake him—but soon. Soon they'll carry me where I need to go. Frank snores suddenly, a thunderclap of noise that makes me freeze. But he doesn't stir, just slumps further onto the bed, one arm dangling toward the floor. I move toward the door again; shoes clutched to my chest like something precious. The night outside calls to me with cricket songs and possibilities. Through the dirty window, I can see the path that leads toward the woods, toward Smoke and Stack's place where the music will already be starting. Where for a few hours, I can remember what it feels like to be something other than Frank's wife, Frank's disappointment, Frank's punching bag. The screen door sighs as I ease it open. The night air touches my face like a blessing. Behind me, Frank sleeps the sleep of the wicked and the drunk. Ahead of me, there's music waiting. And tonight, just tonight, that music is stronger than my fear.

The juke joint grows from the Mississippi dirt like something half-remembered, half-dreamed. Even from the edge of the trees, I can feel its heartbeat—the thump of feet on wooden boards, the wail of Sammie's guitar cutting through the night air, voices rising and falling in waves of joy so thick you could swim in them. My shoes dangle from my fingers, still clean. No point in dirtying them on the path. What matters is what happens inside, where the real world stops at the door and something else begins. Light spills from the cracks between weathered boards, turning the surrounding pine trees into sentinels guarding this secret. I slip my shoes on, leaning on the passenger side of one of the few vehicles in-front of the juke-joint, already swaying to the rhythm bleeding through the walls. Smoke and Stack bought this place with money from God knows where coming back from Chicago. Made it sturdy enough to hold our dreams, hidden enough to keep them safe. White folks pretend not to know it exists, and we pretend to believe them. That mutual fiction buys us this—one place where we don't have to fold ourselves small. I push open the door and step into liquid heat. Bodies press and sway, dark skin gleaming with sweat under the glow of kerosene lamps hung from rough-hewn rafters. The floor bears witness to many nights of stomping feet, marked with scuffs that tell stories words never could. The air tastes like freedom—sharp with moonshine, sweet with perfume, salty with honest work washed away in honest pleasure. At the far end, Sammie hunches over his guitar, eyes closed, fingers dancing across strings worn smooth from years of playing. He doesn't need to see what he's doing; the music lives in his hands. Each note tears something loose inside anyone who hears it—something we keep chained up during daylight hours.

Annie throws her head back in laughter, her full hips wrapped in a dress the color of plums. She grabs Pearline's slender wrist, pulling her into the heart of the dancing crowd. Pearline resists for only a second before surrendering, her graceful movements a perfect counterpoint to Annie's rare wild abandon. "Come on now," Annie shouts over the music. "Your husband ain't here to see you, and the Lord ain't lookin' tonight!" Pearline's lips curve into that secret smile she saves for these moments when she can set aside the proper church woman and become something truer. In the corner, Delta Slim nurses a bottle like it contains memories instead of liquor. His eyes, bloodshot but sharp, track everything without seeming to. His fingers tap against the bottleneck, keeping time with Sammie's playing. An old soul who's seen too much to be fooled by anything. "Slim!" Cornbread's deep voice booms as he passes, carrying drinks that overflow slightly with each step. "You gonna play tonight or just drink the profits?" "Might do both if you keep askin'," Slim drawls, but there's no heat in it. Just the familiar rhythm of old friends. I step fully into the room and something shifts. Not everyone notices—most keep dancing, talking, drinking—but enough heads turn my way that I feel it. A ripple through the crowd, making space. Recognition.

Smoke spots me from behind the rough-plank bar. His nod is almost imperceptible, but I catch it—permission, welcome, understanding. His forearms glisten with sweat as he pours another drink, muscles tensed like he's always ready for trouble. Because he is. Stack appears beside him, leaning in to say something in his twin's ear. Unlike Smoke, whose energy coils tight, Stack moves with a gambler's grace, all smooth edges, and calculated risks. His eyes find me in the crowd, lingering a beat too long, concern flashing before he masks it with a lazy smile. My feet carry me to the center of the floor without conscious thought. The wooden boards warm beneath my soles, greeting me like an old friend. I close my eyes, letting Sammie's guitar and voice pull me under, drowning in sound. My body remembers what my mind tries to forget—how to move without fear, how to speak without words. My hips sway, shoulders rolling in time with the stomps. Each stomp of my feet sends the day's hurt into the ground. Each twist of my wrist unravels another knot of rage. My dress—faded cotton sewn and resewn until it's more memory than fabric—clings to me as I spin, catching sweat and starlight.

"She needs this," Smoke mutters to Stack, thinking I can't hear over the music. He takes a long pull from his bottle, eyes never leaving me. "Let her be." But Stack keeps watching, the way he watched when we were kids, and I climbed too high in the cypress trees. Like he's waiting to catch me if I fall. I don't plan to fall. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm rising, lifting, breaking free from gravity itself. Mary appears beside me, her red dress a flame against the darkness. She moves with the confidence of youth and beauty, all long limbs and laughter. "Girl, you gonna burn a hole in the floor!" she shouts, spinning close enough that her breath warms my ear. I don't answer. Can't answer. Words belong to the day world, the world of men like Frank who use them as weapons. Here, my body speaks a better truth. The music climbs higher, faster. Sammie's fingers blur across the strings, coaxing sounds that shouldn't be possible from wood and wire. The crowd claps in rhythm, feet stomping, voices joining in wordless chorus. The walls of the juke joint seem to expand with our joy, swelling to contain what can't be contained. My head tilts back, eyes finding the rough ceiling without seeing it. My spirit has already soared through those boards, up past the pines, into a night sky scattered with stars that know my real name. Sweat tracks down my spine, between my breasts, and along my temples. My heartbeat syncs with the drums until I can't tell which is which. At this moment, Frank doesn't exist. The bruises hidden beneath my clothes don't exist. All that exists is movement, music, and the miraculous feeling of being fully, completely alive in a body that, for these few precious hours, belongs only.

The music fades behind me, each step into the woods stealing another note until all that's left is memory. My body still hums with the ghost of rhythm, but the air around me has changed—gone still in a way that doesn't feel right. Mississippi nights are never quiet, not really. There are always cicadas arguing with crickets, frogs calling from hidden places, leaves whispering to each other. But tonight, the woods swallow sound like they're holding their breath. Waiting for something. My fingers tighten around my shawl, pulling it closer though the heat hasn't broken. It's not cold I'm feeling. It's something else. Moonlight cuts through the canopy in silver blades, slicing the path into sections of light and dark. I step carefully, avoiding roots that curl up from the earth like arthritic fingers. The juke-joint has disappeared behind me; its warmth and noise sealed away by the wall of pines. Ahead lies home—Frank snoring in a drunken stupor, walls pressing in, air thick with resentment. Between here and there is only this stretch of woods, this moment of in-between. My dancing shoes pinch now, reminding me they weren't made for walking. But I don't take them off. They're the last piece of the night I'm clinging to, proof that for a few hours, I was someone else. Someone free.

A twig snaps.

I freeze every muscle tense as piano wire. That sound came from behind me, off to the left where the trees grow thicker. Not an animal—too deliberate, too singular. My heart drums against my ribs, no longer keeping Sammie's rhythm but a faster, frightened beat of its own. "Who's there?" My voice sounds thin in the unnatural quiet. For a moment, nothing. Then movement—not a crashing through underbrush, but a careful parting, like the darkness itself is opening up. He steps onto the path, and everything in me goes still. White man. Tall. Nothing unusual about that. But everything else about him rings false. His clothes seem to match the dust of the woods—dusty white shirt, suspenders that catch the moonlight like they're made of something finer than ordinary cloth. Dust clings to his shoes but sweat darkens his collar despite the heat. His skin is pale in a way that seems to glow faintly, untouched by the sun. But it's his eyes that stop my breath. They don't blink enough. And they're fixed on me with a hunger that has nothing to do with what men usually want.

"You move like you don't belong to this world," he says, voice smooth as molasses but cold like stones at the bottom of a well. There's a drawl to his words. He sounds like nowhere and everywhere. "I've watched you dance. On nights like this. It's… spellwork, what you do." My spine straightens of its own accord. I should run. Every instinct screams it. But something else—pride, maybe, or foolishness—keeps me rooted. "I ain't got nothin' for you," I say, keeping my voice steady. My hand tightens on my shawl, though it's poor protection against whatever this man is. "And white men seekin’ me out here alone usually bring trouble." His lips curve upward, but the smile doesn't touch those unblinking eyes. They remain fixed, assessing, and patient in a way that makes my skin prickle. "You think I came to bring you trouble?" The question hangs between us, delicate as spiderweb. I don't trust it. Don't trust him. "I think you should go," I say, taking half a step backward. He matches with a step forward but maintains the distance between us—precise, controlled.

"I'm called Remmick."

"I didn't ask." My voice sharpens with fear disguised as attitude.

"No," he says, nodding thoughtfully. "But something in you will remember."

The certainty in his voice raises the hair on my arms. I study him more carefully—the unnatural stillness with which he holds himself. Something is wrong with this man, something beyond the obvious danger of a man approaching a woman alone in the woods at night. The trees around him seem to bend away slightly, as if reluctant to touch him. Even the persistent mosquitoes that plague these woods avoid the air around him. The night itself recoils from his presence, creating a bubble of emptiness with him at the center. I take another step back, putting more distance between us. My heel catches on a root, but I recover without falling. His eyes track the movement with unsettling precision.

"You can go on now," I say, my voice harder now. "Ain't nobody invited you."

Something changes in his expression at that—a flicker of satisfaction, like I've confirmed something he suspected. His head tilts slightly, almost pleased. "That's true," he murmurs, the words barely disturbing the air. "Not yet."

The way he says it—like a promise, like a threat—makes my breath catch. The moonlight catches his profile as he turns slightly. For a moment, just a moment, I think I see something move beneath that worn shirt—not muscle or bone, but something else, something that shifts like shadow-given substance. Then it's gone, and he's just a man again. A strange, terrifying man standing too still in the woods who wants nothing to do with him. I don't say goodbye. Don't acknowledge him further. Just back away, keeping my eyes on him until I can turn safely until the path curves and trees separate us. Even then, I feel his gaze on my back like a physical weight, pressing against my spine, leaving an imprint that won't wash off.

I don't run—running attracts predators—but I walk faster, my dancing shoes striking the dirt in a rhythm that sounds like warning, warning, warning with each step. The trees seem to whisper now, breaking their unnatural silence to murmur secrets to each other. Behind me, the woods remain still. I don't hear him following. Somehow, that's worse. As if he doesn't need to follow to find me again. As I near the edge of the tree line, the familiar sounds of night gradually return—cicadas start up their sawing, and an owl calls from somewhere deep in the darkness. The world exhales, releasing the breath it had been holding. But something has changed. The night that once offered escape now feels like another kind of trap. And somewhere in the darkness behind me waits a man named Remmick, with eyes that don't blink enough and a voice that speaks of "not yet" like it's already written.

Two day passed but The rooster still don’t holler like he used to. He creaks out a noise ‘round mid-morning now, long after the sun’s already sitting heavy on the tin roof. Maybe the heat got to him. Maybe he’s just tired of callin’ out a world that don’t change. I know the feel. But night comes again, faster than mornin’ these days. Probably cause’ I’m expectin’ more from the night. Frank’s out cold on the mattress, one leg hanging off like it gave up trying. His breath comes in grunts, open-mouthed and ugly. A fly dances lazy across his upper lip, lands, takes off again. I step over his boots; past the broken chair he swore he’d fix last fall. Ain’t nothin’ changed but the dust. Kitchen smells like rusted iron and whatever crawled up into the walls to die. I fill the kettle slow, careful with the water pump handle so it don’t squeal. Ain’t trying to wake a bear before it’s time. My fingers press against the wallpaper, where it peeled back like bark. The spot stays warm. Heat trapped from yesterday. I don’t talk to myself. Don’t say a word. But my thoughts speak his name without asking.

Remmick.

It don’t belong in this house. It don’t belong in my mouth, either. But there it is, curling behind my teeth. I never told a soul about him. Not ‘cause I was scared. Not yet. Just didn’t know how to explain a man who don’t blink enough. Who moves like the ground ain’t quite got a grip on him. Who steps out of the woods like he heard you call, even when you didn’t. A man who hangs ‘round a place with no intention of going in.

I tug the hem of my dress higher to look at the bruise. Purple, with a ring of green creeping in around the edges. I press two fingers to it, just to feel it. A reminder. Frank don’t always hit where people can see. But he don’t always miss, either. I wrap it in cloth, tug the fabric of my dress just right, and move on. I don’t plan to dance tonight. But I’ll sit. Maybe smile. Maybe drink something that don’t taste like survival. Maybe Stack’ll run his mouth and pull a laugh out of me without trying. And maybe, when it’s time to go, I’ll take the long way home. Not because I’m expectin’ anything. But because I want to. The juke joint buzzes before I even see it. The trees carry the sound first—the thump of feet, the thrum of piano spilling through the wood like sap. By the time I reach the clearing, it’s already breathing, already alive. Cornbread’s at the door, arms folded. When I pass, he gives me that look like he sees more than I want him to. “You look lighter tonight,” he says. I give a half-smile. “Probably just ain’t carryin’ any expectations.” He lets out a low laugh, the kind that rolls up from his gut and sits heavy in the room. “Or maybe ‘cause you left somethin’ behind last night.” That makes me pause, just for a beat. But I don’t show it. Just raise my brow like he’s talkin’ nonsense and keep walkin’.

He don’t mean nothin’ by it. But it sticks to me anyway.

Delta Slim’s at the keys, tapping them like they owe him money. The notes bounce off the walls, dusty and full of teeth. No Sammie tonight—Stack said he’s somewhere wrasslin’ a busted guitar into obedience. Pearline’s off in the corner, close to Sammie’s usual seat. She’s leaned in real low to a man I seen from time to time here, voice like honey drippin’ too slow to trust. Her laugh breaks in soft bursts, careful not to wake whatever she’s tryin’ to keep asleep. Stack’s behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, but he ain’t workin.’ Not really. He’s leanin’ on the wood, jaw flexing as he smirks at some girl with freckles down her arms like spilled salt. I find a seat near the back, close enough to the fan to catch a breath of cool, far enough to keep my bruise out of the light.

Inside, the joint don’t just sing—it exhales. Walls groan with sweat and joy, floorboards shimmy under stompin’ feet. The air’s thick with heat, perfume, and fried something that’s long since stopped smellin’ like food. There’s a rhythm to the place—one that don’t care what your name is, just how you move. Smoke’s behind the bar too, back bent over a bottle, jaw set tight like always. But when he sees me, his mouth softens. Not a smile—he don’t give those away easy. Just a nod. Like he sees me, really sees me. “Frank dead yet?” he mutters without looking up. “Not that lucky,” I say, voice dry as dust. He pours without askin.’ Corn punch. Still too sweet. But it sits right on the tongue after a long day of silence.

“You limpin’?” he asks, low, like maybe it’s just for me.

I shake my head. “Just don’t feel like shakin’.” He grunts understanding. “You don’t gotta explain, Y/N. Just glad you showed.” A warmth rolls behind my ribs. I don’t show it. But I feel it.

I don’t dance, but I play. Cards smack against the wood table like drumbeats—sharp, mean, familiar. The men at the table glance up, but none complain when I sit. I win too often for them to pretend they ain’t interested. Stack leans over my shoulder after the second hand. I smell rum and tobacco before he speaks. “You cheat,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You slow,” I fire back, slapping a queen on the pile. He whistles. “You always talk this much when you feelin’ good?” “Don’t flatter yourself.” “Oh, I ain’t. Just sayin,’ looks Like you been kissed by somethin’ holy—or dangerous.” “I’ll let you decide which.” He laughs, pulls up a chair without askin’. His knee brushes mine. He don’t apologize. I don’t move.

I leave before Slim plays his last note. The night wraps itself around me the moment I step out, damp and sweet, the kind of air that clings to your skin like memory. One more laugh from inside rings out sharp before the door shuts and the trees hush it. My feet take the path without me thinking. I don’t look for shadows. Don’t linger. Just want the stillness. The cool hush after heat. The part of night that feels like confession. But halfway down the clearing, I see him again. Not leaning. Not hiding. Just there. Standing like the woods parted just to place him in my way. White shirt. Sleeves rolled. Suspenders loose against dusty pants. Hat in hand like he means to be respectful, like he was taught his mama’s manners. I stop. “You followin’ me?” I ask, but it don’t come out sharp.

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “Didn’t know a man needed a permit to take a walk under the stars.” “You keep walkin’ where I already am.”

He looks down the path, then back at me. “Maybe that means you and I got the same sense of direction.” “Or maybe you been steppin’ where you know I’ll be.” He doesn’t deny it. Just shrugs, eyes steady. I don’t move closer. Don’t move back either.

“You always turn up like this?” I ask. “Like a page I forgot to read?” He chuckles. “No. Just figured you were the kind of story worth rereadin’.” The silence after that ain’t heavy. Just… close. The kind that makes your ears ring with what you ain’t said. “You always this smooth?” I say, voice low. “I been known to stumble,” he replies. “Just not when it counts.” I shift. Let my eyes roam past him, toward the tree line. “Small talk doesn’t suit you.” “I don’t do small.” His eyes meet mine again. “Especially not with you.” It’s too much. It should be too much. But my hands don’t tremble. My breath don’t catch.

Not yet.

“You always walk the same road as a woman leavin’ the juke joint alone?” “I didn’t follow you,” he repeats. “I just happen to be where you are.” He steps forward, slow. I don’t retreat. “You expect me to believe that?” I ask. “No,” he says softly. “But I think you want to.” That lands between us like something too honest. He runs a hand through his hair before putting his hat on. A simple gesture. A human one. Like he’s just another man with nowhere to be and too much time to spend not being there. He watches me, real still—like a man waitin’ to see if I’ll spook or bite. “Figured I might’ve come off wrong last time,” he says finally, voice soft, but it don’t bend easy. “Didn’t mean to.” “You did,” I say, but my arms stay loose at my sides. A flick of something passes over his face. Not shame, not pride—just a small, ghosted look, like he’s used to bein’ misunderstood. “Well,” he says, thumb brushing the brim of his hat, “thought maybe I’d try again. Slower this time.” That pulls at somethin’ behind my ribs, makes the air stretch thinner between us. “You act like this some kinda game.” He shakes his head once. “Not a game. Just…timing. Some things got to take the long way ‘round.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to make out where he’s hidin’ the trick in all this.

“The way you talk is like running in circles.” He laughs—low and rough at the edges, like it ain’t used to bein’ let out. “I won’t waste time running in circles around a darlin’ like you.” I cross my arms, squinting at the space between his words. “That supposed to charm me?” He shrugs, one shoulder easy like he don’t expect much. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “Just thought I’d give you something truer than a lie.” His voice ain’t sweet—it’s too honest for that. But it moves like water that knows where it’s goin’. I shift my weight, let the breeze slide between us.

“You ain’t said why you’re here. Not really.” He watches me a long moment, like he’s weighing how much I’ll let in. “Maybe I’m drawn to your energy,” he says finally. I scoff. “My energy? I don’t move too much to emit energy.” That gets him smilin’. Slow. Not too sure of itself, but not shy either. “You don’t have to move,” he says, “to be seen.” The words hit like a drop of cold water between the shoulder blades—sharp, sudden, and too real. I take a step forward just to ground myself, heel pressing into the dirt like I mean it. “You a preacher?” I ask, voice sharper than before. He chuckles, deep and close-lipped. “Ain’t nothin’ holy about me.” “Then don’t talk to me like you got a sermon stitched in your throat.” He bows his head just a hair, hands still at his sides. “Fair enough.”

A pause stretches long enough for the night sounds to creep back in—cicadas winding up, wind sifting through the trees. “I’m Remmick,” he says, like it matters more now. “I know.” “And you?” “You don’t need my name.” His mouth quirks like he wants to press, but he don’t. “You sure about that?” “Yes.” The silence that follows feels cleaner. Like everything’s been set on the table and neither one of us reaching for it. He nods, slow. “Alright. Just thought I’d say hello this time without makin’ the trees nervous.” I don’t smile. Don’t give him more than I want to. But I don’t turn away either. And when he steps back—slow, like he respects the space between us—I let him. This time, I watch him go. Down the path, ‘til the woods decide they’ve had enough of him.

I don’t look back once my hand’s on the porch rail. The key trembles once in the lock before it catches. Inside, it’s the same. Frank dead to the world, laid out like sin forgiven. I pass him without a glance, like I’m the ghost and not him. At the washbasin, I scrub my face until the cold water stings. Peel off the dress slow, like unwrapping something tender. The bruises bloom up my side, but I don’t touch ‘em. I slide into a cotton nightgown soft enough not to fight me. Climb into bed without expecting sleep. Just lie there, staring at the ceiling like maybe tonight it might speak.

But it don’t.

It just creaks. Settles.

And leaves me with that name again. Remmick.

I whisper it once, barely enough sound to stir the dark. Three days pass. The sun’s just fallen, but the air still clings like breath held too long. I’m on the back stoop with my foot sunk in a basin of cool water, ankle puffed up mean from Frank’s latest mood. Shawl drawn close, dress hem hiked above the bruising. The house behind me creaks like it’s thinking about falling apart. Crickets chirp with something to prove. A whip-poor-will calls once, then hushes like it said too much. And then—

“Evenin’.”

My hand jerks, sloshing water up my calf. I don’t scream, but I don’t hide the startle either. He’s by the fence post. Just leanin’. Arms folded over the top like he been there long enough to take root. Hat low, sleeves rolled, collar open at the throat. Shirt clings faint in the heat, pants dusted up from honest walking—or the kind that don’t leave footprints. I say nothing. He tips his head like he’s waiting for permission that won’t come. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” “You always arrive like breath behind a neck.” “I try not to,” he says, quiet. “Don’t always manage it.” That smile he wears—it don’t shine. It settles. Soft. A little sorry. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again,” he says.

“I don’t.”

He nods like he expected that too. I don’t blink. Don’t drop my gaze. “Why you keep comin’ here, Remmick?”

His name tastes different now. Sharper. He blinks once, slow and deliberate. “Didn’t think you remembered it.” “I remember what sticks wrong.” He watches me a beat longer than comfort allows. Then—calm, measured—he says, “Just figured you might not mind the company.” “That ain’t company,” I snap. “That’s trespassin’.” My voice cuts colder than I meant it to, but it don’t feel like a lie. “You know where I live. You know when I’m out here. That ain’t coincidence. That’s intent.” He don’t flinch. “I asked.”

That stops me. “Asked who?”

He lifts his hand, palm out like he ain’t holdin’ anything worth hiding. “Lady outside the feed store. Said you were the one with the porch full of peeled paint and a garden that used to be tended. Said you got a husband who drinks too early and hits too late.” My mouth goes dry.

“You spyin’ on me?” “No,” he says. “I don’t need to spy to see what’s plain.” “And what’s plain to you, exactly?” My tone is flint now. Sparked. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.” He leans in, just enough. “You think that bruise on your ankle don’t show ‘cause your dress covers it? You think folks ain’t noticed how you don’t laugh no more unless you hidin’ it behind a stiff smile?” Silence folds in between us. Thick. Unwelcoming. He doesn’t press. Just keeps looking, like he’s listening for something I ain’t said yet.

“I don’t need savin’,” I murmur. “I didn’t come to save you,” he says, and his voice is different now low, but not slick. Heavy, like a weight he’s carried too far. “I just came to see if you’d talk back. That’s all.” I pull my foot from the water, slow. Wrap it in a rag. Keep my gaze steady. “You show up again unasked,” I say, “I’ll have Frank walk you home.” He chuckles. Real soft. Like he don’t think I’d do it, but he don’t plan to test me either. “I’d deserve it,” he says. Then he tips his hat after putting it back on and steps back into the night. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t look back. But even after he’s gone, I can feel the place he left behind—like a fingerprint on glass. ——— Inside, Frank’s already mutterin’ in his sleep. The sound of a man who ain’t never done enough to earn rest, but claims it like birthright. I move around him like I ain’t there. Later, in bed, the ceiling don’t offer peace. Just shadows that shift like breath. I lay quiet, hands folded over my stomach, heart beatin’ steady where it shouldn’t. I don’t say his name. But I think it. And it stays.

Mornings don’t change much. Not in this house. Frank’s boots hit the floor before I even open my eyes. He don’t speak—just shuffles around, clearing his throat like it’s my fault it ain’t clear yet. He spits into the sink, loud and wet, then starts lookin’ for somethin’ to curse. Today it’s the biscuits. Yesterday, it was the fact I bought the wrong tobacco. Tomorrow? Could be the way I breathe. I don’t talk back. Just pack his lunch quiet, hands moving like they’ve learned how to vanish. When the door finally slams shut behind him, the silence feels less like peace and more like a pause in the storm. The floor don’t sigh. I do.

He’ll be back by sundown. Drunk by nine. Dead asleep by ten.

And I’ll be somewhere else—at least for a little while. The juke joint’s sweating by the time I get there. Delta Slim’s on keys again, playing like his fingers been dipped in honey and sorrow. Voices ride the walls, thick and rising, the kind that ain’t tryin’ to be pretty—just loud enough to out-sing the pain. Pearline’s got Sammie backed in a corner again, her laugh syrupy and slow. She always did know how to linger in a man’s space like perfume. Cornbread’s hollering near the door, trading jokes for coin. And Annie’s on a stool, head tilted like she’s heard too much and not enough. I don’t dance tonight. Still too tender. So, I post up at the end of the bar with something sharp in my glass. Smoke sees me, gives that chin lift he reserves for bad days and bruised ribs. Stack sidles up before the ice even melts. “Quiet day today,” he asks, cracking a peanut with his teeth. I don’t look at him. Just stir my drink slow. “Talkin’ ain’t always safe.” His brows go up. He glances around like he’s checking for shadows, then leans in a bit. “Frank still being Frank?” I lift one shoulder. Stack don’t push. Just keeps on with his drink, knuckles tapping the bar like a slow metronome.

Then, quiet: “You got somethin’ heavy to let go of.” That stops me. Just a second. But he catches it. “Huh?” He shrugs, doesn’t look at me this time. “You ever seen a rabbit freeze in tall grass? That’s the look. Ears up. Heart runnin’. But it ain’t moved yet.” I run a fingertip down the side of my glass, watching the sweat bead up. “There’s been a man.” Now Stack looks. “He don’t say much. Just… shows up. Walks the same road I’m on, like we both happened there. Then he started talkin’. Knew things he shouldn’t. Last time, he was near my house. Didn’t come in. Just… lingered.” “White?” I nod.

Stack’s whole posture changes—draws tight at the shoulders, jaw working. “You want me to handle it?” I shake my head. “No.” “Y/N—” “No,” I say again, firmer. “I don’t want more fire when the house is already half burnt. He ain’t done nothin.’ Not really.” Yet. He lets it settle. Don’t agree. But he don’t argue either. Behind us, Annie’s refilling her glass. She don’t speak, but her eyes cut over to Mary. Mary catches it. Lips press together. She looks at me the way you look at something you’ve seen before but can’t stop from happening again. And then, like it’s all normal, Mary chirps out, “You hear Pearline bet Sammie he couldn’t outdrink Cornbread?” Annie scoffs. “She just tryin’ to sit on his lap before midnight.” Stack grins but don’t fully let go of his watchful look. The mood shifts easy, like it rehearsed for this. Like they all know how to laugh loud enough to cover a crack in the wall.

But I ain’t laughing.

I nurse my drink, fingers cold and wet around the glass. My eyes flick toward the door, then away. Remmick. That name’s been clingin’ to my mind like smoke in closed curtains. Thick. Quiet. Still there long after the fire’s gone out. I think about how he looked at me—not like a man looks at a woman, but like he’s listening to something inside her. I think about the way his voice wrapped around the air, soft but steady, like it belonged even when it didn’t. I think about how I told Stack I didn’t want to see him again.

And I wonder why I lied.

Frank’s truck wheezes up the road like it’s draggin’ its bones. Brakes cry once. Gravel shifts like it don’t want to hold him. Inside, the pot’s still warm on the stove. Not hot. He hates hot. Says it means I was tryin’ too hard, or not tryin’ enough. With Frank, it don’t matter which—he’ll find the fault either way. The screen door creaks and slams. That sound still startles me, even now. Boots hit wood, heavy and careless. His scent rolls in before he speaks—sweat, sun, grease, and the liquor I know he popped open three miles back. I don’t turn. Just keep spoonin’ grits into the bowl, hand steady. “You hear they cut my hours?” he says. His voice’s wound tight, all string and no tune. “No,” I say. He drops his lunch pail hard on the table. The tin rattles. A sound I hate.

“They kept Carter,” he mutters. “You know why?” I stay quiet. He answers himself anyway. “’Cause Carter got a wife who stays in her place. Don’t get folks talkin’. Don’t strut around like she’s single.” The grit spoon taps the bowl once. Then again. I let it. “You callin’ me loud?” “I’m sayin’ you don’t make it easy. Every damn week, somebody got somethin’ to say. ‘Saw her smilin’. Heard her laughin’. Like you forgot what house you live in.” I press my palm flat to the counter, slow. “Maybe if you kept your hands to yourself, folks’d have less to talk about.” It slips out too fast. But I don’t take it back. The room goes still.

Chair legs scrape. He rises like a storm cloud built slow. “You forget who you’re speakin’ to?” I feel him move before he does. Feel the air shift. “I remember,” I say. My voice don’t rise. Just settles. He comes close—closer than he needs to be. His breath touches the back of my neck before his hand does. The shove ain’t hard. But it’s meant to echo.

“You think I won’t?” I breathe once, deep. “I think you already have.” He stands there, hand still half-raised like he’s weighing what it’d cost him. Like maybe the thrill’s dulled over time. His breath’s ragged. But he backs off. Steps away. Chair squeals across the floor as he drops into it, muttering something I don’t catch. I move quiet to the sink, rinse the spoon. My back still to him. Eyes locked on the faucet. Somewhere behind me, the bowl clinks against the table. He eats in silence. And all I can think about the man who ain’t never set foot in my house but got me leavin’ the porch light on for him. —— Two weeks slip past like smoke through floorboards. Maybe more. I stopped countin’. Time don’t move the same without him in it. The nights stretch longer, duller. No shape to ‘em. Just quiet. At first, that quiet feels like mercy. Like I snuffed out something that could’ve swallowed me whole. I sleep harder. Wake lighter. For a little while. But mercy don’t last. Not when it’s pretending to be peace. Because soon, the quiet stops feeling like rest. And starts feeling like a missing tooth You keep tonguing the space, even when it hurts. At the juke joint, I start to dance again. Not wild, not free—just enough to remember how my body used to move when it wasn’t afraid of being seen. Slim plays slower that night, coaxing soft fire from the keys. The kind of song that settles deep, don’t need to shout to be felt. Pearline leans in, breath warm on my cheek. “You got your hips back,” she says, low and slick. “Don’t call it a comeback,” I grin, though it don’t sit right in my mouth.

Mary laughs when I sit back down, breath hitchin’ from the floor. “Somebody’s been puttin’ sugar in your coffee.” “Maybe I just stirred it myself,” I say. But even as I say it, my eyes go to the door. To the dark. Stack catches the look. He always does. Doesn’t press. Just watches me longer than usual, mouth tight like he wants to say somethin’ and knows he won’t.

Frank’s been… duller. Still drinks. Still stinks. Still mean in that slow, creepin’ way that feels more like rot than fire. But the heat’s gone out of it. Like he’s noticed I ain’t afraid no more and don’t know how to fight a ghost. He don’t yell as loud now. Doesn’t hit as hard. But it ain’t softness. It’s confusion. He don’t like not bein’ feared.

And maybe worse—I don’t like that he don’t try. Some nights, I sit on the back step long after the world’s gone to bed. Shawl loose around my shoulders, feet bare against the grain. The well water in the basin’s gone warm by then. Even the wind feels tired. Crickets rasp. A cicada drones. I listen like I used to—for the shift in the dark. The weight of a gaze. The way the air used to still when he was near. But there’s nothin’. Just me. Just the quiet. I catch myself one night—talkin’ out loud to the trees. “You was real brave when I didn’t want you here,” I say, voice rough from disuse. “Now I’m sittin’ like a fool hopin’ the dark says somethin’ back.”

It don’t.

The leaves stay still. No footfall. No voice. Not even a breeze. Just me. And that ache I can’t name. But he’s there. Further back than before. At the edge of the trees, where the moonlight don’t reach. Where the shadows thicken like syrup.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just waits. Because Remmick ain’t the kind to come knockin’. He waits ‘til the door opens itself. And I don’t know it yet, but mine already has.

The road to town don’t carry much breath after sundown. Shutters drawn, porch lights dimmed, the kind of quiet that feels agreed upon. Most folks long gone to sleep or drunk enough to mistake the stars for halos. The storefronts sit heavy with silence, save for McFadden’s—one crooked bulb humming above the porch, casting shadows that don’t move unless they got to. A dog barks once, far off. Then nothing. I keep my pace even, bag pressed close to my side, shawl wrapped too tight for the heat. Sweat pools along my spine, but I don’t loosen it. A woman wrapped in fabric is less of a story than one without. Frank went to bed with a dry tongue and a bitter mouth. Said he’d wake mean if the bottle stayed empty. Called it my duty—said the word slow, like it should weigh more than me.

So I go.

Buying quiet the only way I know how. The bell above McFadden’s door rings tired when I slip inside. The air smells like dust and vinegar and old rubber soles. The clerk doesn’t look up. Just mutters a greeting and scribbles into a pad like the world don’t exist past his pencil tip. I move quick to the back, fingers brushing the necks of bottles lined up like soldiers who already lost. I grab the one that looks the least like mercy and pay without fuss. His change is greasy. I don’t count it. The bottle’s cold against my hip through the bag, sweat bleeding through cheap paper. I step out onto the porch and down the wooden steps, gravel crunching soft beneath my heels. The lamps flicker every few feet, moths stumbling in circles like they’ve forgotten what drew them here in the first place. The dark folds in tight once I leave the storefront behind. I don’t rush. Not ‘cause I feel safe. Just learned it looks worse when you do. Then—

“You keep odd hours.” His voice don’t cut—it folds. Like it belonged to the dark and just decided to speak. I stop. Not startled. Not calm either. He’s leaned just inside the alley by the post office, one boot pressed to brick, arms loose at his sides. Shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, suspenders hanging slack. His collar’s open, skin pale in the low light, like he don’t sweat the same as the rest of us. He looks like he fits here. That’s what makes it strange. Ain’t no reason a man like that should belong. But he does. Like he was built from the dirt and just stood up one day. I keep one foot planted on the sidewalk.

“You don’t give up, do you,” I say. He shifts just enough for the light to catch his mouth. Not a smile. Not quite. “You make it hard.” “You looked like you didn’t wanna be spoken to in that store,” he says, voice low and even. “So I waited out here.” The streetlamp hums above us. My grip on the bottle shifts, tighter now. “You could’ve kept walkin’.” “I was hopin’ you might,” he says.

Not hopin’ I’d stop. Not hopin’ I’d talk. Hopin’ I might.

There’s a difference. And I feel it. I glance down at the bottle. The glass slick with sweat. “Frank drinks this when he’s feelin’ good. That’s the only reason I’m out this late.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t press. “Is that what you want?” he asks after a beat. “Frank in a good mood?” I don’t answer. I just start walking. But his voice follows, smooth as shadow. “I was married once.” I pause. Not outta interest. More like the way a dog pauses before crossing a fence line—aware. “She was kind,” he says. “Too kind. Tried to fix things that weren’t broke. Just wrong.” He says it like it’s already been said a thousand times. Like the taste of it’s worn out. I look back. He hasn’t taken a single step closer. Just stands there, hands tucked in his pockets, jaw set loose like he’s tired of carryin’ that story. “How do you always end up in my path?” I ask. Not curious. Just tired of not sayin’ it. He lifts a shoulder, lazy. “Some people chase fate. Some just stand where it’s bound to pass.”

I snort, soft. “Sounds like somethin’ you read in a cheap novel.”

“Maybe,” he says, eyes flicking toward mine, “but some lies got a little truth buried in ‘em.” The quiet after settles deep. Not awkward. Not empty. Just close. “You shouldn’t be waitin’ on me,” I say, voice rougher now. “Ain’t nothin’ here worth the trouble.” He studies me. Not like a man tryin’ to see a woman. More like he’s lookin’ through fog, tryin’ to remember a place he used to live in. “I’ve had worse things,” he murmurs. “Worse things that never made me feel half as alive.” For a breath, the light catches his eyes. Not wrong. Not glowing. Just sharp. Like flint about to spark. Then he tips his head. “Goodnight, Y/N.” Soft. Like a promise. And just like always, he disappears without hurry. Without sound. Back into the dark like it opened for him. And maybe, just maybe, I hate how much I already expect it to do the same tomorrow.

The next day dawns heavy, the sun a reluctant guest peeking through gray clouds. I find myself trapped in that same tired rhythm, the kind of day that stretches before me like an old road—the kind you know too well to feel any excitement for. Frank’s got work today, though I can’t say I’m sure what he’ll be cursing by sundown.

As I move around the kitchen, pouring coffee and buttering bread, the silence feels thicker than usual. It clings to me, wraps around my thoughts like a vine, and I can’t shake the feeling that something's shifted. Maybe it’s just the weight of waiting for Remmick to show again, or maybe it’s that quiet ache gnawing at my insides—the kind that reminds you what hope felt like even if you’re scared to name it.

Frank shuffles in with those heavy boots of his, barely brushing past me as he grabs a mug without looking my way. He doesn’t say a word about the food or even acknowledge me standing there. Just pours himself another cup with a grimace. “How long’ve you been up?” he mutters, not really asking.

“Early enough,” I reply, holding back the urge to ask if he slept well.

He slams his mug down on the table hard enough for a ripple of coffee to splash over the edge. “What’s wrong with the damn biscuits?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just shoves one aside before storming out, leaving behind his bitterness hanging in the air like smoke.

I breathe deeply through my nose and keep packing his lunch—tuna salad this time; at least that’s something he won’t moan about too much. Still, every sound feels exaggerated, each scrape against porcelain echoing louder than it ought to.

Outside, I stand at the porch railing for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the sunlight warm my skin but unable to let its brightness seep into my heart. Birds are flitting from one tree branch to another—free from this heavy house—or so it seems.

I want to run after them. Escape to where everything isn’t tainted by liquor and regrets. But instead, I stay rooted in place until Frank’s truck roars down the road like some angry beast.

Once he's gone, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and pull on my shoes. A decent day to grab some much-needed groceries.

The heat wraps around me as I stroll through town—a gentle reminder that summer still holds sway despite all else changing. I walk through town, grabbing groceries on the way as I enjoy the weather. I run by grace’s store to grab some buttered pickles frank likes. The bell jingled above me as I entered the store, and grace comes from the back carrying an empty glass jar. She paused when she looked at me before smiling. “Hey gurl, haven’t seen ya in here for a while. Frank noticed he ate up all them buttered pickles? That damn animal.” I chuckled at her words as she set the glass jar down on the front counter. Grace moves behind the counter with that same easy rhythm she always has—like her bones already know where everything sits. The store smells like dust and sun-warmed glass, sweet tobacco, and something faintly metallic. Familiar.

“He Still workin’ over at the field?” she asks, pulling a new jar from beneath the counter. “Heard the boss cut hours again. Seems like everyone’s gettin’ squeezed ‘cept the ones doin’ the squeezin’.” “Yeah,” I mutter, glancing toward the shelf lined with dusty cans and glass jars. “He’s been stewin’ about it all week. Like it’s my fault time’s movin’ forward.” Grace snorts, capping the pickle jar and sliding it across the counter. “Girl, if Frank had his way, we’d all be wearin’ aprons and smilin’ through broken teeth.” I pick up the jar, running my fingers absently along the cold glass. “Some days it’s easier to pretend I’m deaf than fight him.” Grace leans forward, voice dropping low like she don’t want the pickles to hear. “You need somewhere to run, you come knock on my back door. Don’t matter what time.” That almost cracks me. Not enough to cry, but enough to blink slow and hold the jar tighter. “I appreciate it,” I say. She doesn’t press, just gives me a knowing nod and starts wrapping the jar in brown paper. “Also grabbed you a couple of those lemon drops you like,” she says with a wink. “Tell Frank the sugar’s for his sour ass.” That gets a real laugh outta me. Just a little one, but it lives in my chest longer than it should. Outside, the air’s heavy again. Thunder maybe, or just the kind of heat that makes everything feel like it’s about to break open. I tuck the paper bag under my arm and make my way down the street slow, dragging my fingers along the iron railings where ivy used to grow. Everything’s changing. And I don’t know if I’m running from it, or toward it. But I walk a little slower past the edge of town. Past the grove of trees that hum low when the wind slips through them. And I wonder—not for the first time—if he’ll be waiting there. And if he ain’t, why I keep hoping he will.

——

I don't light a lamp when I slip out the back door.

The house creaks behind me, drunk with silence and sour breath. Frank's dead asleep like always, belly full of cheap whiskey and whatever anger he couldn't throw at me before sleep took him.

The air outside ain't much cooler, but it's cleaner. Clear. Smells like pine and soil and something just beginning to bloom.

I walk slow. Like I'm just stretching my legs.

Like I'm not wearing the dress with the small blue flowers I ain't touched in over a year.

Like I'm not heading down the narrow path through the tall grass, the one that don't lead nowhere useful unless you're hoping to see someone who don't belong anywhere at all.

The night hums soft. Cicadas. Distant frogs. The kind of stillness that makes you feel like you've stepped into a dream—or out of one.

I settle on the old stump by the split rail, hands folded, back straight, pretending I ain't waiting.

He doesn't keep me waiting long.

"Always sittin’ this straight when relaxin'?"

His voice folds in gentle behind me. Amused. Unbothered.

I don't turn right away. Just glance sideways like I hadn't noticed him there.

"Wasn't expectin' company," I say.

He steps into view, lazy as twilight, hands in his pockets, shirt sleeves rolled and collar loose. Looks like the evening shaped itself just to dress him in it.

"No," he says. "But you brought that perfume out again. Figured that was the invitation."

I shift on the stump, eyes narrowed. "You pay a lotta attention for someone who don't plan on talkin'."

"Only to the things that matter."

He stays a little ways off, respectful of the space I haven't offered but he knows he owns just the same.

"You just out here wanderin' again?" I ask, trying not to sound like I care.

"Nah," he says, grinning a little. "I came out to see if that tree finally bloomed. The one you like to lean on when you think no one's watchin'."

I feel heat crawl up my neck. I smooth my skirt like that'll hide it.

"You always this nosy?"

He shrugs. "Just got good aim."

I shake my head, but I don't tell him to leave. Don't even ask why he's here.

'Cause I know.

And he knows I know.

He moves slow toward me and sits—not close enough to touch, but close enough I can feel it if I lean a little.

We sit in it a while. That hush. That weightless kind of silence that feels full instead of empty.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, "You laugh different at the juke joint than you do anywhere else."

I blink. "What?"

He doesn't look at me. Just watches the dark ahead, like he's reading the night for meaning.

"It's looser," he says. "Like your ribs don't hurt when you do it."

I don't answer. Can't. I ignored the question rising in my head about how he knows what’s goes on in the juke joint when I’ve never seen him in there or heard his name on peoples' lips there.

But somehow, he's right, and I hate that he knows that. Hate more that I like that he noticed.

"You got a way of sayin' too much without sayin' a damn thing," I mutter.

He huffs a laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."

We go quiet again. But it ain't tense. It's like we're settlin' into something neither one of us has had in too long.

Eventually, I say, "Frank don' like it when I'm gon’ too long."

"You wan’ me to walk you back?" he asks, like it's the easiest offer in the world.

"No," I say, but it comes out too soft. "Not yet."

He nods once. Doesn't press. Just leans back on one elbow, eyes half-lidded like the night's pullin' him under same as me or so I thought.

"You got stories?" I ask.

He raises a brow. "You askin' me to talk?"

"Don't make a big thing outta it."

He grins slow. "Alright then."

And he does. Tells me some nonsense about stealing peaches off a preacher's tree when he was too young to know better, how he and his cousin swore the preacher had the Devil chained under his porch to guard it. His voice wraps around the words easy, like molasses and wind. Whether it was true or not, I don’t seem to care at the moment.

I don't laugh out loud, but my smile finds its way out anyway.

When he glances at me, I see it in his eyes—that same look from the last time. Not hunger. Not charm.

Something gentler. Something like… understanding.

And for the first time, I let it happen.

Let myself enjoy him.

Not as a ghost. Not as a threat.

Just as a man sitting in the dark with me.

——

I've been lookin' forward to the night often these days, not because of him, of course… The night breathes warm against my skin. I'm on the porch, knees drawn up, pickin' absently at blades of grass growin' between the cracked boards like they're trespassin' and don't know it. I pluck them one by one, not really thinkin', not really waitin'—but not exactly doin' anything else either. I'm wearing the baby blue dress, The one with the lace at the collar, mended too many times to count but still hangin' right. I don't light the porch lamp. The dark feels easier to sit in. And then I hear him. Not footsteps. Not a branch snapping. Just… the way quiet shifts when something enters it. He steps from the tree line, slow like he don't want to spook the night. This time, he's carryin' something. A small bundle of wildflowers—purple ironweed, white clover, queen anne's lace—loosely knotted with a bit of twine. He stops at the porch steps and looks at me. Then, without a word, he sets the flowers down between us and lowers himself to sit at the edge of the stoop. Close. Not too close.

"I didn't bring 'em for a reason," he says after a while. "Just passed 'em and thought of you." My fingers drift toward the flowers, not quite touchin' them, but close enough to feel the velvet edge of a petal against my skin. The warmth of his nearness makes my breath catch somewhere between my throat and chest. "They're weeds," I murmur, though the word comes out gentle, almost like a caress. "They're what grows without bein' asked," he replies, and the corner of his mouth lifts in that way that makes my stomach drop like I'm fallin'. That quiet comes back. But it's a different kind now. Softer. Like the world's hushin' itself to hear what we might say next. I look at him then. Really look. Not at his mouth or his clothes ,that easy lean of his shoulders or those pouty eyebrows —but his hands. They're calloused, dirt beneath the nails. Not soft like the rest of him sometimes pretends to be. My fingers twitch with the sudden, foolish urge to trace those rough lines, to learn their map.

"You work?" I ask, the question slippin' out before I can catch it, betrayin' a curiosity I wasn't ready to admit. "I do what needs doin'." The words rumble low in his chest. "That's not an answer." I tilt my head, and the night air kisses the exposed curve of my neck. He turns his head, slow. "That's 'cause you ain't ready for the truth." The words wash over me like Mississippi heat—dangerous, thrillin'. My lips part, but no sound comes out. I go back to pickin' the grass, my fingertips brushin' wildflower stems now instead of weeds. Each touch feels deliberate in a way that makes my pulse flutter at my wrist, at my throat. He doesn't push. Doesn't move. Just sits with me 'til the moon's hangin' heavy over the trees, his presence beside me more intoxicatin' than any whiskey from Smoke's bar. The space between us hums with possibilities—with all the things we ain't sayin'. When he leaves, I don't stop him but my body leans forward like it's got its own will, wantin' to follow the trail of his shadow into the dark. But I take the flowers inside. Put 'em in the jelly jar Frank left on the windowsill.

——

The wildflowers sit in that jelly jar like they belong there—like they’ve always belonged. Their colors are faded but stubborn, standing tall in the quiet corner of the kitchen, drinking in the slant of light that filters through the window. I find myself glancing at them too often, like they might tell me something I don’t already know. I tell myself not to read into it, not to hope. But hope’s a quiet thing, and it’s been whispering to me since I first set foot in this place. By dusk, I’m already outside, wrapped in the blanket I keep tucked in the closet, knees drawn up tight. The dusty brown dress I wear is softer with wear, almost like a second skin. I clutch the two tin cups—corn liquor, waiting in the dark, like a held breath. It’s a ritual I don’t question anymore. He comes out the trees just after the steam from the day’s heat begins to fade, silent as always. No rustle of leaves, no announcement. Just that subtle shift in the hush, like the woods are holding their breath. I see him leaning on the porch post, eyes flickering to the cup beside me, like it’s calling him home. “Always know when to show up,” I say, voice low but steady, trying to sound like I don’t care if he’s late or not. Like I’m used to waiting. He tosses back, smooth as dusk, “Always pour for two?” I can’t help the smile that sneaks up—soft and slow. “Only for good company.” He steps closer, slower tonight, like he’s weighing each movement. Sits beside me, leaving just enough space between us for the night air to stretch its arms. I hold out the second cup, the one I poured just for him.

He wraps his fingers around it but doesn’t lift it. Doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Don’t drink?” I ask, voice gentle but curious, like I might catch a lie if I ask too loud. His thumb taps the rim, slow and deliberate. “Used to,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “Too much, maybe. Doesn’t sit right with me these days.” I nod, like that makes sense. Maybe it does. Maybe I don’t want to look too close at the parts that don’t fit. The parts that hurt, that choke down the hope I’m trying to keep buried. Instead, I take a sip, letting the liquor burn a warm trail down my throat. It’s a small comfort, a fleeting warmth. I watch the dark swallow the road that disappears into nothingness, and I say, “Used to think I’d leave this place. Run off somewhere—Memphis, maybe. Open a little store. Serve pies and good coffee. Wear shoes that click when I walk.”

He hums, low and distant, like a train far away. “What stopped you?” My gaze drops to my hand, to the dull gold band that’s thin and worn. I trace the edge with my thumb, feeling the cold metal. “This,” I say. “And maybe I didn’t think I deserved more.” He doesn’t say sorry. Doesn’t say I do. Just looks at me like he’s already seen the ending, like he’s read the last page and ain’t gonna spoil it.

“I worked an orchard once,” he says softly, voice almost lost in the night. “Peaches big as your fist. Skin like velvet. The kind of place that smells like August even in February.” “Sounds made up,” I murmur, feeling the weight of the quiet between us. He leans in closer, eyes steady. “So do dreams. Don’t mean they ain’t real.” A laugh escapes me—sharp and surprised, like I’ve been caught off guard. I slap at his arm before I can think better of it. “You talk like a man who’s read too many books.” “I talk like a man who listens,” he says, quiet but sure. That hush falls again, but it’s different this time—full, like the moment just before a kiss that never quite happens. I feel it—the space between us thickening, heavy with unspoken words and things I can’t say out loud.

— Days passed, he shows up again, bringing blackberries wrapped in a white cloth, stained deep purple-blue. The scent hits me before I see them—sweet, wild, tempting. “Bribery?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, trying to hide the way my heart quickens. “A peace offering,” he replies, with that quiet smile. “In case the last story bored you.” I reach in without asking, pop a berry into my mouth. Juicy and sharp, bursting with sweetness that makes me forget everything else—forgot the weight of my ring, forgot the man inside my house, forgot the world outside this moment. He watches me, a softness behind his eyes I don’t trust but can’t look away from. I hand him the other cup again. He takes it, polite as always, but doesn’t sip. We settle into stories—nothing big, just small things. The town’s latest gossip, a cow wandering into the churchyard last Sunday, the way summer makes the woods smell like wild mint if you walk far enough in. I tell him things I didn’t know I remembered—about my mama’s hands, about the time I got stung trying to kiss a bumblebee, about the blue ribbon pie I made for the fair when I was fifteen, thinking winning meant freedom. He listens like it matters, like these stories are something he’s been waiting to hear. And for the first time in a long while, I laugh with my whole mouth, not caring who hears or what they think. The sound spills out, unfiltered and free, filling the night with something real. I forget the ring on my finger. Forget the man inside the house. Forget everything but this—the night, the berries, and him. The man who doesn’t drink but still knows how to make me feel full.

——

The jelly jar’s gone cloudy from dust and sunlight, but the wildflowers still stand like they’re stubborn enough to outlast the world. A few petals have fallen on the sill, curled and dry, and I haven’t moved them. Let ’em stay. They feel like proof—proof that life’s still fighting, even when everything else is fading. A week’s passed. Seven nights of quiet—hushed conversations I kept to myself, shoulders pressed close under a sky that don’t judge, don’t say a word. Seven nights where my bruises softened in bloom and bloom again, where Frank came home drunk and left early, angry—always angry. Not once did I go to the juke joint—not because I wasn’t welcome, but because I didn’t want to miss a single echo from the woods, a single step that might carry me out.

Remmick never knocks. Never calls out. He just appears—like something old and patient, shaped out of shadow and moonlight, settling beside me without question. Sometimes he brings nothing, and I wonder if he’s even real. Other nights, it’s blackberries, or a story, or just silence, and I let it fill the space between us. And I do. God, I do. I tell him things I never even told Frank. About how I used to pretend the porch was a stage, singin’ blues into a wooden spoon. How my mama braided my hair so tight it made my scalp sting, said pain was the price of lookin’ kept. How I almost ran—bags packed, bus ticket clenched tight—then sat on the curb ‘til dawn, too scared to move, then crawled back inside like a coward. He never judges. Never interrupts. Just watches me, like I’m music he’s heard a thousand times, trying to memorize the lyrics. Tonight, I don’t wait on the porch.

I’m already walkin’. The night’s thick and heavy, like the land’s holdin’ its breath. I slip through the back gate, shawl loose around my shoulders, dress flutterin’ just above my knees. The clearing’s ahead—the path I’ve grown used to walking. He’s already there. Leaning against a tree, like he belongs to it. His white shirt glows faint under the moon, suspenders hanging loose, like he forgot to do up the buttons. There’s a crease between his brows that smooths when he sees me—like he’s been waitin’ for me to come, even if he don’t say it. “You’re early,” he says, low. “I couldn’t sit still,” I whisper back, voice soft but steady. His eyes trace me—like he’s drawing a map he’s known a thousand times but still finds new roads. I step toward him slow, the grass cool beneath my feet, and when I’m close enough to feel the pull of him, I stop. “I been thinkin’,” I say, real quiet. “Dangerous thing,” he murmurs, lips twitching just enough to make my heart kick.

“I ain’t been to the joint all week,” I continue, voice thick as summer air. “Ain’t danced. Ain’t played. Ain’t needed to.” He waits—patient, silent. Like always. “I’d rather be here,” I whisper, and something inside me cracks open. “With you.” The silence that follows ain’t cold. It’s heavy—warm, even. Like a breath held tight in the chest before a storm breaks loose, like the whole earth hums with what’s coming. “I know,” he says. Just that. Two words that make me feel seen and bare and weightless all at once. I don’t think. I just move. Step into him, hands pressed to the buttons of his shirt. My eyes stay fixed on his mouth, not lookin’ anywhere else. And when he doesn’t pull back—when he leans just enough to meet me—I kiss him. It starts soft. Lips barely grazin’, testing, waiting for something to happen. But then he exhales—like he’s been holdin’ somethin’ in for a century—and the second kiss isn’t soft anymore. It’s heat. It’s need. My fingers clutch his shirt like I’m drownin’, and he’s oxygen. His hands find my waist, firm but gentle, like he’s afraid of breakin’ me even as he pulls me closer. I swear the whole forest leans in to watch, silent and still.

He don’t push. Don’t take more than I give. But what I give? It’s everything.

He don’t say nothin’ when I pull back. Just watches me, tongue slow across his bottom lip, like he’s already tasted me in a dream. “C’mere,” he says low, voice rough as gravel soaked in honey. “You smell sweet as sin.” I step into him again without thinkin’, heart rattlin’ around like it’s tryin’ to climb outta my chest. His palm presses to the back of my neck, warm and heavy, pulling me into a kiss that don’t feel like a kiss. It’s a deal, made in shadows, older than us all—something that’s been waitin’ to happen. The second our mouths meet, he moans deep in his chest—like he’s relieved, like he’s been holdin’ back for years. Then he spins me—fast—hands already under my dress. “Ain’t no point bein’ shy now, baby. Not after all them nights sittin’ close, like you wasn’t drippin’ for me.” My knees almost buckle. He bends me over a log, and I don’t resist. I can’t. My hands grip the bark tight, dress shoved up, panties dragged down with a yank that’s impatient and sure. I hear him spit into his palm. Hear the slick sound of him strokin’ himself once, twice. Then he sinks into me—slow, too slow—like he’s memorizing every inch, every breath I take. My mouth opens, no words, just a gasp that’s all I can manage. “Goddamn,” he mutters behind me. “Look at you takin’ me. Tight like you was built for it.” He starts movin’, deep and filthy, grindin’ into me with purpose. I arch back into it, already lost in the feel of him. And then I see it. His face—just behind my shoulder. His jaw clenched tight. His pupils blown wide—no, glowing. A flicker of red embers in each eye, like fire trapped inside. I blink, and it’s gone. I tell myself it’s the moonlight, the heat, how mushy my brain is from what he’s doin’, like he owns me. He don’t give me a second to think. “Feel that?” he growls. “Feel how your pussy’s huggin’ my cock like she knows me?” I whimper—pathetic, high-pitched—but I can’t stop it. “Remmick—fuck—” He yanks my hair, just enough, til I tilt my head back. “You was waitin’ for this,” he says, voice low and rough. “I seen it. Seen the way you look at me like I’m the last bad thing you’ll ever let hurt you.” Leaning into my neck, lips brushing skin, breath cold now—too cold. “But I ain’t gone hurt you, darlin.’ I’m gone ruin you.” He bites—just a little, not sharp—enough to make me gasp, my whole body tensing on him. He laughs—soft, wicked. “Oh yeah,” he says, rutting harder. “You gone come for me like this. Face in the moss, legs shakin’. All these pretty little sounds spillin’ out your mouth like you need it.” I can barely keep up. Dizziness hits hard, slick runnin’ down my thighs, his cock hittin’ that spot over and over. “Say you’re mine,” he growls, hips slammin’ in so deep I cry out. “I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours, Remmick—” His voice drops—dark, velvet, dirtied—like he’s talkin’ from a place even he don’t fully understand. “Good girl,” he mutters. “Ain’t nobody gone fuck you like me. Ain’t nobody got the hunger I do.” And I feel his hand—big and rough—wrap around my throat from behind, just enough to remind me he’s still in control. Then he starts pumpin’ into me—fast, mean, nasty. My back arches. My moans break into sobs. “You gone give it to me?” he pants, barely human anymore. “Come all over this cock?” I want to answer. I try. But I can’t—my body’s already gone, trembling on the edge of something wild and white and all-consuming. And the second I come—everything breaks loose. He buries himself deep and roars—low and wrong, not a man’s sound at all. I feel him twitch, feel the flood of heat spill inside me, and his face presses into my neck, mouth open like he’s fightin’ the urge to bite down.

But he doesn’t. He just stays there. Still. Breathin’ like he ain’t breathed in years. ——

The morning creeps in slow, afraid to wake me, like it knows I’ve crossed a line I can’t come back from. I roll over, the sheet sticky against my skin, last night’s heat still clingin’. For a second—just a second—I forget where I am. Forget the weight of the house, the stale scent of bourbon and sweat baked into the walls. All I feel is the ghost of him—Remmick—still there in the ache between my thighs, in the buzz that lingers low in my belly. Remembered the way remmick carried me back to my porch and kissed me goodnight before walking away becoming one with the night. My fingers drift without thought, pressing just above my hip where a dull throb pulses. I wince, then pull the blanket back. And there it is. A dark, new bruise—shaped like a handprint—only it ain’t right. Too long. The fingers are too slim, curved strange, like something trying too hard to be human. My breath catches. I press again—harder this time—hoping pain might wash the shape away, or that pressure might flatten whatever’s twisted inside me.

But it doesn’t.

So I pull the blanket up, wrap it tight around me, and lie still, staring at the ceiling—waiting for some sign, some answer, some permission to feel what I shouldn’t. Because the truth is—I should be scared. I should be askin’ questions. Should be second-guessin’ everything last night meant.

But I’m not.

Instead, I replay how he looked at me—how his hands, too warm, too sure, moved like they’d known my body in another life. How he said my name like it was already his. I press my legs together under the sheet, close my eyes, and breathe deep. A girl gets used to silence. Gets used to fear. But nobody warns you how dangerous it is to be wanted that way. Touched like you’re somethin’ rare. Somethin’ sacred. Somethin’ wanted.

And I—I liked it. More than that—I craved it now. Even with the bruises. Even with the shadows twisting in my gut. Even with the memory of those eyes—burnin’ too bright in the dark. Don’t know if it’s love. But it sure as hell felt like it.

——

I move slow through the kitchen that morning, feet bare against cool linoleum. The coffee’s already gone bitter in the pot. Frank’s still in bed, his snores rasping through the cracked door like dull saw blades. I lean against the sink, sip from a chipped mug, and glance out the window. The jelly jar’s still there. Wildflowers wiltin’ now, but proud in their dying. I touch the bruise again through my dress. And I smile. Just a little. Because maybe something ain’t quite right. But for the first time in a long while—I’m happy, or well I thought…

——

The nights kept rollin’ like they belonged to us. Me and Remmick, sittin’ under stars that blinked like they was tryin’ to stay quiet. Sometimes we talked a lot. Sometimes we didn’t too much. But even the silence with him had weight, like it was filled with words we weren’t ready to say yet.

I’d tell him stories from before Frank, when my laughter hadn’t yet learned to flinch. He’d listen with that look he had—chin dipped low, eyes tilted up, mouth soft like he was drinkin’ me in, slow. He never interrupted. Never tried to solve anything. Just sat with it all. That kind of listenin’ can make a woman feel holy.

And I guess I got used to that rhythm. I got too used to it.

Because on the twelfth night, maybe the thirteenth—don’t really matter—he said something that pulled the thread straight from the hem. We were sittin’ close again. My shawl slippin’ off one shoulder, the moonlight makin’ silver out of the bruises on my thigh. He had that look on him again, like he wanted to ask somethin’ he’d already decided to regret. “You know Sammie?” he asked, real casual. Like it was just another name. I blinked. The name hit strange. “Sammie who?” He shrugged like he didn’t know the last name. “That boy. Plays that guitar like it talks back. You said he played with Pearline sometimes.” I sat up straighter.

I never said that.

I’d never mentioned Sammie at all. I swallowed. My smile faded before I could think to save it. “I don’t remember bringin’ up Sammie.” The pause that followed was heavy. And not in the good way. Remmick shifted beside me, slow. His jaw ticked once. “You sure?” I nodded, eyes never leaving him. “I’d remember talkin’ ‘bout Sammie.” He looked out at the trees, the edge of his mouth tight. “Huh.” And just like that, the air changed. It got thinner. Like breath didn’t want to come easy no more. I pulled the shawl closer. Suddenly real aware of the fact that I didn’t know where he slept. Didn’t know if he ever blinked when I wasn’t lookin’. “You alright?” he asked, too quick. “You askin’ me that, or yourself?” He turned to me then—real sharp. Real focused. “Why you gettin’ quiet?”

I didn’t answer. Not right away.

“Just surprised, is all,” I finally said, trying to smooth it over like I hadn’t just tripped on somethin’ sharp in his words. “Didn’t think you knew anybody round here.” “I don’t,” he said, fast. “You’re the only one I talk to.” “Then how you know Sammie plays guitar? I’ve never seen you at the juke joint nor heard word about you from anyone there.” His stare was too still now. Too fixed. Like a dog watchin’ a rabbit it ain’t sure it’s allowed to chase. “Maybe I heard it through the wind,” he said, not responding to the other part. But there was no smile behind it. Just the shadow of a man used to bein’ questioned. A man who didn’t like the feel of it. I stood, brushing grass off my legs. “I should head in.” He stood too, slower. Taller than I remembered. Or maybe the night just made him bigger.

“You mad at me?” he asked, quiet now. “No,” I said. “Just thinkin’. That alright with you?” He nodded. But it didn’t look like agreement. It looked like calculation. I didn’t turn my back on him till I hit the porch. And even then, I felt his eyes stick to my spine like syrup. Inside, I sat by the window, hands still wrapped around the cup I didn’t finish. The wildflowers were dry now. Curlin’ in on themselves. And I thought to myself—real quiet, so it wouldn’t wake the rest of me: How the hell did he know Sammie and what business he wan’ with him?

——— The days slipped back into that gray stretch of sameness after I started avoidin’ him. I filled my hours with chores, with silence, with tryin’ to forget the way Remmick used to sit so still beside me you’d think the night made room for him. But the nights weren’t mine anymore. I stopped goin’ to the porch. Stopped lingerin’ in the dark. The quiet didn’t soothe me—it stalked me. I felt it behind me on the walk home. At the edge of the trees. In the walls. I knew he was there.

Watchin’. Waitin’.

But I didn’t let him in again. Not even with my thoughts. That night, the juke joint buzzed with life. Hot bodies pressed close, laughter thick with drink, music ridin’ high on the air. I hadn’t been back in weeks, but I needed noise. Needed people. Needed not to feel alone. I sipped liquor like it might drown the nerves rattlin’ under my ribs. Played cards with a few men, some women. Slammed down a queen and grinned as I scooped the pot. That’s when Annie approached me.

“Y/N,” she whispered, voice tight. I looked up. “Frank’s here.” The name hit like a slap. I blinked. “What?” “He’s outside. Ask’n for you.” Annie’s face was pale, serious. Not the usual mischief in her eyes—just worry. I rose slow. “He’s never come here before.” Annie just nodded. We moved together, my heart poundin’. Smoke, Stack, and Cornbread were already standin’ at the open door, muscles tense, words clipped and low. When Frank saw me, he smiled. That wide, too-big smile I’d never seen on him. Not even on our wedding day. “Hey baby,” he drawled, too casual. “Wonderin’ when you’d come out here and let me in. These folks actin’ like I done somethin’ wrong.”

My stomach dropped. He never called me baby.

“Frank, why’re you here?” My voice was calm, but confusion lined every word. He laughed—soft, amused. “Can’t a man come see his wife? Thought maybe I’d finally check out what keeps you out so late.” Something was off. Everything was off. “You hate loud music,” I said, heart poundin’. “You said this place was full of nothin’ but whores and heathens.” He looked… wrong. Eyes too glassy. Skin too pale under the porch light. “Can’t we all change?” he said, teeth flashin’. “Now can I come in and enjoy my night like you folks?”

I looked at Smoke. He gave me that look—the one that said “you don’t gotta say yes.” But I opened my mouth anyway. Paused. Frank’s smile dropped just a little. “Y/N,” he said, his voice darker now. Familiar in its danger. “Can I come in or not?” My hand flew up before Stack could step forward. I swallowed hard.

“Come in, Frank.”

The words fell like stones. And just like that, the door to hell opened. The moment he crossed that threshold, the temperature dropped. I swear it did.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t drink. Just sat at the bar, stiff and still, like a wolf wearin’ man’s skin. Annie leaned into Smoke’s shoulder. “Somethin’ ain’t right,” she muttered. Mary nodded, arms folded. “He looks hollow.” Thirty minutes passed. Then Frank stood. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked into the crowd like a man on a mission. Headin’ straight for the stage.

Straight for Sammie.

Smoke pushed off the wall, followin’ fast. But before anyone could act, Frank lunged—grabbed a man near the front and tackled him to the floor. Screamin’ erupted as Frank sank his teeth into the man’s neck. Bit down. Tore. Blood sprayed across the floorboards, across people’s shoes. The scream that left my throat didn’t sound like mine. Smoke pulled his pistol and fired. The sound cracked through the joint like lightning. The man jerked, then stilled. Frank’s body fell limp over him, gore soakin’ his shirt. Then suddenly Frank stood back up like he wasn’t just shot in the head, the man he bitten standing up besides him the same eerie smile on both their blood stained mouths.

I stood frozen in place.

People screamed, chairs overturned, glass shattered. Stack wrestled another body that started lurchin’ with glowing -white eyes. Mary grabbed Pearline, draggin’ her through the back exit. Annie grabbed me. “Y/N—we gotta GO!” We burst through the back, runnin’. I took the lead, feet slammin’ down the path I used to walk like a lullaby. Not now. Not anymore. Now it felt like runnin’ through a grave. Behind me, I heard chaos—growls, screams, more gunshots. I looked back once. Bodies jumpin’ on each other, teeth sinkin’ into flesh. All Their eyes— White. Glowing like candle flames in a dead house. Annie was right behind me.

Then she wasn’t.

I turned. They were all gone. Sammie. Pearline. Mary. Annie. Gone.

I kept runnin’. The clearing opened up like a mouth, and I stumbled into it, chest heaving. And that’s when I saw him. Same silhouette. Same calm. But he wasn’t the man I knew. Remmick stood just beyond the tree line, Same shirt. Same pants. But now soaked through with blood. But his face— That smile wasn’t his smile. Those eyes weren’t human. Red. Glowing like coals. Just like I thought I saw that night I gave him everything. I froze. My legs locked. My throat closed up. Remmick tilted his head, playful. Mocking.

“Oh darlin’,” he cooed, stepping forward, arms out like a man offerin’ salvation. “Where you think you runnin’ off to? You’re gonna miss the party.” I stumbled back, tears burnin’ in my eyes. “What are you?” He stepped forward, arms open like he meant to cradle me, like he hadn’t just let blood dry on his chest. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, like it was me betrayin’ him. “You knew. Somewhere in that smart little head of yours, you knew. The eyes, the voice, the way I don’t come out durin’ daytime—”

“You lied,” I whispered. “Only when I needed too,” he said. I shook my head. “I thought you loved me.” Remmick stopped, cocking his head. Everything soft in him was gone. Only sharp edges now. “You thought it was love?” he asked, teeth glintin’ between blood. “You thought I wanted you?” I flinched.

“All I needed was a way in. You—” he stepped closer, “—were just a door. But you kept it shut. Had to break you open. Took longer than I liked.” “I trusted you,” I said, voice crumblin’. “And you broke so pretty,” he said. “I almost didn’t wanna finish the job. But then you ran. Made it… inconvenient.” He hissed softly, a grin curling up like a scar.

“I didn’t want you, Y/N. I wanted Sammie. That boy’s voice carries somethin’ old in it. Ancient. And that joint?” He gestured back toward the chaos. “It’s sacred ground.” “You used me,” I whispered, tears burnin’ now. “I let you in. I trusted you.”

“You believed me,” he corrected. “And that’s all I ever needed.” My breath caught somewhere between my ribs and spine, all my blood screamin’ for me to run. But I couldn’t move—just stared at Remmick, my chest heavy with grief, with betrayal, with rage. He tilted his head again, eyes burning like iron pulled from a forge. “I didn’t want you,” he said again, voice soft as a lullaby. “I wanted the key. And girl, you were it.”

My throat worked around a sob. My legs, finally rememberin’ they was mine, shifted. I turned to bolt— And stopped.

There they stood.

A wall of them.

Faces I knew too well. Cornbread. Mary. Stack. Even Annie—lips pulled in a wide, wrong smile. Their skin was pale, waxy. Their eyes—oh God, their eyes—glowin’ white like candles lit from the inside. They didn’t speak at first. Just smiled. Stared.

And then—slow and soft—they started to hum. That same song Sammie used to play on slow nights. The one that never had words, just a melody made of aching and memory. But now it had words. And they all sang ‘em. “Sleep, little darlin’, the dark’s gone sweet, The blood runs warm, the circle’s complete, its freedom you seek…”

I backed away, breath shiverin’ in and out of my lungs. The chorus kept swellin’. Their voices overlappin’, mouths stretchin’ too wide, white eyes never blinkin’. Like they weren’t people anymore. Just shells. Just echoes.

I turned back to Remmick— And he was right in front of me. So close I could see the dried blood on his collar, the gleam of teeth too long to belong in any man’s mouth. He lifted his hand—calm, steady. Like he was invitin’ me to dance. “Come on, Y/N,” he whispered, smile almost tender now. “Ain’t you tired of runnin’?” I didn’t know if I was breathin’. Didn’t know if I wanted to be. Everything hurt. Everything I’d carried—love, hope, grief, rage—it all sat in my mouth like copper.

I looked at his hand again. And maybe, for just a moment, I thought about takin’ it. But maybe I didn’t. Maybe I turned and ran straight into the woods. Maybe I screamed. Maybe I smiled. Maybe I never left that clearin’. Maybe I did. Maybe the darkness that took over me, was just my eyes closed wishing to wake from this nightmare.

[aeralux]

"Prey" - Cregan Stark

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You loved your husband. Truly, you did. He did everything in his power to make you feel good, treating you as the most delicate flower, his little deer. But you wanted him to know you weren't all that easy to break.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT (18+); a bit of primal play; loving husband Cregan who just wants to make you feel good; rough(er) sex per reader's request

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: No description of the reader (except that the reader has hair), no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume. I finished and beta read this while extremely tired, so please do not even start with me, okay? Enjoy <3.

𐔌 . ⋮ 𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒶 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

It was bitterly cold in the north, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and turned breath into mist. Yet, there was a warmth to be found in your new life with Lord Stark. He seemed to know how to shield you from the sharp bite of winter. Wrapping you in furs, he ensured your chambers of Winterfell were among the warmest and cosiest in the castle.

His care for you was evident, though his expressions of love were often quiet and reserved. He seemed to hold back, as if afraid that he might hurt you somehow.

As your husband, he allowed you the freedom to practice the Faith of the Seven, even facilitating the construction of a sept within the castle just for you. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a sign of his affection and respect for your beliefs. Cregan’s love was steady and peaceful, a protective force that enveloped you. He viewed you as his Lady of Winterfell, a fragile flower that needed shelter from the harsh winds and the unknown dangers lurking beyond the Wall.

Despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of handling life’s challenges—and your eagerness to even join him on hunts—Cregan still saw you more like a soft deer than a fierce wolf. Who could blame him? You had a beauty that had captivated the entire North, a vision that stirred admiration wherever you went.

His concern for your safety extended far beyond the winter chill, infiltrating every aspect of your life, especially in the bedroom. At first, his tender approach felt comforting. Cregan’s hands were gentle, his caresses like a soft breeze, treating you with an almost reverent care. But as time passed, you yearned to uncover another side of him, the warrior you’d heard about from your maids’ whispers.

Northern men were renowned for their power and vitality; tales of their prowess stirred a deep longing within you. You found yourself yearning for that fierceness, that raw energy. You dropped hints like breadcrumbs, letting your gaze linger on his strong arms, offering teasing touches during quiet conversations. Yet, no matter how suggestive or inviting you tried to be, nothing seemed to spark the fervour you craved.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, you spent another quiet day mending one of your husband's coats. A way for you to show your gratitude through these simple acts of care. You called the maids, asking them to fetch both of you warm drinks, eager to welcome Cregan back from his time in the yard.

When he entered, his cheeks were flushed from the crisp air, and a hint of snow clung to his clothes. You greeted him with a soft smile, setting the coat aside to focus on him. Taking a seat beside him, you placed your warm hand gently over his, feeling the strength in his grasp as the flickering candlelight danced around the room, creating a soft glow. The warm atmosphere wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, making the moment feel even more special.

“How has your day been, my Lord husband?” you asked, your voice soft in the quiet space. Cregan’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you basking in the warmth of each other’s presence.

Cregan looked at his wife, his eyes softening as they took in your features illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

He squeezed your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing against your soft skin. The contrast between you was stark, a warrior's hand and a lady's hand entwined.

Cregan leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "It has been a long day, my lady," he admitted, his voice low and tired. "The men are in good spirits, but the cold is taking its toll. I fear this winter will be a harsh one. And what of you, my dear? I trust you have not caught a chill in my absence?" He reached out with his free hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment.

Cregan's gaze drifted to the coat you had been mending, a small smile playing on his lips. "You need not trouble yourself with such things, my love. I have a whole host of maids and servants to attend to such tasks." He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

A blush crept across your cheeks, but it was not solely from the winter's chill. The brush of his lips against your skin had ignited a different sort of warmth within you, a longing that had been growing with each passing day in his presence. 

"I want to," you replied bluntly, holding Cregan's gaze with unwavering intensity. Your eyes locked as you leaned in until your foreheads nearly touched. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours in the space between you.

"My lord, I wish to do this for you," you murmured, your voice low and fervent. "After all that you have done for me, after the care and protection you've shown me, it is my desire- no, my duty." You turned your hand in his grasp, interlacing your fingers tightly as you held his gaze.

Cregan felt a stirring within him at the intensity in your gaze, the way your fingers tightened around his. He could see the longing burning in your eyes, a hunger that went beyond the simple act of mending a coat.

Cregan's eyes searched yours, a battle raging within him. The urge to take you, to claim you with the passion of a man who had been starved of it for so long, warred with the need to protect you, to keep you safe from the coarser nature of his self.

He leaned in closer, his lips now a mere hair's breadth from yours, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. "You are my wife, my lady." His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing the soft curve. "But if it pleases you to care for me, to show me such kindness, who am I to deny you?"

His other hand slid up your arm, over the fur-lined sleeve of your gown, coming to rest on your shoulder. He could feel the warmth of your skin beneath, the way your body responded to his touch. It took all of his self-control not to have his way with you right there, to feel your soft curves pressed against him.

You let your hand linger on his, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “But if I am your lady, I should at least act like it. Keep your clothes mended. Warm your bed.” You tilted your head, brushing your lips just shy of his jaw. “Among other duties.”

Cregan’s breath hitched. That was new.

His eyes darkened, the shift subtle but unmistakable. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he studied your face, and you saw it—that flicker of the wolf, straining at its leash.

“I do not wish to overwhelm you,” he said slowly, as if even speaking was a struggle.

You leaned back just enough to smirk. “Perhaps I’d like to be overwhelmed.”

The silence between you was charged, stretched thin with heat. You stood then, letting your fingers trail along his shoulder, your voice lilting with mischief.

“Or are the great wolves of the North all bark and no bite?”

That did it.

In a flash, Cregan was on his feet. You squealed—actually squealed—and darted away just as his hand reached for your waist. The candlelight flickered wildly as you flew down the hall, your laugh echoing off the cold stone walls.

“Get back here, little deer,” Cregan growled, his voice rougher now, the calm Lord Stark unravelling with every step he took behind you.

You ducked into a side corridor, skirts gathered in your fists, heart pounding with thrill. He was close—you could hear the heavy thud of his boots behind you, steady, relentless.

“You think teasing me’s wise?” His voice was closer now, and laced with amusement. “You’re tempting the wolf, girl.”

“Good,” you shot over your shoulder. “Maybe the wolf’s what I want.”

Cregan's eyes flashed with a hunger that made your heart race. He lunged forward, catching you around the waist and pulling you back against his chest. You gasped as you collided with the solid wall of his body, the breath knocked from your lungs.

"Careful what you wish for, my lady," Cregan growled in your ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "The wolf has a very different appetite than the man."

He spun you around to face him, his hands gripping your waist tightly. His eyes raked over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, and the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. He could feel the heat of your skin through the thin fabric of your gown, could feel the way your body trembled against his.

One hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. The other hand gripped your hip, pulling you harder against him until you could feel every hard inch of his body pressed against yours.

"Gods, you drive me insane, woman," Cregan murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "So many times I've wanted to just rip your pretty little gown off and show you how a northerner really takes his wife."

Shuddering, you whispered his name like a prayer, breathless and needy. "Cregan..." Your voice trembled, eyes wide and vulnerable, gazing up at him through long, sooty lashes. You were a deer caught in the wolf's sight, knowing you were about to be ravished.

Your chest rose and fell with every uneven breath, labouring as you inhaled, the swell of your breasts straining against the confines of your gown. The delicious sting on your scalp sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

"Please, my lord..." you mewled, your lips parted and inviting. "Show me. Take me. Ruin me. Claim your right..."

Another squeal burst from your lips as strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground. You squirmed, breathless with anticipation.

He pinned you against the cold stone wall, but his body was all heat, pressed flush to yours. His voice was low and wicked against your ear. “I warned you.”

And then, he kissed you. Hard. Thorough. Like a man making up for lost time.

When he finally pulled back, just enough for air, your eyes were dazed, lips tingling. He smirked, his voice gravel and fire. “You’ve got what you asked for now, my lady.”

You gave a breathless laugh. “Not nearly enough.”

He growled, a real, low sound in his chest, and bent to scoop you up in his arms.

Cregan carried you swiftly down the corridor, his long strides eating up the distance. He kicked open the door to your shared chambers, the heavy wood slamming against the stone wall. The room was dimly lit, the fire casting long shadows across the bed.

He tossed you onto the furs, your skirts riding up to reveal a flash of your smooth thighs. Cregan loomed over you, his eyes glinting in the low light. He shrugged off his cloak, letting it pool on the floor, before attacking the fastenings of his tunic, when he froze.

You were sitting up on your knees, eyes gleaming in the firelight. “No,” you murmured, holding up a hand, your voice sultry, commanding. “Let me.”

Cregan stilled. His chest rose and fell, heavy with breath, as he watched you.

You began with the outer fur-lined surcoat, undoing the clasp at your throat. It slid from your shoulders and down your arms, falling behind you in a soft heap. The next layer—the fitted kirtle—was laced tightly up your front. You met his gaze as you undid each loop with slow, deliberate fingers, one by one, the tension in the fabric easing with every pull.

“You think I'm delicate,” you said, your voice low and dangerous. “Fragile. Something to protect.” You loosened the bodice until the fabric gaped, revealing the thin linen shift beneath. “But I’m not. Am I?”

Cregan said nothing. His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened.

You let the kirtle slip down over your hips, pooling around your knees. Now only the shift remained—thin, nearly sheer in the firelight, clinging to your body from the warmth of the room and the heat rising from your skin.

Still, on your knees, you slowly lifted the hem of your shift. Just a little at first, baring the smooth skin of your calves, then your thighs. His gaze locked onto your hands, following every inch as more of you was revealed.

“You’ve been gentle for too long,” you whispered, bunching the shift around your hips. “Careful. Controlled. Dutiful.” You hooked your thumbs beneath the neckline and pulled it down over your shoulders—slowly—exposing the curve of your breasts inch by inch. “But I didn’t marry the Lord of Winterfell for gentle.”

The shift slipped off your arms and fell into your lap.

Now, fully bare in the golden firelight, you stood upright, bold and unashamed. Your voice dropped to a daring whisper. “I married the wolf.”

Cregan stood frozen, his eyes roving hungrily over every inch of newly exposed skin. The firelight danced across your curves, casting shadows that accentuated the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, and the flare of your hips. His gaze lingered on the juncture between your thighs, where a glistening dampness betrayed your arousal.

He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the charged silence. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and wrapped a calloused hand around your throat, his thumb brushing over the racing pulse at the base of your neck. His other hand gripped your ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"You play a dangerous game, my little wife," Cregan growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire."You think you can handle the wolf? The one that wants to pin you down and take you until you scream?" His grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent warning. "Until you beg for mercy? Until the only name you remember is mine?"

You gazed up at Cregan, your eyes sparkling with desire in the flickering firelight. A coy smile played at the corners of your lips as you felt his strong hand wrap around your throat, his thumb brushing over your racing pulse. You arched into his touch, pressing your body flush against his.

"I can handle everything and more, my lord. I've yearned for you to ruin me, to claim me so rough that I can't even form a single thought."

Cregan's eyes flashed with a primal hunger at your bold words. Without warning, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to stake his claim. One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back to grant him better access, while the other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling you harder against the thick ridge of his arousal.

He walked you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed, then pushed you down onto the furs. Looming over you, he made quick work of his breeches, shoving them down his muscular thighs along with his smallclothes. His manhood sprang free, long, thick and hard, the engorged head already weeping with need.

Cregan crawled over you, settling his hips between your spread thighs. He reached down to run a finger through your slick folds, groaning at the wetness he found there.

He caught your wrists in one large hand and pinned them above your head, his hips rocking forward to grind his thick length along your slick folds. The coarse hair at the base of his shaft rasped against your sensitive folds.

"Gods, you're dripping," he growled, his voice rough with lust. 

He rocked his hips harder, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance with each pass. His free hand slid down your body, calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breasts and the dip of your waist, before settling between your thighs. He circled your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room.

"Beg for it," Cregan demanded, his breath hot against your ear. "Beg me to ruin this tight little cunt and make you mine." He pinched down hard on your clit, sending pleasure and pain through you. "Go on, my lady. Let me hear that pretty voice scream for your husband's cock."

You gasped sharply as a hot sensation pierced through your core, back arching off the furs. Your eyes flew open wide, meeting Cregan's wild, hungry gaze. But the man you'd married, the lord you'd given yourself to, was gone. In his place crouched a beast, eyes black as night, pupils blown wide with primal lust. You shuddered under the intensity of his stare, feeling more like prey than a bride.

"Cregan," you whimpered, voice trembling. Fear and exhilaration warred within you as you gazed up at him, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs. Some dark part of you thrilled at the thought of being taken by this feral creature, claimed so roughly that you'd be forever marked as his.

"Please," you breathed, hardly recognising the needy, desperate edge to your voice. "Please, my lord...fuck me" This was no longer your gentle husband, but a wolf, an animal, a man consumed by the basest of instincts. And the Seven help you, but you wanted nothing more than to have him eat you alive. Let the whole castle know how the Lord of Winterfell fucks his sweet lady wife.

Cregan chuckled darkly, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Beg properly," he growled, grinding his thick length along your dripping slit. "You'll have to do better than that. I want to hear you scream it."

His fingers circled your entrance teasingly, not yet delving inside, as his thumb rubbed firm circles around your throbbing clit. Your hips bucked up against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, but he pulled away, denying you the release you craved.

"Beg for my cock like the desperate little slut you are," Cregan demanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "Tell me how badly you need to be split open on your husband's thick meat. How you can't wait to feel me pounding into your greedy drooling cunt until you're sobbing for mercy."

You trembled beneath Cregan, tears of desperate need welling up in your eyes. Your voice shook as you forced out the words, the tone of your voice foreign to your ears. "Please, my lord," you whimpered, your usual composure shattered. "I-I can't...I need..." A choked sob escaped your lips as you bucked your hips, seeking any friction against your aching, dripping core.

"Please, Cregan! I'm b-begging you...fuck me! I'm s-so empty, so desperate for your cock. I'll do anything, please...fill me!"

Cregan smirked wickedly at your desperate plea, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. "That's more like it," he purred, his voice a low, sinful rumble. Without warning, he slammed his hips forward, burying his thick length to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

A guttural groan tore from his throat at the feel of your tight walls clenching around him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. He paused for a moment, savouring the exquisite sensation, before drawing back and slamming in again, even harder this time.

"Ohhhh!" You cried out, back bowing sharply as Cregan's thick cock speared into your core, splitting you open in one brutal thrust. "Cregan!" Your voice shattered, a desperate wail tearing from your throat as you felt every rigid inch of him plunging deep, stretching you beyond what you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out as you were split open on his thick shaft.

"Yes, fuck, you feel so fucking good," Cregan snarled, his hips setting a deep, relentless rhythm. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half, allowing him even deeper into your core. The angle had him kissing your womb with every thrust, the head of his cock ramming against that secret spot deep inside that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Ohhhh, gods!" You whimpered, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you gazed down at the obscene sight of his shaft disappearing into your body. "It's...it's so big! You're s-splitting me in half!"

You babbled incoherently, feeling every veiny, rigid inch of him in your most intimate depths. Your tummy bulged obscenely with each savage thrust, the outline of his cock visible through the skin.

Lewd, wet squelching noises filled the room, the depraved sounds of your husband's heavy balls slapping against your ass.

You begged him not to stop, voice breaking on a wail. Drool dripped down your chin as you surrendered to the mindless ecstasy of being so ruthlessly fucked.

Cregan pistoned his hips at a relentless, punishing pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the heavy bed frame against the stone wall. He could feel your slick walls fluttering and clenching around his shaft, gripping him like a silken fist as he drove into your core again and again.

"Fuck, your cunt feels like heaven," Cregan growled, his voice strained with pleasure and exertion. He lowered his head to capture one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, sucking hard as he bit down just shy of pain. His hand slid down to your hip, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises as he yanked you harder against him.

"That's it, take it all like the good little wife you are," Cregan snarled, his breath hot against your skin. "This cunt was made to be bred by me."

You were lost to the brutal pleasure, your mind fracturing with each savage thrust of Cregan's hips.

Your nails raked down Cregan's sweat-slicked back, trying to ground yourself. Incoherent babbles and sputters only leave your lips, becoming brainless by how incredibly good it felt. His cock dragging against your gummy walls.

"Hnn-... har-harder," you gasped, your hips bucking uncontrollably to meet his brutal pace. The noble lady reduced to a mewling, drooling mess by her husband's relentless fucking.

"As my lady commands," Cregan rumbled, his voice a dark promise before he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, your ass high in the air. This was new. He had never taken you from behind before.

He gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as he spread your soft cheeks. Admiring the view with a low hum.

Cregan's cock, slick with your juices, slid between your ass cheeks, the thick head catching on your puckered back entrance. You gasped, a thrill of nervousness and excitement shooting through you at the unfamiliar sensation. 

"Cregan?" you asked breathlessly, looking back over your shoulder at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Your voice trailed off as Cregan's hand cracked down on your ass, the sharp sting making you clench around nothing."Shh, little one," he soothed, rubbing the reddened flesh gently. "Don't worry, my dear. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder, his lips trailing up the side of your neck to your ear. "But I am going to fill this sweet cunt until you're dripping with my seed," Cregan promised.

You gazed back at Cregan over your shoulder, your lips trembling and cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on your brows. Your legs quivered beneath you, knees weak from the relentless pounding of his hips. You were his, the little deer finally caught and submitting to the wolf.

"Please, my lord," I breathed, my voice hoarse from screaming his name. "Fill your wife's needy cunt with your seed." Even forming sentences seemed too hard for you. "I'm your prey."

Cregan smirked at your breathless plea, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. "That's right, you're mine now," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "My sweet little deer, all caught and ready to be bred."

With that, he slammed his hips forward, burying his thick length to the hilt in your dripping cunt. He set a slow, deep pace, the bed shaking and creaking beneath you with the force of his thrusts. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your desperate cries and Cregan's guttural groans.

His heavy balls slapped against your sensitive clit, the obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room.

Cregan's hand slid to wrap around your hair, tugging on it just enough to make you squeeze around him. "That's it, so good to me," he growled, his breath hot against your ear.

You let out a guttural moan with each deep, punishing thrust, your body jolting like a ragdoll. Drool dripped down your chin as you panted and mewled, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut.

"Mmmhhh...aahhhnn..." You whimpered pitifully, your upper body collapsing onto the bed as Cregan took you from behind like a beast in a rut. Ass raised high and presented for your lord's use, just as a good wife should be.

Cregan's breath came in harsh pants, his heart pounding against his ribs as he felt his release fast approaching.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing around me," Cregan grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your greedy little cunt is milking my cock, just begging to be filled with my seed." He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass.

Cregan's rhythm began to falter, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his pleasure. "I'm close," he bit out through gritted teeth, his grip on your hips tightening even further.

"A-Cregan!" You cried out, your voice breaking as your body began to tremble uncontrollably. Tears of overwhelming pleasure streamed down your flushed cheeks.

Your nails dug into the bedsheets, fisting the fine linen as you felt your climax fast approaching. The intense, building pressure in your core threatened to consume you entirely. "P-Please, I n-need...I need you inside me when I...when I..." You couldn't even bring yourself to say it, too lost in the throes of ecstasy to form the words.

"I'm...I'm going to...ahhh!" Your cry of rapture echoed through the chamber as you felt your body stiffen, your walls clenching down on Cregan's pistoning shaft as your climax crashed over you.

Cregan let out a roar, your release triggering his own. With one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his heavy balls pulsing as he emptied himself into your spasming depths.

"Ahh!" Cregan bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls as thick ropes of his hot seed painted your insides. His hips jerked and shuddered against your ass as spurt after spurt of his cum flooded your womb, marking you as his.

He collapsed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he struggled to catch his breath. Cregan's heart raced against your spine, his skin slick with sweat and flushed with heat.

"Gods, woman," Cregan panted, his voice rough and sated. "I love you." He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. "My sweet, perfect wife. My lady."

You turned around under him and gazed up at Cregan through heavy-lidded eyes, a soft smile playing at your lips as you tried to catch your breath beneath his solid weight that caged you. "I love you too, my darling wolf," you murmured, your voice low and sated. "You always know just how to make your lady feel cherished and desired." You reached up to caress his cheek, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. "Thank you."

Cregan leaned into your touch, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your palm, his lips lingering on your skin. "No, thank you," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "For being my perfect wife, for giving yourself to me so completely." He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. "I am the lucky one, my lady." Cregan's gaze drifted over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the sparkle in your eyes.

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face. "And I'm not nearly done with you yet," he purred, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "The night is still young, and I intend to spend every moment worshipping my beautiful bride." He rolled his hips, grinding his softening length inside you, a reminder of the pleasure to come. "By the time I'm through with you, you won't be able to walk out of this room."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 (n my pookies) @bey0nd-1he-stars @targaryenprincess1 @knight-of-flowerss @venusbyline @therogueflame

[rhettrosunsets]

Lovesick - Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Category: Friends To Lovers, Miscommunication Troupe, Jealousy, Angst, Fluffy Ending.

Summary: You and Rhett are best friends and the both of you want to be something more, but when Rhett see's you showing a new guy around town he panics and tries to cut you off. When Rhett doesn't show up for your weekly lunch you know somethings wrong. You go and confront him leading to something you've been waiting for since you met him.

Masterlist

Based Off This Ask Here!

Warnings: Rhett is a bit of a dick when he's jealous. big miscommunication and lack there of. Reader and Rhett dance around their feelings. Reader and Rhett both have some self deprecating thoughts at one point. Rhett calls reader Darlin'. No use of Y/N, no description of reader.

Notes: Aaa!! Anon thank you sm for requesting this. I had so much fun getting to write this and do the miscommunication trope, it was a lot of fun and I hope it lived up to your expectations. ❤️

Rhett was pacing the length of his porch back and forth.

His boots scuffed against the wood, while he held his hat firmly in his hands, his jaw tight and clenched.

He’d been pacing like this all morning. He didn’t head into town, he didn’t respond when Perry asked what his damn problem was. Just muttered some excuse about having a problem with his truck. But the problem definitely wasn’t his truck. It was you.

You had been walking down Main Street. You were wearing a sundress, the one that always made Rhett’s heart beat ten times faster. But it wasn’t the sundress that had caused this, no. It was the fact that there was a guy walking next to you, you were laughing, your shoulder’s occasionally bumping while the guy was carrying a bag like he’d just taken you shopping.

It had stopped Rhett dead in his tracks and made him feel like he was shoved underwater. He’d been halfway to the hardware store, a list in his hand when he saw you. And everything else just disappeared from his mind.

You didn’t even see him, too busy laughing at something the man next to you had said. And that had hurt him more than anything.

He’d liked you for years.

Hell, maybe he even loved you. But he never told you because you were his absolute best friend. You were the one person in town who didn’t see him as a complete mess or a rodeo star, you saw him for him, and you never made him feel like he had to prove himself around you.

With you, he felt like he could breathe. He didn’t want to screw that up, he didn’t want to lose the one good thing that made sense in his life.

You’d always show up on the ranch with two coffees and a bag of mini donuts. You’d dragged him to a county fair once just because he’d never been. You took him out of town and made him go shopping with you while he grumbled but the smile never left his face. But yet you never made a move. So neither did he.

And now? Now he was pretty damn sure he’d waited too long to tell you.

It was Thursday, the day you and Rhett have met for lunch at the same time for over a year.  

You sat at the diner table alone, the same booth the two of you always claimed in the corner of the diner. You had two coffees on the table while your stomach sat in knots that twisted tighter every time the door chimed open and Rhett wasn’t the one walking in.

You checked your phone, there were no texts, no calls, not even a voicemail. There was just nothing. Your mind raced with thoughts of what could’ve happened. Did something happen? Was he hurt? You knew he could be reckless sometimes, riding too fast, driving too far without saying anything.

But something in your gut said this wasn’t that, because no matter how reckless Rhett was, he always came back to you. This was something else, and something you didn’t understand.

You sat there for twenty more minutes. The waitress coming by and gave you a sympathetic look as you pushed your fries around your plate without really eating. You smiled through the ache that sat heavy on your chest and said “I guess he’s just busy.” But the truth? It really fucking hurt. It felt like something in you had cracked open, and now all the doubt and worry was rushing in, swarming your thoughts about what happened. What you did wrong. Because Rhett never skipped lunch, not once in an entire year.

That night you didn’t sleep. You stared at your ceiling, wide awake while your heart pounded in your chest thoughts running the worst scenarios through your head. Was it something you had said? Something you didn’t say?

Had he finally gotten tired of you and your chaotic antics? You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt the wetness on your pillow, and felt the burn in your eyes.

The next morning you found him by the stables, tossing hay like it had personally wronged him in some way. He looked exhausted, dark circles lined under his eyes, his shirt damp with sweat and his jaw clenched like it was whenever he was upset. You walked closer, softly muttering “Hey.” Your voice quiet, but not weak.

Rhett turned slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans, his gaze not meeting your eyes before muttering back a  “Hey.”

“I brought lunch,” you said, lifting the bag, a small smile crossing your face as you looked at him. He nodded, still not looking you in the eye, before responding. “You didn’t have to.”

You stepped closer, your eyes softening as you felt that heavy weight on your chest “You skipped yesterday, Rhett.”

Rhett sighed, trying not to lose his temper as he mutters back “Was busy s'all.” before throwing another haystack.

You exhaled sharply, feeling his temper beginning to rise, something he was always careful to watch around you. You softly muttered “Rhett, come on. Don’t lie to me, we tell each other everything.”

That finally made him look up, and that’s when you saw it in his eyes, hurt, jealousy, anger. He laughed, but it held no amusement. “Figured you had other plans with your boyfriend.” he said as his eyes darkened

Your stomach dropped entirely as you stared back at him, your mind baffled softly muttering “My what?”

He shrugged his shoulders with a scoff “That guy you were with. You looked pretty cozy together.”

Your throat tightened, as you managed to get out, “You mean Caleb?” Rhett didn’t respond. Just turned back toward the haystack like the conversation was over.

You stepped forward, your voice sharp as you exclaimed “Rhett Abbott! Caleb Parker is a family friend. His uncle and my dad went to high school together. I was showing him around town while he and his uncle were visiting. He has a girlfriend!” 

Then complete silence before you continued, your voice still sharp and thick with emotion now. “You really think I’d be with someone and not tell you?” He didn’t say anything, the silence deafening to your ears.

You kept going, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I waited for you Rhett. I sat there by myself for almost an hour, waiting for a call, a text, anything. Do you have any idea how that felt? I felt like I didn’t matter to you, like I was discarded and thrown away.”

His shoulders tensed as he turned around and looked at you. The guilt shining through his blue eyes.“M’sorry. M’so Sorry. I just, I saw you with him, and God. I didn’t know what to do. I thought you’d moved on and found someone who actually deserved you, more than I ever did.”

Your eyes stung with tears, your body leaning in on itself as you stared at the man you’ve had a crush on for years. “I never moved on, because I never had anyone to move on from. I’ve only ever had eyes for one person.” you said softly. Rhett’s head snapped up comedically quick. And you stared straight at him before softly whispering. “You.”

He blinked as you stepped closed and said “It’s always been you Rhett. I just didn’t say anything because I thought maybe you didn’t want more than this, and I didn’t want to lose what we had.”

Rhett looked at you, his voice full of guilt “I was scared. Scared if I said something, you’d run away, that I’d ruin the only thing that’s ever made sense in my life.”

“You’ve always had me Rhett” You mutter softly, tears streaming down your face, while Rhett looked like he might cry too. He took a few steps forward and pulled you straight into his arms.

His hands wrapped around your shoulder blades and low back, while your arms wrapped tight around his middle and you stood there holding each other tightly as he mumbled a soft “M'so sorry, darlin'” Over and over, like he needed to make up for every second he made you doubt your worth.

“I know Rhett. But you’re here now, that’s what matters.” You whispered, pressing your face into his chest. He softly grasped your chin making you look up at him as he peered down at you, before pulling you into a soft kiss. A kiss that felt like home.

A week later you slid into your booth and smiled at Rhett who was already there with two coffees and a small bouquet of flowers.

“Hey, Darlin’ thought I’d beat you for once.” He said with a soft grin on his face.

You grinned widely looking at the man in front of you, softly muttering “You trying to impress me, Abbott?” He leaned closer, lacing your fingers together over the table. “Always, Darlin’.”

The waitress stopped at your table and did a double take seeing your hands intertwined. She smiled softly as she went to take your order, muttering “Well, bout' damn time.”