#im hesitant to share the plot

[gayafsowhat]

My beloved mutual @/that-random-outsider got me thinking about my au and listening to my playlist again ugh I'm gonna have to do something about this aren't I

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.

Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.

The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you sat a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame, and revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly drawn, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you— I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing from his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic notions.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his fingers, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, wearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye absent, and teeth scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks.” His lips brushed against yours. “From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love.”

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rice and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of raw carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Sukuna,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod.

He was Sukuna.

Your Sukuna.

“Very well, Sukuna.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Sukuna answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re— You’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Sukuna,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Sukuna,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Sukuna . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.

[bucketbueckers]

WILD MOUNTAIN THYME

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: au, language, slight spoilers for sinners (2025) but it kinda deviates from the plot a bit, angst, blood, death, ending is happy but happy could be debatable tbh, complicated history between reader and paige but they love each other a lot 😕, smut, make up sex(ish), oral (r!receving) (bc what is sinners if not a movie about eating puss), scissoring, spitting 👅, what do you call sex when your partner is trying to kill you but they Can't so they're fighting against their nature and their body and mind but they get you off so it all works out (kind of?), period typical mentions of racism, homophobia, & misogyny, minor historical inaccuracies, slight soulmates, horribly rushed ending, terrible proofreading

wc: 22.5k

synopsis: You and Paige Bueckers had a complicated history. You existed in that weird plane between lovers and something doomed by a bitter narrative, a relationship marred by the hatred of your time and the impossibility of desire. The two of you weren’t ordinary — you were an orphan taken in by a Hoodoo practitioner, and Paige, who wasn’t quite something or the other, was a woman who just couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. You should have known that she’d leave one day, not one to be tied down in a place she clearly didn’t belong. There’s no misery worth complaining about in the Mississippi Delta, but when Paige returns from Chicago with Smoke and Stack in tow, you realize they’d brought with them a whole lot more than ambition and foreign liquor.

notes: i have nothing to say besides i love sinners and i really hope y'all like this one 🙏 if you're hesitant about reading bc you haven't seen sinners, you really don't need movie knowledge, although i have a link to a totally legal website if anyone's interested in watching. this one was a challenge to write but im happy w how it turned out (even though i definitely failed my exams because i wrote half of this in a day when i should have been studying)!! please be gentle in the inbox bc i hurt myself with the end too but i debated three different endings and thought this one was Right 💔 as always tho i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

When it happens, you’re surprised. Almost devastatingly so.

You’re surprised because you know that you love Paige Bueckers. You had told her as much. You’re surprised because she had told you the same. Because she promised that one day, she would get the both of you out of the Mississippi Delta. That she’d take the both of you north, perhaps somewhere more tolerant of two women being together. It comes as a shock to you because of the way in which she left – silently, unassuming, simultaneously remorseful and unforgiving.

It’s surprising because she’d clearly been thinking about it for a while. She didn’t leave like she’d shared a stranger’s bed for a night, guilty and ashamed and clumsy all in one. Paige left in the same way you’d once watched a ranch hand put a horse out of its misery when it broke its leg – like it was inevitable, carefully thought out, meant more to save you than to keep you in pain.

That was the confusing part to you. You thought that you and Paige were fine. Having grown up together, you were friends for a long time until it blossomed into something more. Perhaps something more taboo, but you were never quite sure how something so pure could be considered wrong. You knew that you and Paige were unconventional. The Mississippi Delta was all thorns and flames, a region wherein its history was stiflingly pressed down on everyone who wasn’t white or male or wealthy. So, you knew that to be young, and women, and in love in the Delta was difficult, but that had never seemed to be an issue – not one that you would have allowed to tear the both of you apart.

She left you in the morning, and the night before was perfect in a way that gives you emotional whiplash. Annie, a Hoodoo practitioner who had taken you in at a young age, was out, leaving you alone in your shared home. You were standing at the counter, carefully layering pie lattice over a thick bed of apple filling, when Paige knocked and let herself in like she lived there her entire life. She may as well have, considering how much time she truly spent with you.

You grinned at her when she made her way into the kitchen, carefully toeing off her shoes, knowing Annie’s rules. She was carrying a bag in her hand which she set down on the counter before she pressed up behind you, her arms encircling your waist and her lips dusting a sweet kiss to your temple. “Smells good,” she’d commented, watching your fingers work the pie crust.

“Thank you,” you responded. “Flattery doesn’t mean you get to taste it before it’s finished, though.”

Paige sighed, the sound wounded and dramatic, and you laughed because you knew her so well. “What if I make you a deal? We can negotiate.”

You rolled your eyes, cutting the excess crust off of the edge, missing her warmth when she pulled away to reach for the bag she’d walked in with. “You’ve been spending too much time with Elijah,” you muttered. “Always tryin’ to swindle us good folk.”

You didn’t need to look over to see the mischievous grin on her face. “I prefer the term ‘looking for a bargain.’”

“A pig’s a pig even if you put lipstick on it,” you retorted, and Paige huffed something under her breath that sounded a lot like mockery. She pulled a container out of the bag, presenting it with a flourish, her smile wide like she’s holding diamonds. You glanced at her, then at the container, a smile of your own growing despite your attempts at trying to be nonchalant. “That ice cream?” you asked.

“Of the vanilla variety,” she said snootily.

“My favorite,” you hummed.

Paige pretended to look surprised. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “I had no idea. Although I heard it pairs real well with pie.”

“Baked pie,” you said gently.

“Pig’s a pig,” she responded immediately. “Baked or otherwise.”

You couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter that ripped from your chest as you shook your head fondly. Reaching for a spoon, you dipped it carefully into the filling, still warm from combining the softened apples with the sugar syrup, and you held the utensil out for Paige. With a beaming smile, she enclosed her lips around the spoon, humming in happiness. It almost reminded you of when the two of you were younger and you always begged Annie to share the spoon when she was baking. That made you realize just how long you and Paige had been in each other’s lives, and how badly you wanted to stay in hers.

“That’s all you’re getting,” you chastised. You couldn’t keep your expression neutral for too long – Paige had looked so soft, so earnest, so full of love that it made something in your chest swell and slam against a cage made of bone.

But she’d just leaned in, a gentle hand settling on your hip, and pressed her mouth to yours with a sort of gentleness that feels like the flutter of eyelashes against your cheek and the warmth of the sun pouring in through the windows in the early morning. When she pulled back, the both of you were smiling, and she promised, “I got all I need.”

Your smile widened. She wasn’t talking about the apple pie waiting to bake in the oven. She wasn’t talking about the container of ice cream resting on the counter, already melting and the condensation sweating outside. In a language only the two of you could understand, she meant you. The two of you. The bond that you share and the love that you’ve nurtured despite society’s turmoil. It was sweet in a way that made you question how she could be so gentle, so in love with you, and leave you before the sun rose the morning after.

She spent the night. Once the apple pies were finished, you cut them into even slices while she carefully portioned out scoops of vanilla ice cream onto the top. She had looked so focused, leaning down to compare the amounts, and when she was sure, she handed you the plate that had more ice cream melting from the heat of the desert.

You and Paige retired to your bedroom, curling up in bed together with your slices of pie, bodies pressed together tightly under the blankets. You ate pie until your stomachs ached, laughed until tears slipped from your eyes, and kissed until her hand burned against your waist and the taste of her began to blend with the sweetness of the ice cream and the warmth of the pie.

It escalated from there. With the moon as your witness, you were sure that her lips had touched every inch of your skin and her hands knew the map of your body like it was her own. Like it was something sacred. That you were something to revere, to deserve, to love.

It felt different. Softer, vulnerable. Almost as though words weren’t enough and she was trying to fill in the blanks with her hands. You didn’t know at the time that it was an apology. You never considered that it was a goodbye, that your last memory of her would be one of love and not of her leaving you with the warmth of her body lingering in the sheets next to yours.

You laid together in bed, legs tangled and sheets bunched up at your chests. Your nose was tucked into the crook of her neck. She smelled like warm pie, like something earthy and sweet from her cologne, like something heady from the sweat that had glistened on her skin while she made you fall apart for her. The night was quiet, alive with the sound of crickets chirping, the slow drag of the wind through the crack in your window. You were asleep, breathing gently, ignorant of how Paige laid awake for hours.

It would have been so easy for her to change her mind, she thought. To stay in bed with you until late morning, to pull you back under the covers when you tried to dress. To begrudgingly (happily) follow you out for breakfast, then entertain (annoy) you at Annie’s shop, sneaking kisses when you weren’t organizing the roots or helping customers. It would have been so easy for her to tell Elijah and Elias that she wasn’t going to go with them to Chicago, to tell them that as terrified as she was, she was willing to be strong. For you. 

The south may never let the two of you be in love. In your lifetime, you may never be fully accepted for who you love. And that was scary, because all Paige ever wanted to do was love you in the open. Proudly, unashamedly. The thought of keeping your love indoors made her sick. You deserved someone who you didn’t have to hide with. That someone may never be her.

The letter she had tucked into her pocket was nothing more than a cop-out. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to leave your side if she had to look you in the eyes and tell you the reasons why she was leaving. It was an apology because literally and metaphorically, she could never be the man for you. She couldn’t be what society deemed as proper, couldn’t be the person to hold her family together, couldn’t be the one with the guts and the confidence to stay.

So her decision was made. She didn’t sleep a wink that night. As soon as the first breaths of sunlight poked through the window and the first rooster announced the moon’s retreat, she carefully slid out of bed, pushing her pillow to your chest, her heart shattering as she watched you bury yourself further into the blankets, seeking a heat and a body that wasn’t there anymore. She placed the note on your nightstand, tucked next to the satchel of black cohosh you keep for protection.

Paige stared at you for a long while, throat burning with the struggle of keeping her tears at bay. She watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, tried to commit your image to memory – the slope of your nose, the way your hair billowed out on the pillows, the dark bruise you sported under your jaw because selfishly, she wanted you to remember her after she left. She just didn’t know how badly you’d ache in her absence.

Unable to resist, she brushed a featherlight kiss across your temple, if only to remember the way your skin felt beneath her lips, and you hardly stirred. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or for worse.

Then she was gone. And you were left to pick up the pieces of yourself.

“This all for you, honey? Just the thistle and the High John?”

The little girl peeking over the edge of the counter nods at you quickly, and you don’t bother to hide your smile as you carefully pinch off the High John and put it safely into the small, cloth bag. Thistle is quick to follow. You tie it gingerly, holding it out to the girl – Elise, you think her name is, a regular at Annie’s shop, and you make eye contact with her. Her brother Will ambles quietly behind her. “Now, you remember Miss Annie’s rules, right?” you ask her. “Don’t sell none of that on the way home.”

Elise smiles at you brightly, tucking the bag of roots into her dress pocket. “Yes, ma’am,” she agrees sweetly. In return, she hands you a folded up piece of paper – more like a credit than actual currency, but you and Annie both knew how hard people had to work to obtain these bills.

“Thank you,” you say, and the two children skip out of the shop.

From across the room, Annie glances at you. She’s busy rearranging and restocking her wares. Her lips curl into a smile, one that’s a quiet kind of pride, a silent appreciation. “Those kids love you,” she comments. You drop your head in a gesture of shyness. Finally satisfied with her work, Annie crosses the room and you hand her the currency. “I mean it. You remember the other day when you were stuck tending to the goat?”

You huff a little, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. “That goat hates me,” you mutter.

Chuckling, Annie continues, “Well, all Elise and Will could ask was, ‘Where is she? Can we see her? Can we say hi?’ Think they come more for you than for the roots.”

You laugh. “You know that’s not true,” you say.

Annie just gives you a knowing look, but before either of you can say anymore, you hear the crunch of gravel under tires. Instantly, your hair raises on end, knowing that you mostly get foot traffic. Cars were rare, especially amongst those who shopped with Annie.

You crane your head, glancing out the window, but you can’t see much. You and Annie share a look. You follow the older woman to the back door, peering out, and you simultaneously relax and tense up at the sight.

There’s a man squatting next to the grave of Annie’s late baby. He’s dressed formally, pristine, and he’s laying down white flowers next to the clearing. His blue hat sticks out like a sore thumb. You know instantly that it’s Elijah – or Smoke, as most people know him by, and Annie sucks in a deep breath next to you.

If Elijah is in town, then you’re sure that means Elias – Stack – is too. And if the twins are back in town, then that means–

“Let me go talk to him,” Annie interrupts your thoughts, already stepping outside before you can say anything else. For respect and privacy, you close the door behind her, but you almost jump out of your skin when you turn around and you spot her in front of you. You react before you can think better of it.

“Jesus!” Paige exclaims. She catches you by the wrist, a blade gripped firmly in your hands, surprise on her features and an amalgamation of feelings on yours. Guilt, shock, anger. Despite the fact that seeing her again pisses you off beyond belief, your body doesn’t know what your brain does – it still yearns for her as if the two of you were years younger, more immature and devastatingly in love when being in love was the last thing two women of your statuses should have been.

You missed her. You hate that you do. But you know you couldn’t be surprised by it, even if it’s been months – or closer to over a year.

“You welcome in all your customers like that, or just the tall and pretty ones?” she jokes, but her humor does little to diffuse the tension. Your eyes narrow and her face falls slightly. Paige, not unkindly, carefully pries your fingers off of the blade in your hand and closes it in on itself, handing it back to you handle-first.

“You can’t just creep up on people like that,” you mutter, pocketing the blade, and putting space in between your bodies like you know that she and her are more of an inevitability than a possibility. You’d fall right back into her without a second thought. “I could have killed you.”

Paige hums, shoving her hands into her pockets, and that’s when you get a good look at her. Growing up, Paige was never a woman for wearing dresses, something that clearly got her into a lot of trouble with a lot of people. She’d pretended like she never cared for their perception of her, but you knew it weighed on her, even when she dressed how she preferred. Now, she’s wearing a pristine pair of black loafers paired smartly with a deep, purple suit so dark that it looks black. Her blonde hair is pinned back in a low bun.

Despite the distance, it’s clear that time has been kind to her. She’s aged beautifully – no longer the sixteen year old girl you’d found crying in town, trying to hold onto both parts of her family like it was sharp, unforgiving barbed wire. Paige had always struggled to belong. You should have known that insecurity and fear would take her far away from you, but you wish you’d fought a little harder for her, even when you bear guilt and anger of your own.

Maybe she should have fought a little harder for you, too, but you’re older now. Wiser. You know the both of you could point fingers at each other for as long as you wanted to, but it would solve nothing.

“I don’t know about kill,” she muses, a charming grin right back on her face. “I taught you to fight. I know you.”

Confidence seems to be something she’d picked up in Chicago, too, or maybe it’s just audacity. The audacity to come waltzing back into yours and Annie’s shop like she wasn’t the one who left you before the sun came up with nothing more than a note, an apology, and the aching feeling in your chest that you may truly never be happy again unless it was with her. The audacity to joke with you like there’s not a greater distance between you and her than there is distance between Mississippi and Chicago. The audacity to claim that she knows you when, if she did, she would have stopped hiding behind a bravado she picked up from Stack and started with an explanation. An apology. Anything at all to let you know that what the two of you had wasn’t something you hallucinated and that she loved you in the first place.

You don’t humor her, your face twisting up. “What are you doing here?” you ask instead, your tone flat. That cracks through Paige’s poised exterior, her throat bobbing like she’s resisting the urge to flinch. You take a step closer to her. She stands several inches taller than you, but you stare up at her fearlessly. “What ran you out of Chicago? Was it the Irish mob? The Italians?”

Paige presses a little closer now, something in her eyes flashing recklessly, her body eclipsing yours. You don’t stumble back, nor do you avert your gaze from hers. If anything, you push your chest into hers, feeling your heart beating out of your ribcage, her breath fanning against your skin. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mutters, brows furrowed in quiet anger.

“Don’t I?” you snarl. You pinch the fabric of her suit between your thumb and index finger, tugging it slightly, and in her surprise, she falls against you, her arms shooting out to cage you against the counter. But you hardly react. “You’re wearing a pinstripe top. Italian. Tweed trousers. Irish. Playing both sides again, aren’t you? Both at the same time?”

Paige says your name firmly, like she’s begging you to stop talking. You don’t, feeling the anger of her abandonment hit you again. “You can’t always be in two places at once,” you hiss. “But you always will be ‘cause you keep fucking running away.”

That makes her anger return tenfold. “I’m not running,” she scoffs.

You reach into your dress pocket, producing a worn scrap of paper, and you slap it against her chest with a firm noise. “Yeah?” you whisper, cocking your head. She holds onto your wrist with one hand, and with the other, she unfolds the paper, her body stiffening at the sight of the words scribbled in an all too familiar, messy scrawl. Her words, the very ones she’d left with you when she went off to Chicago, leaving the Delta behind in the fading shadow of the night. “What do you call this, then?”

She’s silent, her throat bobbing under the weight of her apprehension. You wonder if she’d admit it. If she’d apologize. But her blue eyes find yours, glassy with unshed tears, and you don’t realize you’re crying until her palm raises to wipe the water off of your cheek. Her hand lingers, though – her skin warm against yours, callused and rough from time but soft in a way that reminds you that it’s Paige in front of you. You’re not sure if that reminder is supposed to comfort you or make you cry harder.

“A regret,” she murmurs finally.

Oh.

Your eyes search hers. For deceit or for honesty – the difference between the two can be hard to tell apart most times. But you see earnestness. It makes you soften.

“I walked away,” Paige admits, her voice breaking. “From the one person in my life who’d made me feel like I belonged. Like I had a place. Like I was more than who my parents were or who my parents weren’t. I left a note and I ran to a city that cared for me even less than the Delta did.” She pauses, trying to find the words. “I regretted that decision every morning when I woke up on a dirty mattress in Chicago and realized I wasn’t next to you.”

“Was it worth it?” you ask, if only to hear the answer.

Paige doesn’t hesitate. “No. None of it ever was. Not when I had to lose you.”

“Why did you go?” You can feel the hesitation in her body, and you press a little further into her. “And make sure you tell me the fucking truth, Paige. No bullshit.”

“I didn’t deserve you,” she murmurs. “Shit, I still don’t. You deserve to be loved in the open, by someone who can provide for you and keep you safe. That was never gonna be with me.”

“I never wanted any of that,” you seethe, fisting your hand in her suit, dragging her closer to you. Her breath hitches, remorse and guilt on her face, but you continue speaking. “Do you understand that? I never needed anyone to provide for me, to keep me safe. I just wanted you to be with me.”

Paige doesn’t break eye contact when she utters, “They’d never let us be in love.”

You swallow your grief. “And what about we?” you say. “What about what we want? I’d rather love you in the dark than someone else in the sun.” You’re both silent. A lone tear slips from Paige’s waterline. You wipe it away gingerly, and her hand catches yours by her face, tangling your fingers together. “I just wish I got the chance to tell you that before you left.”

She nods, the motion like acceptance. Like she understands where you’re coming from – that she always has. That maybe she just needed to hear those words from you to understand it was never about what she thought you deserved, but about what the both of you wanted. As two women in the Mississippi Delta, it was always difficult to carve out that space for yourselves, to want so openly, to want each other so openly. You and Paige have been defying the norm for years now. You’d always thought that it would catch up with you. The love you had for Paige eclipsed that fear.

“Wasn’t the mobs in Chicago,” she confesses under her breath. You cock your head at her, and she deflates. “At least…not yet. The twins wanted out – something about coming back down here to open a juke joint. They brought liquor. Irish beer and Italian wine. They asked if I’d return and I…” The words get caught in her throat. She tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s one that says I’ve done everything I’ve could so maybe it’s time to let someone else do what I can’t. “Figured it was time to stop running. From us.”

“For good?” you murmur.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” she responds, thumb brushing across your knuckles. “If that’s still on the table.”

You tilt your head back, far enough away just to look at her. To study her. She’s older now. So are you. The two of you weren’t always going to have a simple story, on account of the both of you being women and being completely different people. But you loved each other, and while you’ve never made it any less complicated for each other, you knew in your heart of hearts that you would take complex with her rather than easy and loveless with anyone else.

But you’re not one to kneel. Bravely, you ask, “And how do I know you mean that?” That gives her pause, something in her expression falling – like guilt and acceptance and a I deserved to hear that all in one. “How do I know I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and you’ll have left another note?” you continue. “You hurt me, Paige. I laid in bed for days and wondered why I wasn’t enough for you to stick around. That doesn’t go away overnight.”

“I know,” she admits, her voice cracking. She meets your eyes, the blue in them so easy to drown in, water shimmering on the surface like sun on the waves. “I can’t undo that. Believe me, I tried.” She laughs a little self-deprecatingly. “Every day I prayed that leaving you was a bad dream I’d eventually wake up from. That I’d find the courage to tell the twins that I was getting on the first train back here to right my wrongs before you slipped through my fingers completely. But I couldn’t – I thought I fucked us up. For good. I thought that we were something I couldn’t save or be enough for.”

Your chest is tight, but you can tell that Paige has more to say, so you remain quiet, your fingers trembling in her hold. She takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words to say, but her shoulders sag in a way that feels like acceptance. Like finally understanding that she may never say or do the right thing, but the effort in honesty is more than enough. You’d always try to fill in the blanks. You didn’t need her to be perfect. You just needed her to be here.

“I know I hurt you,” she continues. “But I also know that I love you – that I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen and you showed me what home is supposed to feel like. I know that I missed you.” Paige swallows thickly, not breaking eye contact, and she flattens your palm against her chest. You can feel the steady thump of her heart beneath your fingertips. “I missed you here.”

You can tell how much this means to her. You can tell that she’s genuinely remorseful, that she’s probably spent months beating herself up for leaving you in the way that she did. “I’m not expecting you to forgive me immediately,” she murmurs. “I can’t erase a year’s worth of pain overnight. Asking for one more chance is a lot, but I also know that I’d spend the rest of my life and then some making it up to you. I’m not running anymore. Not from you. Not from us. I’m not going to fuck this up again.”

You knew what your answer would be long before she answered you. Maybe you just needed to hear it – the promise, the vow that she’s not going to repeat her same mistakes twice. It makes the tension in your chest ease up, the lines on your face soften, and your shoulders relax. Your palm is still on her chest, so you lift your hand to trace the line of her collarbone absentmindedly. “I’m making pie tomorrow,” you say, glancing up at her with a wry, softer grin. It’s not forgiveness, but it’s something close to it, and Paige smiles brightly because she knows. “You should come by.”

She leans in ever so slightly, her lips brushing yours, and it makes your breath hitch at the contact. Her hands drop to hold you by the waist, her grip both firm and reverent like she’s committed to not letting you go unless you ask. “You gonna let me have the spoon?” she asks coyly, and your smile grows.

“Maybe,” you whisper. Then, you pull away slightly, enjoying the expression of shock on her face. “Now, tell me why you’re really here.”

Paige laughs, the sound full and relieved, and it makes you feel just a little bit more gone. “Already told you, baby,” she says. The nickname softens every sharp edge you’d whittled while she was gone. “The twins wanted to open a juke joint. Smoke came by to ask Annie if she’d cook.”

“Smoke did?” you echo, raising a brow, knowing about his and Annie’s lost baby. You knew that him coming here took a lot of guts. He wouldn’t have if he didn’t mean it. Paige hums in confirmation, the sound respectful as she knows the story, too. “They’re serious, huh?”

“Mmm,” Paige agrees. “Bought the old mill and everything.”

You exhale a little breathlessly, a smile on your face despite it all. “And you?” you ask. Paige’s eyes blink open, something curiously reckless in them. “Where do you fit into all this?”

“Was just hopin’ you’d still like me enough to dance,” she answers, her eyes bright and yearning. Her lips brush yours again, the touch like electricity after so many months of being apart.

You pretend to think about it, which makes Paige shake her head with a laugh and a grin. “Get me a bottle of that Italian wine and you’ve got a deal.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paige murmurs, her eyes finding yours again with a flicker of hope. You can’t hide your amusement nor the love you have for her, so you finally give in, your lips meeting hers with a deliberate softness. She sighs against you as you press up on the tips of your toes for better leverage. Literally and metaphorically, it feels like coming home again. Your body could never forget Paige nor the way she makes you feel, even if the both of you were dealt an unfair hand of cards.

You feel her grin against your lips, adjusting the angle of her head to deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangle in the loose hair at the back of her neck, warmth creeping into every crevice of your body.

The kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough. You can hear the turn of the lock at the back door and you and Paige pull away from each other quickly, working on adjusting your clothes as Annie and Smoke walk in, a quiet air around them as well. Annie meets your gaze – a brow raising in both question and concern. You nod at her, mustering a small smile, and her features relax, drawing your silent exchange to a close.

Finally, you gather your belongings, letting Paige lead you out towards their truck. There’s only space in front for Smoke and Annie, so you and Paige opt to sit in the back with the liquors, which you’re not too upset about. It gives you the time and the privacy to curl up next to Paige, your argument and reconciliation not completely forgiven nor quite forgotten. Right now, it’s enough for the both of you, knowing that you’ll have the rest of your lives to figure this out. You know that neither of you are going to let this slip away again.

Once you all make it to the old mill, you all get to work. You and Paige work on sweeping the floors and cleaning while Annie works on frying the catfish. Countless friends stream in – old and new – like the Chows, Delta Slim, a pioneering blues performer who you’d thought to have mostly been a legend, Smoke and Stack’s cousin Sammie, and even Cornbread, who’s been hired to play bodyguard.

Everyone’s in high spirits, laughing and enjoying the time. You catch Annie looking at you and Paige with a fond look in her eyes and you try not to blush too much, even when Paige spins you around to the beat of whatever tune Slim is plucking on the piano.

Before you know it, everything is ready. Paige helps to set out the liquor, smiling wryly at you when she stashes a bottle of her wine in her suit, and you laugh as you serve a patron some of Annie’s catfish. The old mill fills fast, people looking for a break, to have fun, to let loose and listen to Sammie sing the blues.

For this one moment in time, everything feels…right. Peaceful. Like there’s not a single worry in the world, and you think that you can get used to this. The sound of soul in your ear, of laughter and love swirling around you, the heavy feeling of Paige’s gaze on you while she regales some of the customers with charming stories about who knows what. Her eyes find you more than appropriate, though, and you find it hard to stay polite in front of everyone.

But she sidles up to you, empty wine glass in hand, and her smirk is mischievous, loose, like she’s about to ask you to do something you can’t quite say no to. Her hand finds your waist behind the bar, palm warm against your skin, and you raise a brow at her. “Think I can convince you to stop workin’ for a bit and have a drink with me?” she asks, gaze predatory and sharp. “Pretty sure I owed you a glass of wine.”

“Sounds like you’ve got ulterior motives,” you comment, looking up at her through your lashes. “You tryin’ to get me tipsy?”

“Just relaxed,” she murmurs, her eyes trailing your figure unashamedly. “Anything after that is purely coincidental.”

“I’m sure.” Your tone is flat, but your eyes are amused. “Would have thought that you’d give it a few more days before you tried finding your way under my skirt. Just this morning you were begging for me to forgive you.”

That sobers her instantly. She blinks at you like she’d forgotten all about that, and it makes you swell with affection for this idiot in front of you. “We don’t have–”

You can’t help but laugh, tanging your fingers in the collar of her suit, and you gently drag her a little closer to you. It makes her breath hitch, but the look on her face makes it all worth it. “Pour me a glass and meet me in the back,” you murmur, releasing her. Just before you walk away, you offer her a teasing smile. “And don’t keep me waiting.”

“Yes ma’am,” she rushes out, already reaching for another glass under the bar, and you know she’s hot on your heels as she follows you to the back. You leave the door slightly ajar and she shuts it as soon as she’s in, the lock clicking into place as you take a seat on top of the table tucked into the corner. Her gaze is a little predatory when she steps forward, looking as though she wants to ravage you but be respectful about it – like she doesn’t quite know where the two of you stand after your difficult conversation that morning.

But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t rush to fill the silence, even as she holds the wine glass in between two fingers and slowly tips the bottle over, filling it with the dark red liquid. Your eyes follow the way her fingers move, the veins in her wrist that protrude, and it’s then that you’re reminded of just how beautiful Paige Bueckers is.

It’s not something you consciously forget. You haven’t seen her in a while, and this is the first time in a good amount of time that you’ve allowed your walls to fall down. To allow yourself to want her so openly. It makes you ache because you know she wants you to and this entire thing – her pouring the wine for you, her fingers lingering on yours when she gives you the glass, is more of a formality than anything else.

You wait while she fills her glass, too, and then you tap the sides in cheer. “To a successful first night,” you murmur, catching the dark of her gaze over the dim lighting.

“To you,” she says. “And to us.”

To hide the blush growing on your cheeks, you roll your eyes slightly, tipping your head slightly to drink the wine. You like that Paige’s gaze is hooked on you, following the bob of your throat as you swallow the wine. She already looks like she’s unravelling and all you’ve done is drink. “Always have to one up me, don’t you?” you state, and she takes a sip of her own wine. The flavor is pleasant – not too sharp, but not too sweet. You can see why Paige and the twins played the Italian mob like this. They make excellent wine.

“Just wanted to be honest,” she retorts. “Something actually worth toasting about.”

You raise your brows, watching her figure as she takes a seat in the chair next to the table, her gaze locked onto yours. “Are you not actually into the juke joint?” you ask, curious.

She shrugs a shoulder. Her eyes linger on the way your skirt rides up your legs when you cross them at the knee. “This was the twin’s project,” she says, not unkindly. “I was just here to help. And to stop running from the things I love.”

You snort into your wine. “That sounds like something to unpack.”

“Probably,” she admits. “Sometimes…I look at a good thing, and my first thought isn’t that it’s good. It’s how devastated I would be if I were to lose it.” That makes you soften, and you reach for her hand, intertwining your fingers. “I think that’s why I was so scared of…staying. I thought I wouldn’t be allowed to be happy for long, that it would be taken away from me. I didn’t want to lose you. I guess it was easier to leave than to risk it.”

“But not anymore?” you question.

She shakes her head. “Still lost you,” she says. “Just in a different way. One that hurt a lot more.” Paige takes a long sip of her wine before she speaks again. “There was this Italian guy I met while I was in Chicago. He caught me at a bad time. I was drunk off my ass at a pub, and I guess he recognized me from running with the mob. He took me home and I started rambling about you. About missing you. How you’d give me peppermint to chew on when I was plastered because it would help my headache.” That makes you crack a smile as you listen to her go on. “Think I got really upset and lost it, and then he says, ‘How lucky you are to have loved someone so strongly that saying goodbye is hard.’ I woke up the morning after. My head hurt, and all I could think about was you and how not having you turned me inside out.”

Paige pauses for a long moment, clearly having more to say. You just brush your fingers across her knuckles. “I don’t think I’m scared of that anymore,” she confesses. “Not – of losing you. I don’t ever want to do that again. But I don’t think I’m scared of loving you. That’s a blessing by itself. And no matter how long…or how short…I think I’m lucky to be able to do that.”

You swallow thickly, realizing the seriousness of the moment, and you admit, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to run from me.” That catches her attention. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this alone. We’re…together.” Your voice catches on that word, unsure if that’s a term you should still use to describe your relationship, and you think that was a good choice because Paige’s face lights up. “I just want you to choose me when it gets hard and trust that we can figure it out.”

“I will,” she states firmly. “God, I swear to you, I will. I’m not gonna fuck this up again.”

You smile at her, gently, because you know she’s not going to. Not when she swears like her life depends on it. “I trust you,” you promise her. “But even if you do…it’s gonna be okay. I don’t want perfection. I just want you.”

That makes her smile turn a little tender, a little bashful. “I can work with that.” She finishes the rest of the wine in her glass and her voice is a hoarse when she says, “Think you might be stuck with me now.”

Your smile turns a little mischievous. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

When she looks at you again, her gaze is a little dark, hungry. “Depends on how you look at it.”

You set your wine glass down, not bothering with a response before you shift on the table, facing her fully, and you cup her cheeks in your hands as you pull her against you. She’s quick – groaning against your lips like she’d spent the entire day thinking about the next time she’d get to kiss you, and her arms encircle your waist, fingers pressing firmly into your skin.

She tastes like wine and something unmistakably Paige that makes your head spin. Her lips drag against yours, already making something in your core swell with heat and tighten, her tongue brushing against your bottom lip in permission. You don’t give it to her, tangling your fingers in the loose bun at the back of her head and tugging slightly, and she gasps a little breathlessly at the feeling.

“You’re a brat,” she mutters, standing from the chair fully. The movement forces you to disconnect your lips and with the natural pause, you slide your hands under her suit top, pushing the blazer down her shoulders.

“You’ve got a lot of groveling to do,” you retort. “Something about spending the rest of your life making it up to me, I think.”

Her resulting smile is a little sharp when she looks at you. “Oh, is that so?” she murmurs. You nod, already reaching out for her, and you wrap your arms around her neck while you connect your lips again. It’s wet, hot, and the both of you slide against each other with little restraint, the alcohol in your veins loosening the both of you up and intensifying the feeling. “You just want me on my knees, don’t you?” Her voice had dropped low, her tone teasing and rough, and it makes you squeeze your thighs together, which was obviously something that she picked up on. “You liked that?” She says it like it’s a surprise to her, like she’s discovered a secret you didn’t want to share, and you feel her grin as she kisses you again, drawing a moan from your lips when she squeezes one of your thighs.

“Would that make you feel better, baby?” she coos, fingers trailing a hot path between your thighs, pressing against the thin lace of your underwear. You’re already breathing heavily, and judging by the way she sucks in a deep breath, you’re sure that she’s found the wetness at the apex of your thighs. “You’re soaked for me and all I’ve done is kiss you. Still all mine. Doesn’t matter how long I’m gone.”

Your cheeks burn, and your fingers grapple for stability on her shirt. She leans in to press another filthy kiss to your lips, her tongue probing out to trace your bottom lip again, and you’re too lost in the feeling to open up for her. She doesn’t like that – an annoyed sound building at the back of her throat when she bites down on your lip – just a gentle nip, enough to get your attention but not enough to truly hurt, and she slips her tongue inside while you gasp.

It’s pure dominance from then on out – she unravels you with her lips while her fingers rub maddening circles against your clit over the lace. She was right. She hadn’t done much, but she’s always been good at tearing you apart. Even if she hasn’t been near you in months, she still knows what works, how much pressure you need, exactly where to touch you. And your body responds like it knows Paige’s touch. It doesn’t embarrass you to admit that there wasn’t anyone else while she was gone. This feeling has been building ever since the day that she left, and you suppose that it is her responsibility to handle it.

She breaks away from your lips to trail kisses to your jawline, sucking a dark spot at the edge of it. You can feel her smile against your skin as your mouth falls open in wordless pleasure. Her fingers are insistent, continuous, as she follows a path across your skin that only she’s the expert in, her lips enclosing around the lobe of your ear, the spot behind it that makes you shiver, your pulse point, the base of your throat where your necklace glitters.

Paige lingers, a little breathless at the sight of you, and the hand not tending to your leaking cunt reaches up to cup your breast, thumb tweaking your nipple over your top. Moaning, your head falls back, giving her ample space to work with, and she latches onto your neck immediately. Her teeth scrape against your skin, drawing a ragged sound from your throat. Her words vibrate against you when she speaks. “So fucking beautiful,” she murmurs, punctuating her words with another kiss, her tongue poking out to trail across your body.

It makes you shiver for an entirely different reason now. You reach up with one of her hands to cup the back of her neck, pushing her a little closer to you, and her finger swipes a little more firmly against your clit, making you keen. “Please, Paige,” you beg. “Need you, need more.”

“I got you,” she promises, finally sinking to her knees. Breathless, you clench around nothing, instinctively spreading your legs for her as she peers up at you through her lashes. Her palms are warm against your skin as her hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up to give herself more space to work with. “Keep your eyes on me.” You don’t have the brain space to ask Or else what? but you’re so high strung that you don’t want to test her.

The edge of her smirk is hungry, predatory, like she’s seconds away from drooling, and it makes you ache. She presses her lips to your thighs, littering gentle kisses across your skin while she makes her way towards your cunt. Needy, you cup the back of her head with your hand, encouraging her to get a move on, and her smile softens as she listens to your wordless command.

She tangles her fingers in the lace covering you and pulls it down with an agonizing slowness, breath catching at the way a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and snaps when the stretch is too great. Then, almost deliberately, she folds your underwear, setting it gently on the chair she’d sat in, and you’re seconds away from beating the shit out of her. “Paige,” you hiss, trying for an assertive tone, but you just sound whiny.

She doesn’t respond – she doesn’t have to. She slides her hands under your thighs and lifts your legs gently over her shoulders, opening you up for her, and she groans at the sight like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. Paige doesn’t waste anymore time before she dives in, her tongue already relentless as she strokes from your leaking entrance to your aching clit, moaning against you and already addicted to the taste. You whimper, head lulling back as your fingers tighten in her hair, but she nips at your clit. It doesn’t sting, but it gets your attention, and you return your gaze down to her.

Your slick already coats her mouth, glistening in the light, her eyes hooded and pussy drunk in the way she always gets when she gets to put her mouth against you. She’d once joked that she could die happy down here and you truly never realized how serious she was until now. Her brows are pinched, pleasure evident on her face like she’s the one moments away from falling apart, and her tongue traces every sopping inch of your cunt as though she’s afraid to let a single drop go to waste.

Her tongue slides in to drink directly from the source. Her nose brushes against your sensitive clit and it sends a lightning bolt of white hot pleasure up your spine, curling low in your belly, and drawing a whimpering moan from you. She works you like it’s her last day on earth and getting you to come is her only chance at salvation. Her pace makes you a little dizzy, her tongue going from hole to clit to kissing the aching bud until the pressure makes your hips buck. She’s everywhere all at once as though she’s trying to reacquaint herself with your cunt, like she’s trying to make up for lost time.

She said she’d make it up to you. You think she’s doing a damn good job, especially when her fingers tighten around the fullness of your thighs, pushing herself in deeper, and you spread yourself open a little more, too far gone to care about much of anything that’s not how good Paige Bueckers looks when she’s on her knees with her face buried in your cunt.

And then she starts talking. There wasn’t a chance in hell that you were going to last after this, not when she’s holding onto you like she’s the one who’s about to float away, and whimpering, “Missed this.” The whine in her tone makes you a little crazy, your fingers tightening in her hair, your hips bucking against her face as you try to chase a high you know she’d rather die than deny you. “Missed you so fucking much, baby. Missed the way you taste. The way you sound – fuck, the way you fall apart for me.”

“Please,” you choke out, but you’re not quite sure what you’re begging for. Paige nods anyways, the motion causing you to gasp when her nose brushes against your clit again, and she somehow doubles her pace, her tongue sliding against you with a vicious efficiency that all but pushes you to the edge. You’re teetering on it now, inches away from slipping off completely, and you ramble, “Shit, Paige, so close. You’re so fucking good, love you so much–”

Your words get stuck in your throat when she latches onto your clit and sucks. You’re almost sure that she breathes the very soul out of your body as you crumble completely, your legs tightening around her head as your hips buck wildly against her mouth. The sounds spilling from your lips are unrestrained, unintelligible, but Paige hums against you and drinks up every drop from your cunt like you’re the first sip of water she’s had in years. She’s always a little messy when she’s got a glass or two of wine in her system, but you think you like her this way – when she behaves like your pleasure is the most important thing to her and that she died if you weren’t unravelling on her face.

Sensitive, you cry out softly, tugging her back by the hair to give you room to breathe. But she doesn’t budge, her grip tightening on your thighs, and she glances up at you, brows tented, chest heaving, her expression nothing short of begging. Her face is slick, lips, cheek, nose, and even her neck covered with your arousal, and it makes something in your core simmer with heat. “C’mon, baby,” she pleads, her tongue already working you again. The oversensitivity makes you tremble, but you’re bucking into her mouth mindlessly, needing to come for her again. “One more. Lemme give you one more.”

You’re nodding, but you know she can’t see it, her tongue already sliding through your folds and lapping you up with a fervor. It won’t take much – you know she knows that, and she hums against your cunt in pleasure when you leak into her waiting mouth. “So fucking good for me,” she mutters against you. She’s lost in your pleasure, which makes you ache again, already teetering dangerously close to the edge.

This time, you don’t even have the chance to warn her. Her teeth close around your clit, nipping gently enough to make your hips twitch, then soothing the sting with a harsh suck. You spill over her instantly, your second orgasm somehow feeling stronger than the first one, and your head falls back in desperate pleasure while her pace finally slows. Paige helps you ride out the aftershocks, her tongue cleaning every inch of you before extracting herself from your cunt with great difficulty. If you were any more conscious, you might be able to see the way she stares forlornly at you while she draws back, like she’s a soldier heading off to war.

You can’t focus on anything but the way her palms rub your thighs soothingly, how she unfurls your hands from her hair and tangles your fingers together to help bring you back down to earth. The hand not holding yours curls around your neck as she lifts herself into a standing position, pulling you into her body, pressing her lips gently to your temple while she strokes the hair at the base of your neck.

Strangely, that’s what actually brings you back into a state of coherency, because her lips are sticky and wet from where she’d just spent the better part of fifteen minutes sucking the soul out of your body through your cunt. “You need to wash your face,” you mutter, not actually that bothered by it, and you wipe your own slick off of your forehead immediately.

Paige catches your wrist, slipping your finger into your mouth and sucking gently, her cheeks suctioning from the pressure. If you could feel your legs, you might knock her ass to the ground and return the favor, but the surprisingly serious expression on her face gives you pause. “Don’t waste that shit,” she reprimands you, gingerly wiping the rest off of your face and licking it off her fingers. “Haven’t had you in over a year and you wanna deprive me?”

“And whose fault is that?” you retort, not really intending to be mean about it, and Paige narrows her eyes at you.

“I just gave you two earth-shattering, mind-numbing, toe-curling–”

“Get to the point.”

“Two orgasms,” she emphasizes. “Two. How many more until I’m out of the doghouse?”

You roll your eyes, a little amused by how fucking annoying she is, and you curl your fingers in the collar of her shirt to plant a chaste kiss to her lips. You can taste yourself, but it doesn’t bother you. “You’re an idiot,” you mumble.

“You love me,” she fires back.

At that, you can’t really help your smile, and the next kiss you press to her mouth is a little more gentle. Softer. Full of something that words can’t really convey, even as you admit, “I do.”

The beaming smile on her face would be a little endearing if you forgot about the two orgasms she’d just drawn from you. “I love you, too,” she promises, and part of you aches for a different reason now. You’re not sure how long you’d been waiting to hear those words from her again, but it makes warmth bloom in your chest, curling around your heart like it belongs there.

She helps you back into your lace underwear, only half pretending to not miss seeing you naked, and the two of you leave the back room with your empty wine glasses in hand. At the bar, Annie raises her eyebrows at you knowingly, but you don’t say anything for both of your sakes – Annie practically raised you, and there were things she just did not need to know. Paige, blessedly, keeps her mouth shut, but she smirks at you as though she’s already thinking about the next time she can have you.

Spirits are high in the juke joint. You can spot Smoke brooding on the second floor, something you’re not really surprised by, and you have no clue where Stack is. You spotted Mary a while ago, which didn’t really surprise you, either; she always had a difficult time staying away from trouble, but so does the blonde who’s lingering in your shadow, not wanting to let you out of her sight.

The party rages on for another twenty or so minutes – everyone is still singing and dancing. Delta Slim is still plucking away at the piano, and you’re deep in conversation with a woman who frequents Annie’s shop when you hear a commotion at the front door. That’s what actually surprises you. The night had been peaceful so far. Cornbread hadn’t actually had to enforce his bouncer duties, but it seems there’s a time and a place for everything.

You follow Annie (and Paige follows you) to the front door. You step up behind the twins, then Mary’s behind you, and you’re all a little concerned at the sight. Standing at your doorstep are three individuals. They’re holding three different guitars and the man on the far right has a lantern clutched in his grasp. They’re white, so you can see why their arrival gives everyone pause.

“We heard a tale of a party,” the white man at the front says. You struggle to place his accent, your head cocking in confusion. There’s something…off, about him, something lurking beneath the surface, and you can’t place that, either. But your gut is never wrong. You nudge Annie, a silent conversation passing between the two of you, and she nods. She suspects it, too. “Drinks, food, blues music and the like.”

Cornbread looks perplexed. “You did?” he asks, his tone believing.

“We like to drink,” the man says. “We happen to be musicians, and, uh…we walked here. So, we hungry as dogs.” The other man with the lantern backs this up with a very emphatic woof woof! that disgusts you immediately. You shift uncomfortably and Paige curls an arm around your waist subtly. “You wouldn’t mind us coming in, now, would you?”

Cornbread narrows his eyes. “I think y’all are in the wrong place,” he states.

“What makes you say that?” the woman asks.

The man turns his gaze from cornbread to the twins, his features softening. “You fellas must be the owners of this establishment.”

“That’s right,” Smoke agrees. “And you are?”

They introduce themselves – the man in the middle is Remmick, and his companions are Bert and Joan. But when Sammie comes into view to check on his cousins, Remmick’s expression shifts. “You must be that voice I heard from out here. It was beautiful.”

“Goddamn beautiful,” Joan agrees unsettlingly.

“Even through these walls,” Bert adds.

You narrow your eyes, only half listening to the rest of the conversation as you try to place why these travelers unsettle you so. It’s not the color of their skin – far from it. It’s the almost robotic detachment, the way they’re here, uninvited, and Joan and Bert have positioned themselves  on either side of Remmick and far enough behind him to be considered respectful. They’re not equals. Remmick holds a sort of power over them, and you feel like you’re nearing the answer the more you stare at them, at the way Remmick stares into the juke joint as if searching for something.

The conversation passes. Questions like where are you from? Are you Klan? Even an unsettling rendition of Pick Poor Robin Clean that makes your hair stand on end. Smoke ends it abruptly, not a fan of the lack of blues, and Remmick points out that he and his friends have a lot of money they’d like to spend. They exchange a few more words before they walk away with an exaggerated slowness, stopping just short of the road leading into the woods.

“They gave me the willies,” Pearline, another of the singers, mutters.

“Crackers at night time will do that to you,” Stack says. Then, Smoke and Stack start arguing over why they’re here, if they’re actually Klan, before Smoke firmly states, “Don’t let them in.”

That seems to be the end of that, and the tension dissipates slightly. You return to the bar with Annie and Paige in tow, something uncomfortable settling low in your gut, and you top off your glass of wine and you take a long, slow sip of it. “I don’t trust them,” you declare in a huff, feeling Paige’s hand slide soothingly around your waist. “That man barked.”

“Woof, woof,” Paige imitates, and you wrinkle your nose at her in a way that makes her face fall. “Not funny. Got it.”

“I don’t either,” Annie admits. She glances up to the second floor where Smoke and Sammie are locked in conversation. Something makes her lips twist as she cleans a glass, something that looks a whole lot like I hope he knows what he’s doing.

Across the room, you spot Mary and Stack conversing, then you watch as Stack slips a small handgun into a holster tucked under her skirt. You know what her plan is long before Mary walks smoothly to the bar, sidling up next to you and Paige, looking at the taller blonde with a quiet request. “They’ll listen to us,” Mary says, her tone soft, spoken like it’s one of the quiet truths about the world and society that you’ll have to accept. “Remmick and them. The twins aren’t breaking even – too much plantation credit. The juke joint won’t be able to operate for another night if they can’t afford it.”

Paige draws her bottom lip between her teeth. You know her well enough to understand that she’d made up her mind. You give Mary a gentle look and she nods solemnly, stepping away from you two and giving you some privacy.

“Five minutes,” Paige utters, her voice hardly above a whisper. You might not be able to hear her over the thrum of the crowd. “Just to feel them out and keep an eye on Mary.” You don’t say anything, only looking up at her with an expression of calm concern, and she reaches for your wrist, pressing your palm to her hip where you can feel the outline of her holster, the handgun settled against her skin, unassuming.

You had a bad feeling about them, although it was significantly better for Paige and Mary to be out there together, both armed, than to let one or the other go alone. You didn’t like the situation, but you couldn’t do much. Sucking in a deep breath, you enclose both of Paige’s hands around yours, bringing them to your lips, and the both of you close your eyes as you pray over her. For safety, for protection. For the clear eyes to spot deceit. When you finish, she brushes a quick, gentle kiss to your cheek, squeezing your hands once before walking out of the door side by side with Mary.

Your chest is tense the entire time that she’s gone, but you try to keep yourself distracted, chatting with Annie while the two of you work the bar in tandem. She serves the fried catfish while you pour the drinks, an easy rhythm between the two of you. Even though you’re busy with the crowd, your eyes still trail off to the front door, hoping to see the tall blonde walk in sooner rather than later.

Eventually, she does, and Mary’s right behind her. You feel as though you can finally breathe a sigh of relief, although you wrinkle your nose when you watch Mary throw herself onto Stack and lead him into the back room you and Paige had already visited not even an hour prior. You suppose it’s a happy night for everyone, and you smile fondly at Paige as she rounds the bar once more, her palm finding your hip. “How’d it go?” you ask in a hushed whisper.

“Nothing to worry about,” she reassures you, but she doesn’t add anymore, which confuses you. Her hand presses against you a little more firmly, a knee slipping between your legs, and you can’t help but gasp at the pressure.

“Paige!” you hiss, glancing around, your heart in your throat. Annie is occupied with an inebriated man who is struggling to cut his fish, but it doesn’t make you relax anymore. Her grin is sharp, eyes dark, and you can smell the wine and something distinctly minty on her breath as she leans in. “You’re insatiable.” You try for a reprimanding tone, but you just sound a little breathless, feeling a heat coil low in your belly when she pushes you down on her knee slightly. “We just–”

“Still gotta make it up to you, don’t I?” she murmurs, the muscle of her thigh flexing under your weight, and you sigh softly at the drag, trying to not look like she’s ruining you in a room full of people. “Let Annie handle this. You deserve a break.” Her lips find the shell of your ear, her voice a rumbling, low timbre when she says, “You deserve to feel good, baby. Lemme help you.”

Still breathless, all you can do is nod, and she guides you upstairs, the both of you searching for a quiet corner. Paige pushes open the door to the loft area and her lips are on yours before the door clicks shut. She’s insistent, ravenous, something so different from the way she kissed you downstairs. Her hands curl under your thighs, lifting you easily, and she presses you against the door.

Your fingers tangle in her hair, ruining the bun she’d messily fixed after your earlier rendezvous, and she groans against your lips when you tug. She disconnects your lips, her head tilting back in pleasure at the slight sting of pain, and you don’t waste any time before you’re leaning into her. You sink your teeth into her neck, your tongue soothing over the mark. Her hips buck like the feeling of your lips on her neck already has her close to the edge. You trail your lips down, nipping at the vein protruding from the side of her neck, the tender area where her neck meets her shoulder. Paige’s fingers tighten around you, her muscles straining, and it sends white hot desire to your core when your palms slide down, feeling the definition in her shoulders and her biceps.

Your lips meet again and Paige breathes into you like she’s trying to gather your taste, to eat you alive. Her tongue meets yours, hardly needing permission this time around, and you sink into it, letting her unravel you. It’s a lot – the feeling of her teeth in your skin, the dangerous, almost instinctual way she kisses you, the primality in how she squeezes bruises into the skin of your thighs. It’s rough, heady, and right now, it is perfect.

You break away long enough to speak, your chest heaving. When you meet her eyes, her pupils are blown out, the darkest blue you’ve ever seen them, and you swear you see the smallest fleck of drool spilling out from the corner of her lips, but you can’t be too sure if it was from her or you. All you know is that you need her – right now. You need her, pressed bare skin to bare skin, her hips rutting against yours, her mouth on your chest or your neck or quite literally anywhere. “Need you,” you whimper, your lips brushing against hers, and she squeezes you once that feels like some strange mix between a warning and an apology.

She lifts you off of the door, her teeth scraping against your collarbone as she leads you backwards. There’s a fleece blanket spread out on the floor, the one that had been used to cover the piano during transport, and she lays you against it gently, a devastating contrast to the viciousness in which she’d kissed you with. Something in you aches at the sight of her. The heat coiling in your belly, the pulsating feeling between your legs, begging for attention. You’ve never needed anyone more than you need Paige right now.

When you peer up at her through your lashes, you’re almost taken aback by how different she looks. Her fingers are trembling as she unbuttons her dress shirt, but there’s simultaneously a stark rigidity in her spine, a tense feeling in her shoulders. It’s like she’s fighting between two different parts of her – her brain and her body, or something else otherworldly, like maybe some instinctual urge.

At first, you wonder if she’s only doing this because she feels as though she truly has to make up for her absence in making you feel good. Maybe something had gotten lost in translation or jokes that didn’t land well. So you reach out, stopping her movements when your fingers wrap around her wrists, and her entire body goes still. The tremor is gone. Her shoulders sag with something like realization, or relief, as though a weight had been lifted off of them. And her eyes – which had been burning with a heat, a desire you don’t think you’ve ever seen before, have calmed.

Gently, you whisper, your tone echoing a promise, “You don’t owe me anything.” You watch her throat bob as she swallows, her eyes trailing from your eyes, to your lips, before honing in on your neck, where the pulse from the organ behind your ribcage thrums in your neck. “We don’t–”

“I want to,” she breathes out, shrugging out of her shirt, and your eyes follow the lines of her body. You didn’t get to see them earlier. Her breasts are covered by her bra, something worn yet unshakingly reliable, the firm lines of her muscles crossing over one another and dipping beneath the waistband of her pants. Paige leans down, her hands pressed into the floorboards on either side of your head, her arms caging you in. The position shouldn’t make you feel as safe as you do, but she dips her head down to kiss you again. It’s gentler, more like what you’re used to from her, and the difference makes your headspin. She goes from rough to demanding to gentle and soft within minutes, and your body struggles to catch up.

“Wanna make you feel good,” she whispers, her voice wrecked, as she scrapes her teeth against your neck again. She pauses, her nose nearing your pulse point, where you’re sure she can feel the way your heart beats for her. Paige breathes in, like she’s trying to memorize the way you smell, and she presses a gentle kiss to your pulse point. She lingers there, her breath hitching, almost as though she’s forcing herself to keep moving. Like she knows she’s doing something she shouldn’t quite be doing.

“Wanna watch you fall apart for me,” she continues, her tongue darting out to lick the salt off your throat. She hums at the flavor and you arch into her. Paige leans back on her heels, reaching out for you, and she quickly unzips your dress at the back. “Wanna see you. All of you.” She punctuates her words by slowly pulling the fabric down, revealing miles upon miles of glistening skin, and her breath hitches at the sight. You’re bare, nipples already pebbling from the cool air of the room, and she sneaks in a feel as she pulls your dress down your torso.

It comes off easily. You lift your hips to help her out, leaving you in nothing but your lace, which is still damp from earlier. Her gaze lingers, and naturally, you spread your legs for her, allowing her to settle in between you with something like wonder on her face. But there’s something in her expression that’s still pinched.

You forget all about her weird behavior when her lips enclose around one of your nipples, her hand reaching up to fondle the other one. The pressure is otherworldly, all but forcing you to press up against her, and her free hand shoves your hips down with ease. You gasp a little, already sure that you’re leaking again, but she hums deep in her throat, the sound sending a shockwave straight through you.

“Paige,” you whimper, your voice breaking around a moan as she alternates, her mouth finding your other breast. “Please touch me.”

She laughs, fingers tracing the waistband of your lace, slipping under when you least expect it. But she doesn’t find your clit. She doesn’t press against you in the way that you need, doesn’t slip her finger inside like she usually would. She’s trying to draw out your pleasure, to make you beg for it, and that thought alone makes you wetter. “I am touching you, baby,” she teases. Her lips leave your breasts to trail down your stomach, nipping gently, soothing the sting with her tongue.

Huffing, you wrap your legs around her waist, tugging her a little closer to you, and something dangerous flashes in her gaze. “Don’t be a jerk,” you chastise, trying to sound strong, but your voice is breathless, full of need, and Paige knows it.

She grabs your thighs, pressing your legs back down onto the blanket, and leans over you with something dark in her eyes. “Don’t be a brat,” she retorts. The tone of her voice makes your entire body burn. “Think I don’t know what you need?” Her palms press against your stomach, fingers poking where she’d sucked brusies against your sensitive skin. It makes your hips jump. “You think I don’t know how to touch you? That when you’re turned on, and I press here…” Her palm finds your stomach, pressing down precisely, and a gasp falls from your lips. The smile on her face is far too smug. “…You make those sweet little sounds for me?”

“Paige,” you cry out again, feeling your need seep out of your cunt, surely staining your lace.

But she just keeps going. “You think I don’t know exactly how to fuck you? To make sure you feel me?” She shakes her head, lost in it, and she tangles her fingers in the waistband of your underwear. “I know you, baby. I know you’re soaking through this fucking lace for me. Know you’ve been wet all fucking night. If I had my way, I would have had my head between your thighs for hours until you cried for me.” Paige pulls your lace down slowly, her jaw falling open as she reveals your dripping cunt.

She glances at you, a satisfied little smile on her face, gaze heated, gone. “Is it that serious?” she coos, her tone teasing, eyes dropping to your thighs. “So fucking wet for me. Just want me to take care of you, huh?”

That’s when you spot it – the shining, viscous liquid pooling at the corner of her mouth, sliding down her chin, her neck. She’s fucking drooling. That realization hits you like a fucking truck, arousal seeping out of your weeping cunt, and you’re a little breathless when you ask, “Is that serious?” while you gesture to her lips.

Almost as though she’s coming back to herself, she reaches up, fingers finding the spit leaking out of her mouth, and she stares like she’s been caught. Something clears in her eyes. Embarrassment, maybe. Probably something else. Feeling your heartbeat in your cunt, you reach out for her hand, wrapping your lips around her fingers, and moaning in pleasure at the taste of her spit.

You can hear her groan – impossibly wrecked, destroyed entirely. She watches with rapt attention as you take her fingers down to the base, your tongue sliding between them, making sure you get every drop. When you’re done, her fingers are soaked, coated in your own saliva, and you drag a finger across the remainder pooling at the base of her neck. “What’d you say earlier?” you whisper, tone saccharine sweet. “‘Don’t waste that shit’?” You pop your own finger in your mouth while her brain catches up with her.

Ruined, she wipes her chin and her neck, offering her hand to you, and you don’t waste any more time before you’re taking her fingers in your mouth again, making sure to maintain eye contact. She groans, the sound low and devastating in her throat, her eyes not once moving away from you. When her hand is clear, she wraps it around your throat, not applying any pressure, but the hold is firm enough to push you back down onto your back. 

“Open,” she commands, and you do so wordlessly. The hand on your throat holds you still while, slowly, she lets her spit pool on her tongue, letting it fall into your mouth. You shudder at the feeling, your body impossibly hot, and her smile is a little reverent when she releases your throat to push your jaw up. You swallow immediately. Paige rewards you with a bruising kiss, groaning at the flavor of your combined tastes.

There’s no more foreplay from there, the both of you burning for each other. She fumbles with her belt buckle and shucks off her pants and boxers with an unnatural quickness. You reach for the hem of her bra, not wanting to be alone in your nakedness, and she raises her arms to allow you to pull it off of her.

The first press of her skin against yours feels like a lightning strike to your overheated skin. It makes you gasp, and she takes advantage of your pleasure to slip her tongue inside again, already working on pushing you to the edge with her lips alone. Her hands trail down to your thighs, pushing them open even more. She fits against you like a puzzle piece, pulling you flush against her, and you’re sure you ascend completely at the feeling of her wet cunt pressing against yours.

You both let out keening moans, your name falling from her lips while a curse falls from yours. Your fingers grapple for purchase on her back, your nails sinking in and scratching, and she moans against your lips at the sting of pain. Her forehead presses against yours, her hips rolling sensually into yours, and when your sensitive clits brush against each other, desire shoots up both of your spines simultaneously.

Her arms are caging you in again, the bulge and ripple of her muscles dragging you closer to a long awaited peak. Her hips roll with a newfound intensity, your combined slick making the slide impossibly smooth, and every brush of her clit against yours makes a moan tumble from your mouth. You’re unable to say anything, the pleasure immense and the words caught in your throat, and Paige kisses you like she understands, anyways. It’s needy, desperate, and reverent all in one.

Paige’s hips slam against yours, the both of you chasing your highs, and she releases your lips to press her mouth to your neck, directly over your pulse point. She kisses it, sucks a deep, bruising mark into your skin, and noses against your skin like she’s trying to memorize the way you smell – the way your blood smells as it courses through your veins. 

And then her teeth scrape against your neck. It makes you keen, tilting your head back to give her more room to work with, and she whimpers against your skin like the pleasure is too much. Her hips keep moving, even when her lips stall, but she mouths against your neck, almost as though she’s trying to gather confidence for something. Like she’s at war with her mind and she can’t make a decision. Like there’s something stopping her from sinking her teeth into you completely and feasting.

Eyes glazed over from pleasure, you finally peer up at her through your lashes, wondering why she’s pausing. Hesitating. Why she’s whining against your skin like she’s simultaneously hurt and seconds away from combusting with pleasure.

The sight above you isn’t one that you’d been expecting. It sobers you instantly, only halfway, the bump and grind of her clit against yours still sending shockwaves up your spine. There’s drool pooling at the corner of her lips again, but what truly gathers your attention and steals your breath away is the sharpness of her canines, the fangs protruding from her mouth. Her bottom lip is bitten raw, blood staining her mouth and dripping down her chin, as if she’d bitten her lip trying to prevent herself from biting you.

It’s then that you realize why the travellers had given you so much pause. Why you didn’t trust them. You’d been able to sense that lurking beneath the surface, they weren’t as they’d appeared. It wasn’t an inherent evilness. Even with Paige hovering above you, fangs out like she’s about to eat you alive, you can tell that she’s not evil. But she’s not herself either.

“Can’t,” she whimpers, almost as though she’s coming back to herself. You realize she’d been so weird ever since she returned with Mary because she’d been afflicted, fighting her mind and body and something else purely instinctual from the very moment she’d been let back into the juke joint. There’s something else in her head pressuring her to do something that she clearly doesn’t want to do – turning you, killing you – and she’s fighting every synapse and urge in her body to keep you safe. “I fucking can’t, ‘m so sorry.”

Her body and mind are split down the middle. Her fangs poke out, lips twisted up like she’s battling every urge to sink her teeth into your neck. But her eyes are as clear of a blue as you’d ever seen them. She doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to be this monster. Doesn’t want to hurt you anymore than she already has.

Then, there’s a flash of red in her eyes, something glowing, and she cries out as her head shoots back, her fangs digging into her lip again. She breathes heavily, and when she glances down at you, the red is gone and tears are pooling at her waterline. Blood dribbles from her lips, staining her teeth red. Your heart is caught in your throat, mouth open in disbelief and fear – not of her, but of what will happen if you lose her.

“Can’t hurt you,” she mutters again, her voice hoarse. “Won’t.” Her entire body shudders as she battles the urge. “Help me. Please, baby.”

Your fingers are trembling when you nod, wrapping your arms around her, and pulling her closer. She cries out like the temptation is blinding, pressing at every crevice of her body, but you trust her. God, you do. Despite everything that has led up to this moment, you know you’re safe with her. That she’d never hurt you. “It’s okay,” you promise, your voice steady, breathing hitting her ear. “You’re okay. Just move with me.”

You can feel her nod shakily, her hips resuming their slow motions against yours, and it’s this – this human connection, this bond between the two of you that’s more than just physical – that stabilizes her, tethers her to the reason why she can’t bring herself to sink her fangs in your neck and drain you like the urge in her brain is pressuring her to. “You won’t hurt me,” you whisper, squeezing the back of her neck, and she nods again. “Say it. You won’t hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you,” she affirms, no hesitation, her forehead resting against your shoulder. Her breath comes out in a shudder, the pleasure coursing through her veins muddling with the uncertainty in her head. Paige noses against your neck, breathing in your scent, and something in her shoulders relaxes.

“You are not what he made you,” you say, one of your hands brushing through her hair.

“‘M not – fuck –” The words get caught in her throat, but she presses more firmly against you, and she breathes through it. “I’m not what he made me.”

Your lips find her cheek, her temple, grounding her, and your hips start meeting hers. “You are Paige Bueckers. You’re safe.”

Her voice is rough, but her tone is a little clearer when she repeats it. “I’m Paige Bueckers,” she whispers into your neck, her lips kissing your skin, almost like an apology. Like gratitude. Like a literal You are the only person keeping me here right now. “I’m safe.”

Your palms come up to cup her cheeks, pulling her out of your neck to meet her gaze. Her eyes are startlingly blue, tears slipping from her eyes, and her fangs are mostly gone. There’s still a slight edge on her canines, but you can feel it. She’s rejecting the bloodlust, the pressure of the hivemind she’s been trapped under. You kiss her gingerly, tasting the salt of her tears and the iron of the blood on her lips, and she sobs against your lips like that was the one thing she needed to remember who she was.

“I love you,” you whisper – you promise, and her hips are still chasing yours.

But you don’t give in. Not until Paige presses her forehead to yours, swearing vehemently, “I love you, too.”

You hold her gaze. Your eyes are steady, sure, and hers are trusting. She trusts that you’ll get her through to the other side of this, just as you trusted that she wouldn’t give into the feeling. So, you smile at her, faithfully, and you whisper, “Come back to me.”

She does. You latch onto each other as you fall apart in tandem. She’s still holding herself up by her hands, but her body shudders through the aftershocks as you kiss her temple, her nose, her lips, murmuring gently to her. You pull her onto your chest, her arms giving out, and she curls up next to you while she hiccups through the remainder of her tears. Her legs tangle with yours, her face tucking into the crook of your neck, her arms holding onto you like she’s afraid you’re going to run.

But you’d promised – the both of you did. There’s no more running from the people that you love. You brush her damp hair off of her forehead, kissing her skin gently, and it makes her shiver. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Paige look like this – scared of herself. Of what she is. She looks so young. It makes you hold onto her a little tighter.

“Where are you?” you whisper to her after a while.

She hardly shifts. “With you,” she promises. The last bit of tension in your shoulders dissipates. Paige is silent for a long moment. Then, you feel the heat of her tears dampening your skin, and you tighten your arms around her as she cries. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out, the same way a sinner might as he stands before God on judgement day. “I’m so sorry. I almost–” Whatever she was trying to say gets stuck in her throat, and you trail your fingers soothingly up and down her back as she finds coherency. “I almost hurt you. Again.”

“You didn’t,” you remind her, your voice firm. “You couldn’t.” Her breath catches like she’s trying to force herself to believe that. “I trust you. In every definition of the word. I trust you, Paige. If I’m not safe with you then there’s nowhere else I’d be able to survive. You didn’t hurt me. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.”

Paige nods; then, brokenly, she murmurs, “It’s not my fault.” You hum in agreement, feeling her body relax against yours. You both lay in silence for a moment until she speaks up again. “You saved me.”

“You saved yourself,” you retort. You cup her cheek, your finger tapping against her temple, and you draw her eyes up to meet yours. “Up here. You did that. I just helped you down here.” You press your palm to her chest, where her heart is. She settles her hand over yours, sinking into you.

Then, Paige stiffens like she’s just remembered something. “Mary,” she states simply, and the dread seeps back into your chest.

“She took Elias to the back when she got back in,” you mutter. Paige glances at you once before the both of you haul yourselves to your feet, redressing quickly, and you make your way downstairs.

The both of you are already too late. The juke joint has been cleared out, with only a select few people remaining. Smoke, Annie, Pearline, Sammie, Grace Chow, Delta Slim. They all linger around the door to the back room. Mary’s missing. So is Stack, but Paige winces like she knows exactly where he is and what happened to him.

Annie catches sight of you first. Her face crumples with relief and she marches over immediately, pulling you into a tight hug that you eagerly reciprocate. “You’re okay,” she breathes out.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, mostly to soothe her, and Annie pulls away. She takes one glance at Paige and she stiffens, knowing that she’d left and returned with Mary. Her eyes narrow, but none of you get the chance to say anything before a handgun cocks and Smoke is pointing the barrel directly between Paige’s eyes.

She flinches, not because of the gun aimed at her. But because Smoke is one of her best friends and he hadn’t hesitated before he turned the gun on her. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand,” he says firmly.

For that, Paige has no real answer, but you step in between her and the barrel of Smoke’s gun. “Because she wouldn’t kill us,” you declare, your voice soft, yet it echoes in the emptiness of the juke joint. You glance back at her. Paige’s eyes are shining. “Couldn’t kill us.”

Smoke looks at Annie, who looks at you. Something in her features softens. “They’re not Haints,” she announces. “They’re vampires. Fangs, red eyes. Garlic, silver, sunlight, and wooden stakes are lethal. When they’re turned, they’re killed. Their soul is trapped inside their body and they’re unable to move on. But…there’s always a rare case. Sometimes souls are shared.” Annie meets your gaze again. “You’re the reason why she’s resisting the curse right now.”

You nod solemnly, already knowing as much, although you didn’t have the vocabulary for it. Smoke’s eyes linger on you. Then Paige. Then Annie. He lowers the gun, sliding it back into the holster, and Paige relaxes immediately. So do you. You step back, linking your fingers together. The tension in the room doesn’t completely dissolve, but it’s not nearly as heavy now.

Everyone starts making preparations. Annie assembles jars of pickled garlic. Silver jewelry is shared. Chairs are broken down and whittled into sharp, wooden points. Paige helps, but she’s a lot slower, her fingers trembling around the stake in her hand because she knows she’s holding the one thing that could ever kill her. You stick close by her if only to offer support, and you converse in hushed murmurs.

“You can’t stay here forever,” you say. Her throat bobs, quiet acceptance on her face. “The sunrise will kill you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she argues.

You look at her. Your features soften. “Paige,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “You couldn’t kill me.”

“Won’t.”

“I can’t kill you,” you confess. “Won’t.” She pauses, her gaze meeting yours. “I can’t sit here with you until sunrise and watch you burn up.”

“I don’t want to die.” Her voice is a quiet murmur. “I don’t want to be where you aren’t.”

You reach out, plucking the stake from her hands. She’s shaking. You slide into her lap, her arms immediately encircling you, and you press your foreheads together. “I don’t want to lose you either,” you say. “Which is why I want you to run when I tell you to. I’ll find you.”

She chokes on a laugh, but it’s watery. “I thought we said no more running,” she says, trying to keep the mood light, and you can’t help your giggle.

You kiss her gently. “If you die, you’re running away from me. You owe me.” She nods against you, her smile a little softer. “Promise me you’ll go when I tell you to.”

She’s silent for a moment. Her fingers trace your skin, the blue of her gaze searching yours. And she gives in. “I promise.”

You kiss her again. You hold onto her for a little longer, and then the both of you get back to work.

There are a few interruptions as you do. Stack returns with Mary in tow, asking to be let in. Obviously, no one lets that happen. Then Bo Chow returns – Grace’s husband, and you can sense that she’s moments away from giving in. At least, until Remmick shows up next to Bo and says something in Mandarin that makes Grace lose it. She’s dragged away kicking and screaming while someone slams the doors closed.

You can hear Remmick and the rest of the vampires locked in another haunting rendition of Pick Poor Robin Clean. Grace is at her wit’s end. You and Paige stay close, but commotion draws your attention. Smoke and Annie are holding Grace back while she thrashes. All you hear is, “Come on in, motherfucker!” and you know that your night is about to get a whole lot worse.

The subsequent fighting passes in a blur. You hardly remember it. You drive your stake through the chests of a few vampires, and so does Paige, even if the look on her face makes it look like she’s killing herself, too. You think you’re starting to make good progress until you see Stack hovering over Annie’s body, his fangs in her neck.

Everything goes devastatingly still. The fight still rages on. Gunfire echoes through the rooms, the cries of staked vampires falling on deaf ears. All you can see is the way Annie’s jaw hangs slack, pain etched on her face, and you can hear the agony in Smoke’s voice. Paige’s head turns, her face crumbling at the sight of her body.

She doesn’t hesitate. She tackles Stack, punching him clean across the jaw and disorienting him. The infighting causes a ripple of confusion among the vampires and it gives Smoke enough opportunity to stake the one holding him down before he rushes over to Annie.

You’re already next to her when Smoke falls to his knees next to her. He applies pressure over the wound at her neck, but you rest your hand over his, your fingers trembling. “It’s too late,” you tell him, your voice choked up.

Annie manages a nod, and with a weak voice, she wheezes, “You promised.” Her gaze is locked on Smoke.

He knows. With shaking hands, he reaches for his discarded stake. You wrap your hand around it, too, and together, you and Smoke both murmur, “I love you,” and Annie nods again like she understands. The both of you drive the stake through Annie’s chest, finally allowing her to move on and be at peace.

Her death causes a massive retreat. Paige grabs onto you, joining the rest of your friends as you hurry upstairs with Sammie. Delta Slim hangs back, cutting his own wrist cleanly, and drawing a crowd of the remaining vampires and allowing the rest of you the chance to escape.

On the second floor, there’s a door leading to a staircase outside. Smoke is ushering all of you out of it, and one by one, you make your way down. You glance up at the sky, noting how close to dawn you are. With your heart in your throat, you grab onto Paige’s hand, and you force her to meet your gaze. “Go,” you command.

She swallows thickly, glancing behind you to the crowd of vampires who have made their way out to intercept you. She doesn’t want to leave you. Not when this is what you have to face without her.

“You promised,” you remind her, your voice cracking when you recall that those were Annie’s last words, too. Paige seems to recognize that, nodding, and she presses her forehead to yours once more.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs again, kissing you gently. You just hold onto her a little tighter. “Please be okay.”

“I will,” you swear – because you will be. Paige has made sure of it. “I love you.”

Paige glances up at the sky, at the way the sun has begun to peek out from the horizon. She bows her head in a defeated acceptance. “I love you, too.”

Then she’s gone – her figure disappearing behind the trees. Her absence still aches. As strong as you try to be, you don’t know what the morning holds.

The sun comes up while Remmick and Sammie are locked in on each other in the shallow pond. Smoke comes up behind you, looking defeated, and you wonder about what happened to Stack. All around you, the vampires clutch their heads in agony as the sun blisters their skin, bright balls of orange flame encompassing everything.

The night ends in a way that makes you wonder if it’d even happened at all. There are no piles of ash, no indication of what just transpired if not for the blood on everyone’s clothes or the burn marks at the front of the juke joint from Grace’s molotov cocktail. The morning is still. Quiet. You watch as Smoke and Sammie hug each other tightly, as if they can’t believe that they’re even alive. Smoke sends Sammie off. He was supposed to help his father with the morning service, and the fact that Sammie goes willingly reminds you more of a trauma response than anything else.

You watch the sunrise with Smoke. Neither of you say anything, a shared sort of grief in your heart. When he looks down at his dog tags, at the chest of weapons he’d stashed in his truck, you know of his plan before you think he does. Gingerly, you wrap him in a hug, and you murmur, “Say hello to Annie for me.”

His fingers tremble when he hugs you back. “I will,” he promises. “Go be with her.”

You nod, releasing him. You find a car that had been left behind, find the keys left on the seat, and you drive a little catatonically back to Annie’s shop. The sun is well into the sky by the time you make it there. Everything is quiet. Unmoving. You cut the engine, step out, and make your way to the door. You open it.

Paige has you in her arms before the door even closes. You sink into her embrace, clutching onto her tightly, because she’s somehow still the one thing that makes even a little bit of sense in this fucked up world. She lets you cry into her chest and you’re pretty sure that she’s crying into your shoulder, but the two of you just remain locked in each other’s arms. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask you if you’re okay or how you’re feeling. She knows. She gives you the space to quietly grieve, to not be strong. The both of you had lost so many people tonight. Friends. Family. Everything else.

She didn’t expect you to be okay. You didn’t know how long it would take for things to feel okay. To feel normal. Maybe the truth is that you might never feel normal again. Your girlfriend is stuck under this curse for the rest of her days, even though she’s still Paige Bueckers, but there’s so much you’ll need to learn. To do. You’ll have to change so much about your lives just to survive.

But you’d made her a promise a while ago. You would rather love Paige in the dark than have anyone else in the sun. You hadn’t realized the irony of your words until now, but you mean it. As long as you and Paige have each other, this new part of your lives might not be so difficult. It will just be yours. For now, that’s all you can really ask for.

“You still makin’ pie today?” she asks, her voice soft and exhausted at the edges.

It draws a light laugh out of you. It relieves you to know that you could still be happy after this. “Yeah,” you promise. “I’m making pie today. And you can have the spoon.”

Paige holds onto you a little tighter after that. And she doesn’t let go.

Life after the night at the juke joint is…different. An adjustment.

Sammie disappears to only God knows where, although in the years after, you’d heard whisperings of a blues singer who’d taken the world by storm. As much as you cared for him, you struggled with keeping up with him and his adventures. He reminded you too much of that night and everyone you’d lost – Annie, Smoke, Delta Slim, the Chows. Even Cornbread.

But Paige doesn’t remind you of the horrors. It’s always a little different with her, even if she isn’t what she used to be. She’s trapped in that supernatural plane between being human and something not quite. Following Remmick’s death, she was no longer shackled to that all-consuming hivemind of hate and malice. Not that she was fully in it in the first place – her heart was a little too human. She’s more like herself now than she was that night, which does bring you some comfort.

You’re not comforted by the fact that her soul is trapped in her body, though. Not comforted by the fact that she’s dead, yet she’s still living half of a life for your sake because she’d been unable to kill you while under the spell of vampirism and you were unable to kill her yourself, too. Paige is a walking folktale, unable to touch silver, eat garlic, or feel the sun on her skin. She hides in the shadows during the day and comes out during the night if only to feel your skin against hers.

You’re not an ordinary pair. You’ve never been – two women connected by fate and bonded by love in Mississippi. You fell in love despite the fact that the world thought you shouldn’t. You survived the attacks at the juke when it was improbable. Now, you’re still two women learning to navigate life as one of you ages and the other remains stuck at 23.

After that night, you return to town. You try your best to explain to Lisa, the Chows’ daughter, what happened. You don’t think she believes you – you wouldn’t either. But life goes on for her, even though her parents never return. You take over Annie’s shop, still serving Elise and Will and telling them that Annie and Elijah had actually gotten married and moved out of the Delta. They were too young for the truth, and you didn’t have the heart to explain it to them.

During the day, Paige helps you in the shop, confined to the shadows indoors, staring longingly out the window. She’d once told you that she never realized how much she’d miss the sun until it was gone. That made you feel a little guilty, but she just kissed you, forgiveness and atonement on her lips. She wasn’t going to hate you for being unable to kill her when that was also a crime she’d committed.

At night, she’s glued to your side, trampling gently over weeds and grass in the woods as you search for roots for the shop. You don’t practice the craft like Annie used to – it wasn’t your place. But honoring her memory makes you feel less like you’re drowning. Only after sunset is Paige able to go outside and feel the ground beneath her feet, inhale the fresh air without burning up. Truthfully, it brings you both closer, just having to figure out different ways to love each other.

Neither of you run, even when it’s hard. Paige is there to console you after horrible dreams of that night. You’re there with remedies when her gums ache. Her pain is a little more instinctual than it is medical, but it does bring her some relief. 

Stack and Mary came to visit one day. Paige had stood glaring at your side while the two of them spoke with you. They meant no harm. They told you that much when they knocked on your door and asked for an invite inside. Perhaps foolishly, you’d believed them, but you chose to believe they were capable of goodness despite their new nature, just as Paige was. Stack told you about a place they’d come across during their travels, a state in New England – Connecticut. It would be a fresh start away from the horrors of the Delta.

You weren’t sure. Part of you wanted to keep up Annie’s shop, honoring her practice and her traditions for as long as you could. It was difficult to be incognito when half of the town disappeared suddenly one night and the juke joint was littered with bodies. Stack and Annie hugged you before they left, telling you to visit if you ever found the time. You could only nod, and Paige was only able to breathe once they were gone.

You’re tangled in bed together that night, your head on Paige’s chest, listening to the juxtaposition in the sound of her breathing despite the lack of a heartbeat. You never knew that you’d miss that sound, either. Her nail drags up and down your arm soothingly, almost lulling you into a slumber, but she breaks it to murmur, “Connecticut?”

“It’s pretty far,” you respond. “A lot colder than it is here.”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell,” she jokes, which rips a surprised laugh out of your chest. Her finger pauses in its movements, but she shifts, slinging a leg over yours and pulling you closer. That wasn’t anything new – Paige was always physically affectionate, long before Remmick turned her into this. Now, it means something different. You’re warm. Having you close makes her feel a little more alive, even if the skin-to-skin contact can’t fully replace the lack of her own body heat. “We can’t stay here forever,” she continues, her voice softening. Then it breaks when she says, “I can’t stay here forever.”

Her family had long since been shattered down two lines. Still, it weighs on her, the idea of never seeing her parents again, or her siblings. She couldn’t keep them and lie to them about the nature of her being. She also knew they would never believe her fully or see her the same. It would be impossible to explain to people why you continued to age, yet Paige remained the same for years. Impossible to explain why no one ever sees her in town anymore, not even for the holiday celebrations she’d loved as a kid.

“I know,” you whisper.

You had no one left here besides her. All of your friends had passed during that night. Your only connection to the Delta was keeping Annie’s memory fresh. But customers would dwindle, and you know better than anyone else that Annie would tell you to move on. Be happy. 

You shift in bed, craning your head to meet Paige’s eyes, and you find that she’s already looking at you. She’s soft, her hair mussed, flowing down her shoulders in wavy strands. She has an imprint of your teeth on her neck from where you’d gotten a little too carried away but she wears it more like a badge of pride than a symbol of irony. Her smile is so tender, her hands cradling you like you’re her entire world, because you are and you know it and she knows it.

It makes you ache a little. But it’s a good ache. You don’t have to give the idea any more thought before you’re asking, “Well, how do you feel about the snow?”

She kisses you gently on the lips, chaste, innocent, something that makes you feel warm all over. “Anywhere’s good as long as it’s with you.”

It takes a few days, but eventually, the two of you make it to Connecticut. You settle down in a small town called Storrs, and honestly?

It’s really, really nice.

Storrs is nothing like the Delta. It doesn’t get nearly as hot. You feel a little more free here. And while you do miss the authentic fried catfish, you think that you can turn Storrs into your home. Your neighbors are kind and they don’t ask questions about you and Paige – they just leave you be. It’s not in a way that makes you think they don’t care about you; rather, it feels like respect and grace, because you weren’t different. You and Paige weren’t something to be stared at. You just were, and your neighbors seemed to understand the value in minding their own.

You and Paige attend three different welcome dinners, getting to know your neighbors and their families. They tell you what life is like in the neighborhood and which establishments were hiring. They send you home with leftovers and you make sure to clean and return them along with one of your homemade pies. It’s a comforting tradition of feeding and taking care of each other.

Paige lands a position at the local high school as an assistant coach for their basketball team. She knows next to nothing about the sport but the position had been vacant for years. She’s a quick study, though – she’d helped lead the team to the district championship by the end of the year. You were teaching language arts at the elementary school, having always enjoyed a good book, and the kids loved you, too.

And so your routine was simple. Not monotonous enough to be boring, but stable enough to be peaceful. Paige would drop you off at the elementary school with a kiss goodbye and a surprise in your lunch bag. It was always a sweet little note consisting of reminders to breathe and to smile. She’d drive to the high school, where she’d scout other teams and draw up training plans or practice drills, often being a role model to her boys and keeping them on the straight and narrow. They came to her for any and everything – advice on how to be better players. One even asked her how he should ask out his crush, which had endlessly amused the both of you as you chatted over it at dinner.

You asked her what she advised him to do, obviously. She’d gotten a little quiet, a small sort of smile spreading across her lips as she brought a piece of chicken up to her mouth. “Told him to be honest,” she said after a moment, looking at you meaningfully. You softened. “That he shouldn’t be afraid to want her.”

“Sounds familiar,” you commented wryly, and she smirked at you over a glass of water.

“Sounds real,” she shot back.

Your kids, while younger, aren’t lacking for stories, either. You tell Paige about the time you watched a boy push a girl on the playground during recess, only for the girl’s friend to step in, hands on her hips like a disappointed mother lecturing an unruly kid. He’d gotten punished, obviously, but it warmed your heart to see the girl standing up for her friend like that – without hesitation.

Then, on the same day, one of your students came to the front and loudly demanded to know where babies came from.

So maybe children came in all shapes and sizes.

Months passed. You and Paige don’t change. You’re still hopelessly in love, finding new ways to love each other. It’s all about the intention and effort and reading the nutrition labels on your food to make sure the suppliers hadn’t slipped garlic in there or making sure to keep the curtains drawn on the days there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s buying large umbrellas and telling your new friends that Paige has a severe skin condition where she burns easily in the sun and you have yet to find a sunscreen that works. It’s cuddling up with her late at night, pressed skin to skin with hardly an inch of space left between your bodies, because Paige craves the body heat like she craves having you next to her.

The school year eventually ends and over the summer, you and Paige visit Stack and Mary, as promised. They’re still down south. Mary looks radiant and when you hug her, you congratulate her on keeping Stack out of trouble. Stack had nudged Paige with a raised brow and a look that clearly said I’m keeping her out of trouble. You make a joke about needing an invite into their home and the four of you laugh about it three hours later when you’re all a little tipsy from the wine.

Seeing them makes you feel like you haven’t completely lost anything. That you can still find your family so long as you know where to look and as long as you trust them. You spend a few days with the two of them, and then you and Paige make your way back up to Storrs.

You teach, reminding your students of the importance in looking between the lines, in reading and learning from the source. Paige coaches, instilling grit, passion, and integrity into her players. It wasn’t about being perfect or anything of the sort. It was about doing what you loved with all that you were. The two of you live on, happily.

A year passes. Then two. You’re transferred from kindergarten to the second grade after one of the teachers retired. Paige gets promoted to head coach after winning the district championship win and taking her team to the state finals. You’re turning 27 this year and Paige is still 23. She likes to joke that she’s being preyed on by an older woman and you wish that she wasn’t virtually invincible because you’d like to flick her head just once and have it mean something.

The fact that you’re aging and she’s not isn’t really a concern right now. You’re happy. That’s what matters.

Paige asks you to marry her a year after that, when you’re 28. You say yes, obviously, and Stack and Mary make the trip up to see the both of you. Your wedding is intimate, private, not quite official but official in every way you need it to be. On legal documents, no one would ever know that you were Paige Bueckers’s wife, but you knew that, she knew that, and your closest friends knew that, so it was good enough for you.

You teach. She coaches. Storrs is your home now, even if you miss the Delta and everyone who didn’t make it out. Their loss isn’t your gain. It’s your memory and you honor them everyday. Slim, when you listen to the blues, thinking about how much he’d like this new shit, as Paige calls it. The Chows, when you go to the grocery store and smile at the elderly couple who runs it. You always pay a little too much, pretending not to hear them calling about your change when you walk out. But when you return days later and find that they’ve repaired a light fixture or have a new cash drawer, you can’t find it within yourself to mind too much.

TIme is constant. It moves. It’s unyielding. You get older. Paige doesn’t. But it’s okay.

Years pass. A decade. Two decades. Paige eventually steps down from the head coaching position at the high school because she’s supposed to be almost fifty but doesn’t look a day over twenty. Your neighbors ask how she remains so youthful, and her smile is always a little sharper when she says, “I’ve got great genes.”

She doesn’t look at you like you’re anything less than the woman she’s been in love with since she was sixteen. You don’t forget that, not when there’s crows feet at your eyes and your forehead is beginning to wrinkle. Not when teaching is catching up with you and the hair at the crown of your head starts greying. But you don’t give it up. Paige looks at you like you’re still the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her life. She finds other employment opportunities, ones where nobody knows who she is and wouldn’t be confused by her image.

She builds stuff now. She’s a carpenter. She plays basketball in her free time when she’s not working on projects and offhandedly, you comment, “Well, you could always enroll at that college a few miles away and play ball for them.”

You could tell she was always really into that idea, but something was keeping her here with you. You would never find out why and Paige would never tell you if you asked. But the truth was she just wanted to spend as much time with you before your age started actually catching up with you. Paige liked going on your late-night walks, breathing in the cool air and making you laugh by telling jokes that aren’t even funny anymore. Paige liked that you’d try to play basketball with her, even if you couldn’t fully dribble the ball between your legs. You knew that she just liked “defending” you, which meant that her hands wandered everywhere the ball wasn’t, but you liked it too, so you never called her out for it.

Nobody tells you how difficult it can be to be nearing sixty and being in love with someone who’s been twenty-three for three decades. You don’t have the same energy you did when you were younger. Paige didn’t love you any less.

Years pass again. You’re nearing seventy. You retired from teaching a few years ago, but you’re still active in your community, keeping up the local garden and smiling at the daughter of the elderly couple at the grocery store. Your neighbors ask you about why they don’t see Paige anymore and you can’t quite meet their eyes when you say it’s difficult for her to get out because of her arthritis.

You’ve lived a good life – that much you can admit. You survived, you got to keep Paige, and you made a career for yourself at the elementary school. You were afforded a lot more happiness than you ever thought you would have. You wonder what it would be like if things were different – if you and Paige were both cursed to be forever young, or if the both of you hadn’t made it out before the sun rose. You like what you’ve built, so this life was good enough for you.

The 90’s roll around and in spring of 1991, you’re sipping on tea when Paige quietly informs you, “I think I’m going to apply to UConn.”

You try for a wry smile. “Perfect. A twenty three year old with, what, sixty years of basketball experience? That’s just what that new coach needs.”

That made her laugh a little. “I think I’m prepared enough to walk on,” she teases. “Hopefully those freshmen don’t pick my pockets.”

You raise your brows at her and she relents like she’s accepting the possibility that she will get embarrassed by eighteen year olds. Like…actual eighteen year olds. Then you soften, setting your tea down, and meeting her gaze. “You’re serious?” She nods shyly. “Well, just make sure you bring your own pen and paper to class,” you say, lips quirking again. “Us teachers aren’t made of money.”

She laughs again, the sound gentle. Paige stands to brush a kiss across your temple, murmuring, “Don’t worry. I’ll be the best student ever.” She’s off to locate the application, and you smile at her retreating figure.

Neither of you are quite sure how, but she manages to get in. You didn’t consider the fact that her diploma was awarded in the 20s, and truthfully, you don’t really want to know what she did to get her application accepted. By fall, she’s enrolled full time at the University of Connecticut. In August, she walks directly into Geno Auriemma’s office, requesting to walk on in tryout. Afterwards, Paige will tell you that Geno stared at her for a solid minute and a half until she felt like she was slowly being gaslit. “What the hell,” Geno had said, standing up from his desk. “I’ve got time today. Let’s see if you can actually hold a ball, hotshot.”

You knew that Paige could do a lot more than hold a ball. Considering the fact that Geno let her join the team, you guess he figured out that Paige could do a lot more, too.

Everyday, she comes home with stories from practice, telling you about the drills they ran and how Geno sees perfection and demands something more. She doesn’t have to tell you for you to know that she really likes the intensity, the rigor. Geno works them so hard that she forgets she’s able to live forever because one practice makes her feel like it’s her last day on earth. You’re just happy that she’s happy.

You attend all of their home games, unable to be seen with Paige until the both of you are home and you can congratulate her on a good game. But the next four years pass quickly. The first three are winless. You and Paige both know that the Huskies are very close to a national championship win.

In 1995, they finally earned their long awaited one. Their first program win, Geno Auriemma’s first national championship win, and Paige’s, too. She’d led her team there, filling out the stats sheet, and she cried when she held the trophy for the first time.

It must be different for her, you think, to have been cursed to live forever from a young age. There will be no growing old for her. No children or grandchildren to ask her what it was like to win UConn’s first national championship. There will be no huffing and puffing about dentures or anything of the sort. She probably won’t be remembered after this year, but winning feels like building something permanent. It feels like being alive – like truly alive, and you wonder if she holds any resentment towards you for being unable to save her at the juke joint.

But the kiss she dusts across your cheek afterwards, the long hug she pulls you in – sweat and all – makes you feel like she could never be angry at you for that. Especially not when she murmurs, “Thank you for giving me this life,” and you realize that the two of you had sacrificed so much for each other without truly knowing it. Whether the two of you realized it or not, you made something beautiful with the life you’d been given. Not many people can say that.

Paige doesn’t keep the championship net, only the small fragment that she’d cut down. She leaves hers with Geno, who obviously doesn’t understand why she wouldn’t keep it, but he’d coached her long enough to realize there’s no arguing with her.

You think that this is what happiness feels like. What love and fulfillment feels like. All you really know is that you were glad to do it with Paige.

After the national championship win in 1995, the years pass in a blur. You’re slowing down. You can feel it.

You’re well past 90 in 2000 when you realize that this was it for you. You’ve lived a long, good life. You’ve seen a lot, touched the lives of many people around you, and you know that there’s not much waiting for you here. Having no tangible family, assembling your will is an easy task, opting to have your wealth donated to the UConn women’s basketball program anonymously.

In early July, the evening is just beginning to wind down when Paige finds you sitting on the porch. The sound of crickets echo around you, the distant hoot of owls cooing, accompanied by the sound of squirrels running through the underbrush. She takes a seat next to you on the sectional, not a day past twenty, a staunch dissimilarity from you.

You’re both silent for a moment. Contemplative. You don’t have to say anything to know that the both of you are likely thinking the same.

Softly, she murmurs, “I’d like to watch the sunrise with you,” and you know better than anyone what she means by that. What the consequences of that mean.

So you do. She grabs a blanket from inside, large enough to drape over your shoulders, and she helps you onto the earth. Paige guides you to the edge of your property where a small pond rests, the glow of the moonlight reflecting off of the still waters. You sit together, your head on hers, and you spend the entire night talking.

You reminisce about the first time you’d met – you, adjusting to life in the Delta, and Paige, wanting desperately to get out of it. The both of you laugh when she recalls the first time she’d ever met the twins. Elias claimed they were cousins, baiting her perfectly. You remember all of your firsts. The morning when she left you for Chicago – even now, she still apologizes for that, to which you respond with, “Well, don’t leave me in our next life. How about that one?” and she laughs, a determined little smile on her face as she declares, “I’d spend every moment of it looking for you.”

The hours trickle by. For years, you’d thought of this moment, about what would occur when one of you inevitably decided that it was time to go. You imagined nerves. Uncertainty. Fear. Now, you’re comforted by the knowledge that you and Paige are just going to find your way back to each other no matter what. All you feel is a deep rooted peace, like you’ve finally earned a happy ending after the turmoil of your life. Maybe in the next one you’d be able to love her openly, but your promise from this one stands: you’d rather love her in the dark than take someone else in the sunshine.

You hear the chirp of birds before you see the sunrise. You feel Paige stiffen next to you, knowing it’s more of an instinctual discomfort than it is pain or fear, and you wrap her hands in yours, calming her with the heat of your body. She tries to relax – she does, but the both of you know this is it. It’s a heavy feeling, not one of a damning finality. One of hope, because no matter what, there’s so much more waiting for you both.

You glance at her. Paige is already looking at you, her gaze reverent and full of love, and she dusts a kiss to your wrinkled cheek. The sun is rising higher now, the rays poking through the trees and peering above the early dawn clouds. Her body begins to shimmer, some sort of golden flame licking at her skin, and she breaks your stare to look up at the sky, a slow smile curling on her lips.

“I love you,” she whispers to you, something like a promise. A vow, one that will hold true for more than this moment. “Don’t keep me waiting, okay?”

You smile, too, reaching up with your hand to cup her cheek. It’s warm to the touch. “I’ll see you soon,” you swear. “I love you.”

Her hand wraps around your forearm, leaning into your touch, and she presses the lightest ghost of a kiss to the inside of your wrist as the gentle flames consume her completely. Before you know it, Paige is gone, and your hand falls to your side limply.

But you’re not too far behind, either. You wrap the blanket tight around your body, leaning your head against the rich soil, and you gaze out at the pond before you, memorizing the blue of the water, the peace of the moment, the beauty of the life you and Paige managed to create for yourselves when it all felt impossible. Content, you shut your eyes, knowing that it’s finally time to rest.

(The next time you open them, Paige is standing before you, her arms extended wide, and you sink into her embrace like you know it’s the one place you’ll always belong. Like she’s the one place you’ll always be able to call home. And maybe it’s because she is. Maybe it’s because the two of you are just getting started, and you have so much time together. Your lives are just beginning.)

bonus

Coach Geno Auriemma, now in his sixties, is poring over recruitment film in his office during a calm day in May 2015 when his associate head coach, Chris Dailey, knocks on his door. She enters moments later, iPad and clipboard tucked close to her chest with a pensive expression, and sits down across from Geno.

He looks up, brows raised and lips drawn into an unimpressed line. He hardly seems concerned by CD’s expression as he says flatly, “What did Stewart do now?”

CD ignores that comment. “I was looking through the middle school film. Watch #1 in blue.” She flips the iPad around, pressing play on the video on screen. Geno hones in on the player in question – blonde, perhaps a little undersized compared to her peers, but he can tell this is an eighth grader playing on varsity. She’s dribbling the ball at the top of the key, calling for a screen, and she ducks around the defender on the right, stopping just short of the free throw line and shooting the ball gracefully from the midrange. It sinks in – because of course it does – and the player backpedals for defense.

It’s then that the camera catches her features. It’s grainy, but Geno can recognize that face anywhere. The assured confidence, maybe a little misplaced and delusional, but it’s almost as trademark as the midrange pullup. Something in him simultaneously softens and breaks.

In 2000, Paige Bueckers, the player who had won UConn’s first national championship for women’s basketball in 1995, had disappeared. Not a trace. She had no family to reach out to, and when Geno approached police and authorities for a wellness check, he’d been told that there was no record of her. Nobody could explain how she lit up the court every week yet ceased to legally exist. It would become one of UConn’s greatest memories. Surely everyone had just missed something.

But this? This wasn’t a coincidence.

“Paige Bueckers,” CD says quietly. “Same face. Same jumper. Same player.”

“Born 2000 or 2001?” Geno asks. CD nods resolutely, and the head coach leans back in his chair. At his age, he’d thought he’d seen everything, but this takes the cake completely. “Well,” he mutters after a while. “Guess I must have really pissed someone off to have to coach her twice.”

In the same office years later, the 2020 season has just begun, and Geno is waiting for a student to arrive for a meeting. Her name had sounded so familiar to him, and after the whole situation with Paige Bueckers, Geno is learning to trust his gut a little more when it comes to things that feel more like fate than coincidence.

There’s a gentle knock at his office door, and he calls for the student to enter. That’s when you walk in, a little flushed from your walk over, bag slung over your shoulder. Geno knows he’s never seen you before in his life, but there’s still something familiar about your face, the energy you’ve brought into the room simply by sitting. You’re a kinesiology major – pre-med, you’d specified in your email to him, inquiring about whether or not the conditioning team would have any space for a freshman looking to intern.

If you were any other person, he would have told you that his hands were tied with the season’s preparations and recommended that you reach out to the conditioning team. But this was different. You were different, and so was that blonde point guard from Minnesota whom he’d put his heart into recruiting – not because she would change the program. She’d already done that back in 1995. He did that because he knew God didn’t put people in his life twice in a row for no good reason.

You and Geno talk for a few minutes, and he’s no closer to placing where he knows you from until there’s another set of knocks on his door. He has half a mind to send them away, but in walks Paige Bueckers, and that’s when the entire room stills. You and Paige lock eyes like he’s not sitting a few feet in front of the both of you, awestruck expressions on both of your faces like this isn’t the first time you’ve met – even though it is.

In this life, at least.

You introduce yourself to Paige and that’s how Geno realizes. He knows that infatuated look in Paige’s eyes. It was the same one she had so many years ago when she was clearly in love but couldn’t quite be honest about who it was and whatever fashion it came to be in. Geno may never understand the true nature of why Paige had kept you a secret while she was at UConn in 1995, but he knows what this is.

It’s not a coincidence. He wasn’t the man to believe in fate or luck. But this is just how things are supposed to be, so he bites back a smile when Paige stands in his office like a bumbling idiot in your presence.

“Well, Bueckers?” he says dryly, which gathers both yours and Paige’s attention. The blonde’s ears are slightly red, which amuses Geno to no end. “You gonna keep flirting with our new conditioning intern or are you gonna show her around the facility?”

You look at Geno with a gleeful expression, shock lacing your features, and Paige stutters over her words as she nods, saying, “Yeah, I got you, Coach.” Clearly having forgotten what she’d initially come in to pester him about, Paige holds the door for you, shutting it gently, and Geno can hear your shared laughter through the walls.

He smiles to himself, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. This wasn’t the first time you and Paige have met. He knew that much to be true even if he couldn’t prove it. He also knew that this wouldn’t be the last time, either, and he would never admit it, but he’s really, really grateful to have been part of yours and Paige’s stories twice.

[starkeymeow]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── another fucking mini series bc i cant stop, rafes perspective, memory loss, emotional distress & heartbreak obvi, dysfunctional relationships, existential themes

authors note ── sorry guys ive been so busy w my new life that i have NOT touched tumblr in a good while. plus this semester is more demanding in terms of my workload ugh so im never writing anym its so lame

main masterlist | next

rafe stares at the card, his fingers gripping the edges so tightly the paper starts to bend. his breath is slow, shallow, like his body is forgetting how to function properly. the words blur together, but it doesn’t matter. he’s already memorized them.

he lifts his gaze to his father. ward stands stiff, arms crossed, staring down at his shoes like he’s the one who’s been blindsided. like he’s the one who just had his entire world gutted out of him in a single fucking sentence.

there’s guilt in the way he exhales through his nose, in the way his jaw slides ever so slightly, but rafe doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“this is real?” his voice comes out rough, barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loud will make it more true.

ward hesitates, then nods.

rafe lets out a short, breathless laugh, his chest rising sharply before sinking under the weight of it all. he shakes his head, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he looks down at the card again, like maybe this time the words will rearrange themselves into something less impossible.

“so, what?” he scoffs, wetness pricking at his eyes. “they just . . . deleted me? like a fucking file on a computer?”

ward sighs. long, slow, through his nose. he knew this would be hard to explain.

“how many?” rafe asks. how many memories are gone now?

his father doesn’t answer right away. his jaw shifts, gaze dropping to the floor like he doesn’t want to say it. or maybe he’s just trying to soften the blow of something that can’t be softened.

when he finally speaks, his voice is careful. deliberate. “all of ‘em, bud.”

rafe scoffs again, but it’s weaker this time, like his body is struggling to keep up with his disbelief. he smiles, but it’s the kind that only comes when someone is trying not to fall apart.

“no . . . no. she didn’t. she wouldn’t do that.” he shakes his head again, faster this time. “that’s not even a fucking thing— i mean, erasing someone from your mind? since when did we have the tech for that bullshit? that didn’t happen.”

he throws the card onto the table like it burns to hold it any longer. gets up so fast his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. his chest is rising and falling too quickly, hands threading behind his head as he paces across the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, his fingers digging into his scalp.

ward doesn’t stop him. he just watches, his own grief settling deep in his expression. and maybe it’s not the same kind of grief. maybe it’s not the gut-wrenching, all-consuming, ‘i’ve lost the love of my life kind’, but it’s still there.

because he’s seen lucuna inc. before, out near the edge of the island, where no one really looks unless they’re desperate enough to. he’s seen it and he’s hoped no one he loves would ever consider walking through its doors.

but you did. a girl who once sat at his dinner table, who used to laugh with his family, who was supposed to be his daughter-in-law one day.

was rafe really that bad? bad enough to make you want to erase him?

rafe stops pacing so suddenly it’s like something clicks into place inside him. he turns, slipping out of the kitchen without another word. his father calls after him, but he doesn’t listen. his hands move on their own, grabbing his keys from the hook by the front door, pushing outside, stepping into the thick outer banks air like he’s coming up for air after drowning.

he doesn’t know where he’s going.

apparently, he can’t go to you.

but he’ll do something.

a/n: just the short little prologue so def let me know if ud like to be tagged for this one!

[https-murdock]

trust me - matt murdock

summary: when you finally get your dads best friend alone, you take your opportunity.

word count: 1,281

warnings: ⚠️ smut, dbf!matt (it’s own warning), age gap (not stated but legal obvs), oral f!receiving

note: heyyy i wanted to put this out to battle through the writers block howeverrr im gonna write either a part 2 or a separate dbf moment cause this one ain’t that gooood sorry :( learning to put the plot in my smut lol <3

maybe it’s because he’s your dads best friend.

you’ve known him for a few years. when he and your dad started working together on a case that crossed both of their paths, they bonded and he started coming over more, and with you living at home for a while this meant you saw him each time.

you can’t help but wonder if you’re seeing it right when you catch him listening to you potter around over your dads shoulder, that smug little smirk gracing his lips again. or the uncomfortable shuffle he does when you tell your dad you’re going on a date. you can’t help but think he may just feel the same as you do.

but you leave all those feelings aside, all those wondering thoughts because that could never happen.

sometimes you can even see his cross necklace, and you almost giggle when you realise how unholy you are for thinking about your dads best friend this way.

they’d known each other years, their relationship building while you were away at school, seeing matt when you came home during breaks or for a couple visits. there was always something in the way his voice had that drawl… the way you had to press your legs together for some form of release even just from a lingering hug. so, when your dad said he was going away for work, you saw your chance.

“i’m going away for a couple days, matt is only across the road if you need him. no messing around while im gone.” your dad had said, and he had no idea what that phrase meant to you when matt was in the same sentence.

seeing your opportunity, you ‘accidentally’ leave your key inside the house after your dad leaves… giving you no other option but to go see if matt has a spare - and you know he doesn’t.

you notice the way your heart flutters, the way it sits differently in your chest as you’re approaching his front door, and you take a second to question whether this is a bad idea, when the door opens for you.

“oh, sorry sweetheart i didn’t realise you were there.” he smirks, and you wonder how he knows it’s you so quickly - matt knows it’s because he recognises that perfume that makes him painfully hard every time he smells it.

matt knows it’s a shared feeling. he can smell you from so far away, and sometimes it feels like he could taste your slick in the air after you hear him talk.

but matt could never cross that line… could he?

“it-it’s ok, i left my keys inside the house but my dads away for a couple days. you don’t have a spare key do you?” you try to speak with your voice straight, tone as it normally would be, but the more you try the more you begin to think you’re making it worse. “oh uh, no i don’t.” he says, and you both stand there in a moment of silence, both wondering what to say next to ease the tension.

“stay here. i have a spare bed you can take ‘till your dad gets back.” he says, and part of you wonders if he is annoyed like he seems, or if he’s just hesitant to let you closer.

“are you sure? i’ll keep out your way, unless you don’t want me to?” you smirk, wanting to see what pushing this a little further would get you.

“you’re trouble.”

—

“we really shouldn’t do this.” he mutters to himself, letting you slip off his dress shirt as you straddle him. “why? who’s gonna know?” you whisper into his ear, feeling his hands mould to your skin as you leave hot kisses down his neck.

“if your dad found out the way i’m touching his daughter, i would loose my head.” he grunts, flipping you so your back sticks to his leather couch. “trust me, we’ll be fine.” you confirm, gasping when he starts kissing your inner thighs.

you toss your head back, basking in the heat his lips bring to your skin, feeling the way they move closer to where you so desperately need him to be. his calloused hands finally grace the waist of your panties, dragging them painfully slow down your legs, tossing them somewhere behind him.

“fuck, wanted to taste this pussy for the longest time.” you’re unsure whether he’s talking to himself at the point, as his head lowers toward your slick.

“p-please, fuck.” the words come out as stutters, almost unintelligible as you wait to be given what you need.

finally, even though isn’t sure why, he lets his trust in you take over. licking a broad stripe up your glimmering folds and groaning to himself at the taste, matt grinds his boxer-only-clad body into the couch, searching for some release.

“god you’re so desperate for this, aren’t you sweetheart?” he chuckles from in between your legs, strong beard rubbing against your skin as you finally let your hands weasel their way into his hair. “so desperate.” you say, and the words tumble out so quick you can’t help the blush that rises on your cheeks.

“little slut, getting this wet for your daddy’s best friend, huh?” he drawls, his voice low and scratching as his lips finally wrap around your clit, a gentle suck making your legs clench around his head.

as you finally feel the exact touch you’ve been asking for, you realise that you’ve both fallen way too deep into this to back out. “i see the way you-ah, fuck, see the way you look at me,” you begin, trying to speak full sentences and failing with his tongue working the way it is, “i know you want this just as much as me.”

there’s a short scoff between your legs, but no reply as you find two of his fingers inside your walls with no build up, the hairs on your body standing up as your moans drift further. “smart mouth isn’t so loud when you’re about to come, huh?” he smirks, wet beard glimmering in the light from his windows.

that’s when it hits you like a train, his fingers still working you through your high, and his hips still grinding into his couch in search of a hint of you.

“holy shit.” is all that leaves your mouth as he sits up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. matt lifts his fingers, fresh with your slick, to your lips - and as you open them and take them in, relishing in the taste of yourself, he says “we should stop now, before it goes too far.” and your heart sinks at the realisation he’s being serious.

“do you not trust me?” you ask him, smirking at your own words from earlier, unsure whether you even trust yourself to keep your feelings separate.

“trust my best friends daughter? not sure if that’s a smart idea, sweetheart.”

tags 🏷️

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @audreyclimbs @pupmurdock @millennial-birkin @poeticbookwormcat

[sirxaibs]

PLEASE DO PART 2 OF SAL WITH POPULAR READER IT WAS SO CUTE😭❤️❤️❤️❤️

Sal Fisher X Reader (popular trope)

The Mask

masterlist

Part 1

Chat this is way more tender than showing off the popular stuff. But i hope to bring justice after all this time 😭😭 This is technically a part two, like now months after of getting close. They’re dynamic now is being very friendly and weirdly close because both the reader and Sal are stupid

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The horror movie wasn’t even that good. The plot was all over the place, the killer had a laughably bad mask, and the jump scares were so predictable that Larry had started mocking them out loud before they happened.

the three of you had ended up crammed into Sal’s bed his tiny, creaky bed pressed shoulder to shoulder under a single threadbare blanket while the glow of the TV flickered dimly across the room. Sal was in the middle, naturally. It started innocently enough. You’d sprawled out across the edge of the mattress first, claiming the wall side because you said it made you feel safe during horror movies. Larry flopped down next to you with zero grace, mumbling about how his ass was falling asleep from sitting on the floor. Sal, caught between the two of you, had hesitated only slightly before sitting, then laying back, sandwiched between you and his best friend.

Now, here you were. Trapped between the cool wall and the even cooler boy you had far too many complicated thoughts about.

You could feel the warmth of Sal’s arm brushing against yours every time he shifted. He was stiff at first, like he was hyper aware of the space or lack of it but over time, he’d relaxed into it, perhaps forgetting he was in between two people with vastly different personal space boundaries. Larry’s knee kept nudging Sal’s leg as he shifted around, while Sal’s hand occasionally bumped yours when he reached to adjust the volume or grab the popcorn bowl.

You weren’t even paying attention to the movie anymore. Your eyes were fixed on the screen, but your brain was a blur focused on how close Sal’s shoulder was to yours.

Now over the past few months, you've gotten very close to the gang. Especially Sal having been the first person to meet out of everyone. Anytime you weren’t with the cheer squad, you can bet your money that you'd be with sal any left over time you have. Though with him so close it made you reflect when you started to have that fuzzy feeling.

“I swear this thing is rigged,” Sal declared, slumping onto the carpet with a thud. “There’s no way you beat me again”

Todd, deadpan, didn’t even glance up from his Game Boy. “You lost. Again. face it sal, when it comes to tech im just better.”

It should’ve been just another silly moment like the dozens you’d already shared. You’d known Sal for over a year now, spent hours beside him investigating things you probably shouldn’t, watching horror movies until sleep claimed one of you first, and wandering the neighborhood talking about everything and nothing.

“I dunno, Todd,” Ash chimed in, laying across the couch upside down with her hair dangling off the edge. “Kinda feels like demonic assistance.”

Sal pointed a dramatic finger at her. “Thank you. Finally, someone with eyes.”

You snorted from your spot on the beanbag chair. “You sure it’s not just your lack of hand eye coordination? Or the fact that you panic every time the blocks get fast?”

Sal propped himself up on one elbow, mask tilted just enough to show the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll have you know, I am a master of panic. I’ve built my whole life around it.”

“Clearly,” you teased. “You died like three times in under a minute.”

“sick of you to call me out like this in front of my peers,” he huffed. “I’m a sensitive soul.”

Ash cackled. “You’re about as sensitive as a brick.”

Sal threw a pillow at her. “I thought you were on my side you freak”

Ash gasped. “Y/n has my heart, try harder bitch”

You raised your hands, grinning. “Don’t blame me for your failures”

Sal turned toward you, sitting cross legged now. “So what were you both talking about”

“Kyle!” Ash laughed. “Yes, and apparently he wrote Jessica a love poem that he accidentally printed on the back of the science quiz handouts.”

Todd finally looked up, blinking. “That was real? I thought that was a formatting error.”

Sal looked like he was about to pass out from joy. “That’s the most tragic thing I’ve ever heard.”

You burst into laughter again, curling into the beanbag as your sides started to ache. You barely noticed the way your eyes drifted to Sal how relaxed he looked. His legs sprawled out, one hand resting lazily over his knee, the other tossing a Cheez It at Ash’s face. His hair was slightly messier than usual, and his voice was rough from all the laughing. He looked so alive, just glowing in his own sarcastic, effortless way. You’d spent so many afternoons like this at his side during investigations, trading secrets, hanging out until your eyes drooped shut.

Well. Your heart did something. But the second you realized your stare might last too long, Ash turned to you and squinted. “Y/N, you’ve been weirdly quiet. What’s that face about?”

You instantly waved her off, grabbing a nearby pillow and throwing it at her. “Please. im just having flash backs to class, Ms. Peterson’s insane obsession with sweater vests.” change the direction of this questioning worked effortlessly.

Ash laughed. “No, seriously, what is up with that? She wore a glittery one last Friday. Like bedazzled with rhinestones.”

Todd chimed in, glancing up. “Technically, those weren’t rhinestones. They were imitation crystal beads.”

Ash blinked at him. “How do you even know that?”

“I read the morning announcements. There was a fundraiser.”

Sal snorted. “You guys are just jealous you can’t rock a crystal bedazzled vest like Peterson.”

You leaned forward with a grin. “Oh, yeah? Prove it. Come to school tomorrow with a glittery vest, Fisher.”

He turned to you with mock sincerity. “Y/N, if I had one, I would burn it in an instant, dont try me”

You giggled. “Sal, I dare you to wear a bedazzled vest next Friday.”

“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “I have standards.”

Ash leaned over. “Even if we pay you?”

“Especially if you pay me. I won’t be bribed into that shit.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am plenty fun. I just don’t want to look like a disco ball during third period.”

You laughed, and it slipped out easier than usual. That warmth was still there in your chest, but you ignored it. Let it settle. You nudged Ash again, changing the subject quickly. “Anyway. Did you hear about what happened during gym today?”

Ash lit up instantly. “Oh my god, yes. Mike tried to do a backflip and ended up hitting Coach in the face!”

“He what?!” Sal exclaimed,

Todd shook his head, lips twitching. “And I missed this?”

“Coach had a whistle in his mouth and choked on it,” you said, trying not to wheeze. “They had to do the Heimlich.”

Ash added, “Mike cried and swore he was just trying to get the attention of a girl in class.’”

Sal was giving a deadpan “I can’t take any of you seriously anymore.”

“That’s fair,” you said with a grin, feeling the moment settle in like a warm blanket. You didn’t mention the way Sal’s voice sounded when he was laughing like that or how he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. Anyways that was a small moment that made you realize you might’ve had it bad for the guy beside you. Like to preface though, Since the beginning you've always thought he was cute.

Larry, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.

“Dude, did you see that?” Larry said, laughing with his mouth half full of popcorn. “The guy just walked right into the room with the creepy ass doll like he wanted to die.”

Sal gave a small laugh. “You’d do the same thing.”

“Nah, I’d throw hands with the ghost.”

“You can’t punch ghosts, dumbass,” Sal murmured, tone dry.

“Bet.”

You snorted softly, stifling your laugh with the back of your hand. Sal turned his head slightly at the sound, and for a second, your eyes met. His hair was slightly messy from leaning back, the soft blue strands catching the glow of the TV light. You felt your breath catch for a moment before you turned back to the screen. The silence that followed was heavier than it should have been. Sal looked away first. Another jump scare came on some screeching violin noise and a face popping up in the mirror. You jumped a little out of instinct, and your hand brushed against Sal’s again. This time, neither of you pulled away.

Larry didn’t notice. He was too busy making ghost noises and tossing popcorn into the air to catch in his mouth.

“I’m just saying,” he mumbled through another handful, “this killer sucks. If I were in this movie, I’d be the final dude, for sure.”

“Final girl,” you corrected automatically, teasing. “That’s the trope.”

“I’d be the final badass, dont bring gender into this.”

Sal let out a quiet chuckle. You turned your head just enough to glance at him again. He looked relaxed now, nestled between the two of you, his bangs falling over the edge of his mask. The bed dipped slightly beneath your hips, everything too close and far too warm, but you didn’t want to move. You could feel the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. His fingers curled slightly when they brushed yours again accidental, maybe but they didn’t move away. You didn’t either.

Your voice was quiet when you spoke next. “I thinks it’s pointless to pay attention to whatever plot they're trying to do.”

Sal hummed softly. “You’re right.”

Larry, sprawled at the foot of the bed now, his long legs hanging off the edge, yawned. “You guys wanna turn it off?”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We can let it play out”

The movie droned on in the background. Some character screaming. A door slamming. The warmth of Sal beside you, the ridiculous commentary from Larry, the soft creak of the old bed beneath your bodies.

None of it made sense.

it felt like the kind of night you’d remember for a long time. when Sal’s pinky finally, cautiously, hooked around yours, You didn’t let go.

Looking back af the screen. The movie had reached a new low. The antagonist had suddenly sprouted wings, apparently possessed by the ghost of some ancient demon priest who spoke entirely in Latin. Larry had just finished mocking the last jump scare with an exaggerated scream and a pillow swing before everything finally, mercifully, quieted down again.

SNNOOOORRRT.

The sound cut through the room like a chainsaw through silence. You and Sal both flinched instinctively, heads snapping in unison toward the other side of the bed. There, sprawled diagonally across the mattress like a starfish, was Larry. His mouth hung open just enough to catch flies, and one leg was draped off the side. His chest rose and fell with each obnoxiously loud snore each one somehow louder and more theatrical than the last.

You stared at him for a moment in stunned silence. Then glanced at Sal. Sal was already looking at you. You didn’t even try to hold it in you burst into giggles, muffling the sound against your hand. “Holy crap,” you whispered between snorts, “is he alive? That sounds like a damn chainsaw.”

Sal blinked a few times, then snorted too. “He does that when he sleeps in weird positions. Sometimes I have to check he’s not choking on his own tongue.”

That only made you laugh harder, your shoulder bumping into Sal’s as you leaned against the wall behind you for support. Larry shifted slightly, letting out another guttural snore, then smacked his lips and mumbled something incoherent like, “Nah, man…tuna doesn’t even talk…” before rolling over.

You wiped a tear from your eye, still grinning. “I really like your friends.”

Sal turned to look at you, still smiling faintly. “…Yeah?”

You nodded, the laughter slowly settling into a fond warmth in your chest. “They’re so weird. Like, weird weird. But in the best way. It’s kinda refreshing.”

Sal didn’t reply immediately, but he looked at you with a softness you hadn’t seen all night quiet, thoughtful, a little shy. “They grow on you,” he finally said, voice low. “I wouldnt trade them”

You gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re all a mess, but I love it. It’s… nice. Being here.”

He looked down briefly, then back at you. The glow of the TV flickered over the curve of his mask, casting little shadows across the stitched mouth. “…It’s nice having you here too,” he murmured.

For a beat. Just sat there his pinky still lightly hooked around yours, Larry still snoring like a freight train beside you, and the TV screen casting a soft light across the room full of haunted masks, scattered notebooks, and a lingering warmth that neither ghosts nor horror movies could quite touch. in that quiet moment, the scariest thing wasn’t the movie on screen. It was how much you didn’t want this to end.

The movie finally ended with a whimper literally. Some distant scream echoed through a crumbling church, the screen cut to black, and the credits rolled in awkward silence, accompanied by a weirdly cheerful piano score that absolutely didn’t fit the vibe. Sal reached for the remote, turned the volume down, and let out a soft breath. “That was… something.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, trying not to laugh. “Top tier trash.”

“Totally gonna recommend it to Todd.”

You turned your head slowly toward him “You’re evil.”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He made me sit through that documentary on haunted ink last week. This is payback.”

You let out a soft snort and leaned your head back against the wall again. The room had grown quiet, aside from the occasional creak of the floorboards and the SNOOOORRRT from the other side of the bed. Larry had somehow managed to rotate even more in his sleep. His arm now stretched across Sal’s chest like he was guarding him from a night demon, one leg slung over the edge of the mattress, the other pinning your ankle down like it was holding a prize hostage.

You blinked down at the limb. “Uh…”

Sal looked too. You both slowly scanned the human barricade between freedom and the floor.“…We’re stuck,” Sal said plainly.

“Caged,” you whispered dramatically. “By the beast.”

Sal stifled a laugh, trying not to move too much under Larry’s deadweight arm. “I can’t even feel my side anymore.”

You poked Larry’s leg with your toe. “I think his soul left his body like ten minutes ago. He’s in another realm now.”

“He’s in his own world,” Sal said, voice light with amusement. You looked at him and smiled. It was easy to joke with him like this. Easy to sit here in the dark, with your arms lightly pressed together, and the weight of Larry’s unconscious limbs holding you hostage.

“Guess we’re staying here, huh?” you murmured.

“Looks like it.” Neither of you moved. Sal’s arm was warm where it rested close to yours, and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest under Larry’s draped arm. The glow from the TV dimmed a little more as the credits faded to black completely.

You sighed. “Not the worst place to be trapped.”

“…Yeah,” he said quietly.

Then Larry mumbled in his sleep “Tell ‘er she forgot the waffles…”

You both burst out laughing again, trying not to shake the bed too much. The laughter faded slowly, melting into a gentle hush the screen now pitch black, and Larry… well, Larry was definitely somewhere deep in dreamland.

You glanced down at the tangle of limbs surrounding you, then turned your head toward Sal with a dramatic sigh. “Well,” you said in a resigned voice, “it seems we have no choice.”

Sal tilted his head, mask catching a faint gleam from the now dim TV light. “…No choice?”

You gave him a mock serious look, eyes wide. “Fate has spoken. We’ve been claimed by the bed. Escape is impossible.”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “So what you’re saying it’s bedtime now?”

“I mean, what other options do we have?” you gestured at Larry’s arm sprawled over his chest and leg flopped across your own. “Unless you’ve got secret teleportation powers you’ve been hiding from me, I think we’re stuck in here for the long haul.”

Sal chuckled softly, shoulders shaking just a bit beneath the weight of Larry’s dead arm hug. “You’re not wrong.”

You wiggled a little, adjusting yourself beneath the blanket and the wall of limbs. “Okay, if we’re stuck here, I’m gonna get at least some comfort out of this.”

Then, before you could second guess yourself, you shifted closer, turning slightly until your head gently rested against Sal’s chest. your temple pressed near his shoulder, nestled just enough to be cozy without smothering. It gave both of your sides a little more breathing room from the dreaded Larry Trap™, but it also… well. It felt nice.

Sal went still. Not tense, exactly. You could feel the way his breath caught for a second before slowly evening out again. His body was warm beneath you, the gentle rise and fall of his chest oddly soothing against your cheek. The soft cotton of his shirt smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something you could only describe as Sal.

Then, in that low, careful tone he used when he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming “…This okay?”

You nodded a little against him. “Yeah. It’s nice. You’re comfy.”

Sal huffed a quiet laugh barely more than a breath but you felt it, vibrating faintly through his chest. His hand, still resting near yours beneath the blanket, inched just slightly closer. You felt your eyelids grow heavier, lulled by the warmth, the softness, the strange, peaceful intimacy of being squished between a snoring cryptid and someone who made your heart beat a little faster every time he so much as looked your way. “…Night, Sal,” you murmured sleepily.

“Night,” he whispered back.

A few quiet minutes passed. Your body had started to melt into sleep heavy, warm, and full of that fuzzy comfort that only came when you truly felt safe. But something stirred just enough to nudge you back toward wakefulness. You blinked your eyes open slowly. The TV had shut off completely now. The shadows in the room were soft, shifting slightly with the moonlight coming in through the window. You tilted your head just a little, eyes drifting up.

Sal was still awake. He hadn’t moved much barely breathed too deeply but you could feel it in the tension in his chest, the way his hand hadn’t quite relaxed beside yours, and most of all… in the quiet presence of his mask still sitting snug against his face.

You stared at it for a second, unsure why it pulled at your heart the way it did. Not because it was strange or unwelcome it was him, after all. But because he was still holding onto something. Even here. Even now. Not that you minded not really. It was part of him. But… even now? When everything else felt so relaxed?

Your voice came out as a soft whisper, so quiet it barely stirred the air between you. “…Hey, Sal?” He hummed softly in response, his chest rising gently beneath your cheek. “…Are you comfortable sleeping in it?”

There was a pause. A beat. You felt him shift, maybe in surprise. Then, quietly, he murmured, “Yeah. I’m fine with it on.”

You didn’t press. You didn’t ask why or if he was sure. You just gave him a soft smile, voice low and kind as your hand lightly brushed his side. “Okay. Just… wanna make sure you’re comfortable, too.”

The silence returne You didn’t expect him to say anything else. You didn’t even lift your head. Just closed your eyes again and let yourself settle back into the rise and fall of his breathing. Soft movement. You felt his hand slowly rise near his face, and heard it the faint sound of buckles. A click. A slide of straps.

Your heart fluttered. You stayed there, resting against him, He laid it down beside the bed, the soft thud of it muffled by the blanket. His chest exhaled fully in a mildly shaky way beneath you for the first time that night.

His arms moved. Then one wrapped gently around your shoulders, the other folding beneath your arm, pulling you just slightly closer just enough that your side was pressed into his, Instead, you felt his hand slide gently around your shoulder, the other tucking under your back as he pulled you in carefully, cautiously, like you were something fragile and precious. Your head nestled closer beneath his chin, skin against skin now. The warmth of his cheek rested near the crown of your head. His heart beat slow and steady beneath your ear, and the faintest brush of his breath stirred your hair as he held you like it was the first time he’d let himself truly breathe.

“I don’t… usually do this,” he murmured, voice barely more than a thread.

“I know,” you whispered.

your fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his shirt, your eyes fluttering shut again as sleep tugged at you like waves lapping against the shore. “…Thank you,” he whispered, so soft you might’ve imagined it.

You slept.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚Morning crept in slowly through Sal’s bedroom window, pale light casting soft streaks across the floor. The warmth of the sun bled into the room, brushing over clothes on the floor, empty snack bags from the night before, and a muted horror movie DVD case teetering on the edge of the nightstand.

The room was still peaceful. Well… until a certain someone began to stir. Larry groaned as he stretched, hair a complete mess, one leg still draped over part of the bed like a corpse washed ashore. He scratched at his head with a yawn that could wake the dead, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted to the daylight.

“Ugh… why the fuck does my back hurt so much,” he muttered to himself.

Then he paused, eyes drifting lazily to his left… and stopped cold. Sal was still fast asleep, flat on his back, lips parted slightly as he breathed evenly. And you were right on top of him, curled up against his chest like a cat, arm tucked across his stomach, one leg haphazardly resting over his. Sal’s arms were wrapped loosely around your shoulders, and his mask Gone. Completely gone.

Larry’s eyes widened, and a wide, giddy grin began to tug at his face. “…No. Freaking. Way.”

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand like it was the Holy Grail, and with the stealth of someone absolutely used to sneaking snacks at 2 a.m., he held it up and started snapping photos like a proud parent.

Click. One from the side your cheek smooshed into Sal’s chest.

Click. One a little closer Sal’s fingers curled softly into your hoodie sleeve.

Click click click.

Larry was giggling like a little girl, nearly silently, shaking with laughter as he zoomed in on the most disgustingly adorable sleep cuddle combo he’d ever seen. “Homeboy is getting it while I was in bed, Im kinda grossed out” he whispered to himself.

You stirred first. A sleepy groan left your throat as your eyes fluttered open, still half lidded and dazed. You blinked up in confusion, chin still resting against Sal’s chest. “…Larry?”

Sal, still dozing, gave a small hum, barely lifting his head. Larry froze, phone held in midair like he’d been caught robbing a bank.

Then your eyes focused. Your voice, raspy and heavy with sleep, came out in a groggy warning: “…Are you taking pictures?”

Larry grinned. “Don’t mind me. Just documenting the rare and elusive Wholesome Sal Cuddle Beast in his natural habitat.”

Sal groaned beneath you burying his face into your hair. “Larry…”

You let your head drop back to Sal’s chest with a sigh reaching your arm out. “gimme your phone.”

“No can do,” Larry said, flopping back onto the bed dramatically with a grin so smug it could power a city. “This is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen. You two are like… its too early to compare but you both are so gross right now.”

You groaned and hid your face, too sleepy and too cozy to even fight it. Sal, still half asleep, mumbled, “This fucker.”

Larry stood at the doorway now, still grinning like a maniac as he prepared to head down the hall probably to brag to himself in the kitchen about the goldmine of photos he just captured. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back and said with a finger gun, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… which admittedly is very little. So, uh, good luck!”

And with that, he disappeared down the hallway cackling to himself. The door clicked shut behind him, and the room settled into silence once again.

The warmth returned almost instantly quiet, unhurried, as if the space itself wanted to return you both to the peaceful cocoon of earlier. You blinked sleepily and slowly tilted your head up from where it rested on Sal’s chest, face still nestled in the soft fabric of his shirt. Your voice was hoarse from sleep, barely above a whisper, warm with affection and the comfort of a morning that didn’t need rushing.

“…Good morning.”

Sal didn’t respond right away. His eyes were already open watching you and he smiled faint, just a curl of the lips. “Good morning,” he whispered back, voice still low from sleep, a touch dazed. “You’re still here.”

You gave a soft, sleepy laugh. “Mmhmm. Guess I didn’t sleepwalk out.”

But the moment didn’t linger quite as simply as that. Because suddenly it hit him. The air shifted in his chest. His eyes flickered slightly, darting away. His arms, still loosely around you, twitched like he was trying to pull them back without making it obvious. He sucked in a shallow breath. The mask. He wasn’t wearing his mask. His skin scarred and marred, one side melted and uneven, parts of his face twisted in ways no teenager should have to learn to accept was all out. In plain view. For you to see. His heart began to pick up, beating against your chest, almost trembling. He must look disgusting. Horrifying. Why didn’t he think about it? Larry saw fine. Whatever. Larry didn’t care. Hes known him long enough that hes seen him before. But you? You were still here. Still on him. Still close enough to see every detail.

His body stiffened ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move, either. Just braced for whatever was coming whether it was a flinch, a quiet “I’ll let you get dressed,” or the worst… silence. That dreaded kind of silence.

But it never came. Because when he finally risked looking down at you again… You were just looking at him. Softly. Your eyes were lidded still from sleep, but they held nothing except calm like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the boy in front of you, as he was, didn’t need to apologize for anything. Your hand gently moved, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw in the quietest touch.

“Hi,” you murmured, still smiling faintly.

Sal’s breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t say anything at first. His throat felt tight, like emotion had quietly wrapped around it while he wasn’t paying attention. He blinked a few times unsure if he was trying to keep the moment or convince himself it was real.

“…You’re not looking away,” he finally said, barely a whisper.

“Why would I?” you replied, your voice just as soft. “It’s just you.”

That simple sentence held the weight of a thousand reassurances.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The sun hung high over the school courtyard, casting sharp shadows on the cracked pavement of the outdoor cheer practice area. The sounds of sneakers squeaking, laughter, and upbeat music from someone’s speaker filled the air as you and the rest of the cheer team moved through another round of drills.

Your body moved on autopilot now high knees, arms tight, posture upright. The routine was muscle memory, but the heat made your shirt cling to your back and your ponytail stick annoyingly to your neck. Still, the energy around you was infectious.

“Alright, ladies, one more time!” Coach Hollins called out, hands clapping to the beat. “I want clean arms and sharper snaps this time. Let’s move like we mean it!”

You gave a quick nod to the two girls on either side of you Riley and Jae before falling into formation again. The team snapped into motion at the coach’s count.

“One two three, up!”

You lifted your leg into a high kick, arms raised into a perfect ‘V,’ face determined despite the burn in your thighs. Riley to your left let out a huff, shaking her head with a grin.

“You ever get tired of this?” she muttered under her breath.

“Only every second of every minute,” you whispered back, lips twitching upward.

“I heard that!” Coach Hollins barked playfully, but didn’t stop the routine.

After a few more counts, you dropped out of the line and moved to the sidelines with your small stunt group. You all grabbed water bottles and flopped onto the grass, sweat dripping, lungs still catching up.

Jae flopped dramatically onto her back beside you. “I swear this heat is trying to kill us.”

“Pretty sure it’s just the coach,” you said with a smirk, sipping from your bottle. “Sun’s innocent.”

“Oh please,” she groaned. “At this point I’d let the sun fight me. I’m already halfway dead.”

A couple other teammates laughed and plopped down beside you both, forming a loose circle of exhausted girls lying across the grass, limbs sprawled, stretching out like starfish in a sea of overtraining.

“I miss the days when practice meant jumping around for twenty minutes and eating orange slices,” Riley sighed dramatically. “Now it’s like military conditioning disguised with pom poms.”

One of the freshmen piped up, “Wait, you guys had snacks?”

Riley blinked. “You don’t?”

“Okay, okay,” said Kayla, dropping her pom poms onto the grass, “ I swear, if Trent looks at me like that one more time during math class, I’m gonna combust.”

The girls erupted into laughter around you. You leaned back onto your hands, legs stretched in front of you, catching your breath.

“hes a whore dont do it girl” another girl Jessie teased with a grin, nudging Kayla with her elbow.

“Shut up!” Kayla squeaked, face flushing.

You snorted softly and glanced at the sky for a second, internally giggling at how ridiculously teen movie this all felt. Sitting in your uniform on the grass, sweaty and giddy, talking about boys like it was the end of the world if someone didn’t text back in five minutes.

“I’m just saying,” Kayla continued with faux seriousness, “there’s something about a guy who has brains and can fuck so good at the same time. That’s dangerous.”

“He’s not even that cute,” murmured Bree, twirling a strand of her hair. “Now, Brayden from the soccer team? That’s boyfriend material.”

“Nooo,” you chimed in, shaking your head, “Brayden talks like a sentient protein shake.”

Laughter bubbled again as Bree clutched her chest dramatically. “hes hot give me a break!”

“Okay, okay, Y/N, who would you date if you had to pick?” Kayla asked, eyes narrowing with mock seriousness. “And don’t say no one. We’re not letting you wiggle out of this.”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think hard. “Hmm… does Sal Fisher count?”

Dead silence for a beat. Then the girls burst into laughter again slightly more confused this time. “Oh my god, is that the kid with the blue hair and the uh, the face thing?” Jessie asked, trying to keep her tone light.

“Yeah, the one who always wears that mask,” Bree added, stretching her legs. “You actually know him?”

“Sort of,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “He’s cool. Quiet, but funny in a weird way.”

The girls exchanged looks, not rude just kind of mystified. “I mean, I guess that’s kind of sweet,” Kayla said, shrugging. “But like… your group’s super different. No offense.”

“None taken,” you said brightly. “Weird’s kind of our whole brand.” They laughed again, and just like that, the moment moved on. You sat back again as the conversation turned to homecoming rumors and some sophomore drama involving lockers and glitter bombs.

The break didn’t last long Coach called for partner drills after another few minutes, and soon you were back on your feet, clapping along to counts, running through pyramid formations, and adjusting grips and stances.

Your muscles ached, sweat trailed down your spine, and the sun felt like it was trying to kiss your skin off but the rhythm of the team, the shouts of encouragement, the shared momentum it kept you going. Even if no one said it aloud, you were proud to be a part of this group.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The group was cutting through the courtyard, skirting the edge of the cheer practice field on their way to Todd’s house. Ash was in the middle of one of her trademark complaints animated, relentless, and incredibly specific.

“I’m telling you, this guy in biology acts like smiling would kill him. I said one sarcastic thing, and he looked at me like I burned his childhood home to the ground.”

Todd nodded sympathetically. “Sounds like someone with zero sarcasm immunity.”

Larry popped a piece of gum into his mouth and muttered, “Sounds like someone who’s intimidated by a girl with actual brain cells.”

Ash smirked. “Damn right.”

Sal had been quiet, walking just a step behind them, hands in his hoodie pockets. But when they rounded the corner near the cheer practice field, something pulled at his attention.

The music blaring from a cheap speaker. The shuffle of sneakers on grass. The high pitched yelps and laughter. he saw you. You were within practice with the squad, bouncing through a set of drills. It was chaotic, like it always was during this part of practice, and your ponytail whipped around as you dropped into a set. There was a brief moment of clumsiness you tripped over someone’s foot and went tumbling backwards into the grass with a shout.

Sal instinctively took a step forward. From across the field, he watched you burst into laughter. The kind that made your shoulders shake. Your teammates were cracking up, helping you up, brushing you off. You weren’t embarrassed just glowing. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.

Sal stopped walking completely. That’s when Larry noticed.

“Anyway, I told him if he ever tried to talk over me again, I’d shove ” Ash was cut off when suddenly, Larry slapped a hand over her mouth.

“MMPH ?!”

He didn’t say a word just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and slowly turned her head in the direction of Sal.

“Look,” Larry whispered dramatically, the grin already forming at the corners of his mouth. “Look.”

Ash squinted. “What am I oh my god.”

Todd caught on and paused beside them.

From where they were standing, Sal was still. Not a single movement. His body was slack, hands relaxed in his pockets, head slightly tilted in your direction. The blue of his eyes was sharper, softer somehow behind the holes in his mask. Even if his expression was hidden behind the black and white plate… something in his posture said everything.

Larry leaned down, whispering like he’d just discovered a hidden species in the wild.

“Dude,” Larry said, grinning ear to ear. “He is so grown up and in love.”

“I didn’t know you could radiate heart eyes,” Ash whispered. “But he’s doing it.”

Todd, adjusting his glasses, studied Sal like he was reading a silent language. “yearning has become a person guys.”

“Yeah, he looks like a guy who just found religion,” Larry muttered.

Sal hadn’t moved. He didn’t even realize his friends had stopped. His gaze was fixed watching you wipe grass from your cheer skirt while laughing breathlessly with your teammates. Even behind the mask, they could tell his whole body was tuned in to you.

Larry smirked and elbowed Ash. “Ten bucks says he doesn’t even know he stopped walking.”

Ash grinned. “Twenty says he doesn’t even remember we’re here.”

Then, just as you glanced in his direction, Sal jolted slightly snapped out of it. You met eyes from across the field. You grinned and gave a short wave. Sal blinked… then raised a hand and gave the tiniest wave back before quickly shoving both hands into his hoodie pocket again.

His friends didn’t miss that either.

Ash snorted. “Yep. Fully gone. He’s toast.”

Larry grinned wickedly. “Imagine being so whipped your body just turns into a statue”

Sal turned toward them, eyes narrowing behind the mask. “…What?”

“Nothing,” Larry said, throwing an arm over Sal’s shoulders as they started walking again. “Just admiring the view. Cheerleading’s real educational this time of year.”

Ash winked. “Super enlightening.”

Todd patted Sal’s back. “Don’t worry. We’ll all act surprised when you confess.”

Sal grumbled under his breath, hoodie pulled tighter over his head. “You guys suck massive balls” But even as they walked away, his head turned one last time. As the group was finally peeling away from the edge of the field, Larry tossing a stick up and catching it while Ash continued her rant, they were just about to pass behind the school building when

“Hey! Todd!”

Your voice rang out over the grass, bright and cheerful, cutting through the late afternoon buzz. They all turned. You jogged over, ponytail bouncing, the edge of your cheer skirt still speckled with grass stains from your earlier fall. Your cheeks were a little flushed from the drills, but you hardly looked winded.

Todd perked up immediately. “Oh hey! What’s up?”

You stopped in front of him, a little breathless but grinning. “I started the physics homework, and I’m already in over my head. Can I go over it with you sometime this week? I promise I’ll bring snacks as a bribe.”

Todd chuckled, already reaching into his backpack. “You don’t even have to bribe me. I’ll text you the notes later and we can meet later, if you want?”

“That would be perfect,” you beamed. “You’re the best, Todd.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he teased with a little smile.

From behind him, Larry whispered theatrically, “Todd’s getting all the love today.”

Ash folded her arms. “As he should. He’s the only one who’s still passing any science class.”

But before you could respond, a sharp whistle blew from the field. Your coach was standing there, arms crossed, clearly waiting. You cringed slightly. “Whoops. Duty calls.”

You started jogging backward toward the field but called over your shoulder with a laugh, “I’ll see you dorks later!”

Larry clutched his chest dramatically. “She says with affection.”

Ash gave a salute. “Go, queen.”

Then you turned slightly, catching Sal’s eyes as you took a few more steps away. He hadn’t said anything hadn’t moved. He was just watching again, quietly, that unreadable expression hidden behind his mask. But his eyes… You smiled at him gently, a little softer than before. “Sal,” you said, “come over tonight, okay?”

He blinked once. “…Okay.”

Your grin widened just a little. And with that, you spun back around and jogged to join your teammates on the field, already calling an apology to your coach as you ran. The group watched in silence for a beat. As you disappeared back onto the field, Sal remained rooted in place like he’d just taken a mild electric shock completely still, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense, though his expression was unreadable beneath the mask.

Larry, however, was already side eyeing him He stepped closer, squinting at Sal like he was trying to solve a puzzle he already knew the answer to. “So… you gonna tell me what that was, or should I just assume she invited you over to ‘study’?”

Sal blinked, slow and cautious. “She just said to come over later.”

Larry let out a low whistle and raised his brows. “Mmmhm. That’s how it starts, man. First it’s ‘come over,’ then it’s ‘sit on my bed,’ then suddenly both of you are pregannt”

Sal sighed. “It’s not like that.”

Larry gave him a lazy grin and elbowed him lightly. “Dude. Come on. You got the invite. That’s grounds FOR WHATEVER. You know how many dudes would sell their souls for a girl to say that to them with even half that softness?”

Todd wandered over, arms crossed and smirking. “It was suspiciously tender.”

Larry gave a mock thoughtful hum. “I’ll bring a flask. And condoms. Not for him. Just in case she realizes what a repressed weirdo he is and I gotta pick up the slack.”

Sal turned his head, deadpan. “You’re disgusting.”

Larry grinned, absolutely unbothered. “And yet, somehow still your best friend. Funny how that works.”

He leaned in a bit, dropping his voice into a mock serious tone. “Okay but real talk her place, alone, after school? foreplay waiting to happen. You sure you’re ready for that? What are you gonna do when she sits too close and your brain short circuits?”

Sal rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno. Talk?”

Larry snorted. “Pfft. Classic. You better hope you don’t sit on the bed first or she’s gonna think you’ve got moves.”

Todd adjusted his glasses. “let the man breathe, I think that's enough teasing for right now”

Ash smiled. “Yeah! itll be all good, youre always at her place anyways, I dont see why this is anything new.”

Larry nodded sagely. “Look, man, I want you to scream into your phone the minute after you leave’”

Sal groaned, clearly regretting not disappearing with you when he had the chance. “Why do I even talk to you.”

Larry slung an arm over his shoulder. “Because I’m the only one giving you the talk no one else will. You’re entering sacred territory, my guy. The Bedroom Zone. That’s where the hot girls live.”

Sal dragged a hand down his face. “It’s just a casual hangout.”

Larry raised a brow. “Sure. Just like how ‘Netflix and chill’ is about movie appreciation.”

Ash cracked up, Todd chuckled, and Larry gave Sal one last smirk. “Look, if she offers you snacks and puts on a movie? Congrats. You’re halfway to a relationship you won’t admit you’re in for nine months.”

with that, he started walking ahead, hands in his pockets, calling back over his shoulder, “Don’t forget deodorant! And maybe brush your hair this time!” Sal stood there for a beat longer, ears pink, before quietly following, a small, reluctant smile twitching beneath the edge of his mask.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚Your apartment door clicked shut behind you as you kicked your shoes off with a groan that could’ve belonged to someone three decades older.

“Finally,” you muttered, dragging yourself toward the couch like it owed you money. “If I had to chant Hot to go one more time, I was going to throw myself into traffic.”

Sal stepped inside a few seconds later, quiet as usual, closing the door gently behind him. His shoes made a soft thump as he set them by the mat, and he trailed behind you like a shadow familiar, unobtrusive, calm. He always did tend to come over after practice when he could. It wasn’t a thing you had ever needed to explain. He just showed up, like gravity, and you always opened the door like you were expecting him. Because you were.

You dropped onto the couch with a flop, hair sticking to the back of your neck from all the sweat and yelling. “My legs are spaghetti. My soul has left my body. ”

Sal chuckled under his breath, then wandered further in, eyes scanning the room like he always did even though nothing ever changed. It was part habit, part quiet comfort. Your apartment was small, warm, dimly lit. Blankets were folded on the armrest. Your stupid lava lamp was bubbling peacefully on the shelf. The place smelled faintly of vanilla and shampoo and you. Which wouldn’t normally bother him. Except now Larry’s stupid voice was in his head like a mosquito trapped in a tin can. Sal blinked.

Right. Couch. You were on the couch. Not the bed. Totally normal. Sal watched you from the doorway for a moment, something amused in the angle of his head, He shifted a little awkwardly, standing there for a second too long before walking over and settling into the other end of the couch. He usually did that, too always a respectful amount of space, always calm and quiet. But tonight his back was a little straighter. His shoulders a little stiffer. His brain a little louder.

then quietly walked over and lowered himself onto the couch beside you. He sat stiff at first, unsure of how close to get, but your hand reached out to lightly tug on the hem of his sleeve.

“You can sit normal, Sal. I don’t bite,” you mumbled into a throw pillow.

Sal blinked. “…Right.”

So he settled in, closer now. Shoulders relaxed, hands resting in his lap.

You didn’t seem to notice. You sighed and reached for the throw blanket, dragging it over your lap. “I swear, our captain’s trying to kill us before regionals. That girl has no chill at all.”

Sal nodded, fiddling with the frayed end of his sleeve. “You looked good out there. In practice, I mean. You’re, um… really good.”

You cracked a tired smile. “Wow. A whole compliment? Who are you and what have you done with the real Sal?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean it.”

You leaned back, eyes drifting closed for a moment. “Thanks. That’s sweet.”

Sal stared at the ceiling. God. Larry was so annoying. worse he might have been a little right. Sal snuck a glance at you. You were curled up under your blanket, makeup smudged, hair messy, hoodie riding up slightly as you hugged a pillow to your chest. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like this was normal. It was normal. But now his heart was doing this thing in his chest, like it couldn’t decide if it was nervous or just stupid. He’d been in this apartment a hundred times. But now he was acutely aware of every inch of the couch between you. Every sound. Every breath.

“Hey,” you said suddenly, eyes fluttering open. “You okay? You’re quiet.”

Sal blinked. “I’m always quiet.”

You tilted your head, watching him for a second. “Yeah, but this is like… extra quiet. Like ‘do I need to get you tea or something?”

Sal flushed under the mask. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

You nodded like that made perfect sense and scooted over slightly just an inch or two. Just enough to close the space between you a little. “Same. You can lean back, y’know. You look like you’re in timeout.”

You shifted again, grumbling about how sore your thighs were from endless jumping and kicks, and without much thought, you swung your legs up and over Sal’s lap.Sal froze just a bit at the sudden contact like someone had startled a cat but when you didn’t move again, he relaxed slowly. He looked down at your legs draped across him, then up at your face. You weren’t even paying attention, completely at peace.

“So,” you started casually, “there’s this show in the city next month like a mini festival kind of deal? Bunch of local punk and alt bands. Larry and Ash wanna go, and I’m so tempted.”

Sal blinked, his hands awkwardly hovering near your shins. “You gonna go?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on money, and if we survive regionals without blowing our knees out. But also… I don’t have anything to wear. I can’t show up in pastel to a punk show.”

He gave a small huff of amusement, fingers finally settling on your legs just resting there at first, the lightest contact. “Bet you could make anything work,” he murmured.

You smirked at that, cracking one eye open to look at him. “You flirting with me, Fisher?”

“Barely,” he said, voice teasing but warm.

You grinned and nudged his arm with your foot. You rambled on about some of the bands on the lineup, flipping through your phone with one hand while the other idly tugged at the blanket. Sal nodded, adjusting slightly under your legs. “Yeah. Larry won’t shut up about it. He wants to mosh until he dislocates a shoulder.”

“That’s such a Larry thing. I was thinking about going. It’s not really my usual scene, but I don’t know… it’d be fun.”

Sal tilted his head toward you, curiosity sparking. “You can always see, you did say you liked my music before and its not too far off”

You started rambling, voice soft but animated mentioning outfits with fishnets, oversized band tees, maybe one with a leather jacket if the night was cold. A crop top you hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. And somewhere along the way soft and slow Sal’s fingers began to move.

He hadn’t meant to, not consciously. But as you spoke, he found himself gently running his fingertips along your shin, then your calf, trailing little absentminded patterns with the pads of his fingers. He moved like he was afraid to startle you, every brush of his hand tender and hesitant. You didn’t react at first. Perhaps you didn’t even notice. But your voice dipped a little, more relaxed, like the comfort of it had settled into your bones. Your leg twitched slightly in contentment, and Sal’s hand paused Then continued, slower this time.“That purple top you wore at the bonfire,” he said suddenly, voice quiet, almost like it snuck out of him, “you looked… really nice in it.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes blinking open with a sleepy little smile. “Yeah?”

He nodded, eyes flicking away. His hand stilled again, resting warm and steady on your leg. “Yeah.” Sal blinked, clearly only just now realizing he was still touching you. He froze for a second again, his fingers hovering in place like they’d been caught doing something illegal.

You raised a brow. “What, you gonna stop now?”

He hesitated then quietly resumed, a small smile hidden beneath his mask. “No,” he said softly. “I’ll keep going.”

You smiled to yourself and let your eyes close. despite the thoughts running miles a minute in his head, despite the ghost of Larry’s voice still rattling around somewhere in the background saying, “You’re in too deep, lover boy,” Sal didn’t stop. He just sat there, calm and quiet as ever, slowly tracing lazy circles against your skin.

You yawned, stretching your arms again until your fingertips grazed the top of the couch. “You should just stay the night again,” you said, voice casual, like it wasn’t making Sal’s heart immediately stutter in his chest. “You’ve still got clothes here from the last time. Plus, I don’t feel like saying bye.”

Sal blinked at you, unsure if you were teasing or not. He nodded slowly. “…Yeah. Okay. If you’re cool with it.”

You gave a little grin. “I wouldn’t’ve asked if I wasn’t.”

You sat up slightly, arms propped behind you. “Also, I’ve been craving something sweet all day. Wanna bake something? Cookies? Muffins? Brownies? We’ve got options, Sal.”

He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic but instead, what came out, soft and automatic, was:

“Yeah. Sure. Anything with you.” There was a brief pause. You blinked at him. He blinked at himself. Then his shoulders hunched a little as he realized what he’d just said. “I mean not anything anything. I just meant like I’m down for whatever you wanna bake. Or whatever.” His voice went lower and quicker with each word, panic mode lightly engaged.

You, meanwhile, were trying not to grin like a fool. “Anything with me?” you teased, poking his side.

Sal groaned and covered his face with his hand. “Please forget I said that.”

You smirked. “Relax. I got the message.”

You walked into the kitchen, still grinning as you rummaged through cabinets. “We’re doing cookies. I’ve got chocolate chips, let’s go.”

Sal followed after you, his hands shoved in his pockets now, even if you also unknowingly made his heart trip over itself every ten seconds.

You were already digging through the baking shelf when Sal joined you in the kitchen, He looked more at home than anyone had the right to in someone else’s apartment. And maybe that’s because this wasn’t “someone else’s” anymore not to him. You held up a bag of chocolate chips like it was sacred treasure. “Behold. The only reason this dough will be tolerable.”

Sal smirked faintly, leaning a hip against the counter. “Wow. No faith in your own baking skills?”

You scoffed, tossing the bag on the counter. “I’m realistic. My baking is edible. Not gourmet.”

“I’ve eaten weirder things,” he said, deadpan, reaching for the mixing bowl.

Your eyebrow arched. “That’s not comforting.”

“I mean, you’re letting me help, so who’s really at fault here?”

You made a dramatic show of dumping flour into the bowl. “You've got all my trust, blue boy.”

He nodded solemnly. You passed him the whisk while cracking eggs into a small bowl. Sal took the whisk with a little more flair than necessary. “How do I stir this? is there a certain way or?”

You paused, watching him with amusement. “I dunno, maybe talk dirty to it. ‘Cause these cookies are about to be sinful.”

Without missing a beat, Sal leaned down a little and murmured to the bowl in his calmest voice, “Hey, sugar. You like it rough, or should I ease the chocolate chips in slowly?”

You choked on your laugh so hard you had to grab the counter for support. “SAL. What the hell ?!”

He grinned as he started mixing, shoulder bouncing slightly from his own laughter. “You started it.”

“You said it too well, that’s the problem,” you said, smacking his arm with a dish towel. “Didnt know i was hanging out with a FREAK”

“I try my best” he said, licking a bit of dough off his finger after moving his mask to the side ever so slightly.

You paused. “Did you just raw dog cookie dough? theres eggs in that” He looked at you, expression unreadable under his mask, “…I walked into that one, didn’t I?” you mumbled.

“Hard,” he replied simply.

You groaned, hiding your face behind your hands. “I liked it better when you were flustered and awkward.”

“Too late,” Sal said, dumping the chocolate chips in with an almost smug level of confidence. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as you reached over to flick flour at him. He ducked with surprising grace, the grin behind the mask audible in his voice. “Try me again and you’re getting dough on your face.”

“Oh no,” you gasped “What ever shall I doooooo” He dipped two fingers in the bowl. “Don’t you dare.” He looked at you. stared deep into your eyes. then slowly took a taste instead. You stared at him, jaw dropped. “Thought you were gonna smear it on me,” you muttered.

“Tempting,” he said casually, licking the last bit of dough off his thumb, “but I’m not wasting chocolate on your forehead.”

“Oh, so we’re economical and sassy tonight are we?”

He shrugged. “Multitasking.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ The oven beeped to life, the tray of cookies safely tucked inside. You set the timer with a satisfied little hum, turning on your heel just as Sal moved to put the mixing bowl in the sink. You didn’t mean to step into him, but the narrow kitchen and your complete lack of awareness sent you directly into his chest.

You both froze.

Your hands braced instinctively against his chest, his hands caught at your shoulders in an effort to steady you. It wasn’t a rough impact. The air shifted instantly. You looked up at him, suddenly hyper aware of how close you were. The only thing keeping your faces apart… was the smooth surface of his mask.

Neither of you moved. You looked up, startled at first, but then your gaze softened. The glow of the kitchen light cast gold shadows across the room, and you swore you could see a flush creeping beneath the edge of his hairline.

His hands didn’t drop right away. Neither did yours. barely above a whisper, Sal said, “It’s not fair… how easy it is to want this with you.”

The words fell out of him like they’d been waiting to be said for weeks. stripped of any of the usual carefulness he kept wrapped around himself. Your breath caught, eyes searching his through the hair that had fallen across his face. Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke.

“Can I… take it off?”

His breath hitched. He blinked. “Wh– wow, okay. Um. Your phrasing is kinda uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight. “You make it sound like we’re about to hook up on the counter.”

You blinked then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Sal.” You smacked his chest lightly. “That wasn’t even what I meant, but now I can’t un hear it.”

He gave a helpless, sheepish shrug, eyes crinkling just a little. “You said it, not me.”

You tilted your head, grinning up at him. “We can save that for another time, then.”

That shut him up. You watched as his brain visibly short circuited, eyes going wide before darting off to the side in panic. His ears turned bright pink beneath his hair.

“Joking,” you whispered, though the glint in your eye said you weren’t completely kidding. “Mostly.”

He let out a soft huff as he let his hands drop from your waist, stepping back just slightly but not enough to break the warmth still hanging between you. You tilted your head. “I’m serious, though. I won’t push. But if you ever feel ready… I’d like to see the whole you again.”

Sal nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor for a beat before flicking back up. “I know.”

The beep sliced through the silence like a mischievous little gremlin, reminding you that time and cookies waited for no emotionally charged stare downs. You blinked, the moment still humming in your chest, then snorted softly. “Relax. It’s just the halfway point.”

Sal rolled his eyes, stepping back just a bit more but not enough to be out of reach. “You act like I was the one making it weird.”

You lifted a brow. “Oh, really? ‘It’s not fair how easy it is to want this with you’ that wasn’t a little weird?”

He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “You were this close to getting a sweet moment, and you blew it.”

“I didn’t blow anything,” you shot back with a smirk, walking over to check the oven through the glass. “but given the chance .”

“Y/n, don't even start you perv” Sal let out a surprised little laugh behind his mask, looking at you like you were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen.

“I cant help it when I’ve got a hot guy in my kitchen,” you said, glancing at him.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Hot guy?”

“Oh, please. Don’t act surprised. You know exactly what you’re doing in those damn sweatpants.”

Another beep interrupted you, louder this time. You spun to open the oven and muttered, “Cookie time,.” Sal chuckled, walking over behind you and peeking over your shoulder as you reached in with the mitts. “Don’t crowd me,” you teased.

“Just trying to make sure you don’t burn your hands.”

“You burn your mouth on these and I’m not driving you to the ER.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m excellent with handling hot things.”

Your head turned slowly. “You did not just say that.”

He grinned like the smug bastard he secretly was and plucked a chip off the edge of one cookie. “Too late.”

You watched as Sal carefully moved the cookies to a plate. “Okay,” you said between chews, “we’ve officially earned the right to crash. I say we head to my room movie, cookies, blankets, the whole comfy package.”

Sal paused as he was reaching for another cookie, fingers hovering. “Your… room?”

You turned to him, one brow raised. “Yeah. My bed has like… six pillows. And heated blankets. Plus the TV’s bigger.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The movie was already twenty minutes in by the time the two of you had finally settled on your bedYou were leaned against Sal’s shoulder, one of your legs curled beneath you, and his body was warm where it pressed gently into yours. Neither of you said much at first, letting the ambient noise of the film fill the space. It was peaceful. Familiar. But for Sal, something about the moment tugged at his thoughts.

He swallowed thickly, barely noticing the way your head had drifted to rest just a little more against him. He was remembering. Your laughter in his room just a few days ago. The way you’d leaned into him so naturally. your body curled into his side played on repeat in his mind more than the movie ever could. He’d said nothing then, hadn’t even dared breathe too loudly, afraid it would pop the fragile bubble of comfort he’d never known he needed.

But now… it was happening again. Here. In your space. Now, lying beside you again, your hair brushing his jawline every now and then when you shifted slightly, he could feel that same quiet gravity pulling at him.

Sal glanced down at you. You were focused on the screen, but he caught the tiny smile at the corner of your mouth perhaps at the film, or at the warmth of the room, or, maybe because of him. He liked to think it was that last one.

You suddenly shifted, laying more fully against his chest and letting your arm rest lightly across his stomach. “Too many cookies,” you mumbled.

He huffed a laugh, his hand instinctively coming up to rest against your back. “That’s on you. I told you to pace yourself.”

“You say that every time, and yet here we are,” you muttered into his shirt. “Besides, they were good and not as bad as i anticipated. Admit it.”

“They were good,” he said quietly. “You always make them good.” Sal chuckled softly under his breath, a hand resting near your waist under the blanket. He could feel the way you molded against him, so naturally. So easily.

The mask felt heavier than usual. He blinked slowly, something shifting inside him. A decision. It wasn’t sudden. It had been building for a while through the shared jokes, the lingering glances, the safety of your presence. now, here, in the soft glow of your bedroom, with your warmth against his side and your breathing matching his, it didn’t feel terrifying.

Sal reached up and slipped the mask from his face. The air hit his skin differently without it. Vulnerability being oh so strong now. But not in a bad way. Not here.

He held the mask in his lap, his hands fidgeting with the straps while his eyes flicked toward you. His lips parted like he might say something, but the words stuck

It was subtle at first just the faintest change in the way his breathing slowed, like he was bracing himself. Your eyes fluttered up and adjusted to the dim room, and when you tilted your head slightly to look at him…

For a second, you just blinked Sal noticed your gaze immediately and stiffened. “Don’t look too hard,” he said quickly, voice low and tense.

You turned fully toward him, shifting just enough to sit up slightly on your elbow. “Sal,” you murmured, your voice laced with surprise but not a hint of pity.

Then, slowly, your hand lifted toward his face. His eyes flicked to your fingers as they hovered near his cheek, and he flinched just slightly but enough for you to pause. He wasn’t used to being seen like this. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, barely above a whisper. “I just I know it’s not…”

Your hand gently made contact with his cheek, and he stopped talking. You were warm. Steady. You didn’t pull back. Your thumb brushed lightly across his skin, tracing the edge of one of his scars without hesitation.

“It’s not what?” you asked quietly. “Not what you think I want to see? Sal, I’ve wanted to do this for months.”

before he could say anything, you leaned in and pressed your lips softly gently against his. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was patient. the world could finally stop spinning just long enough for him to realize: he was wanted. Just like this.

Sal’s eyes widened, the warmth of your lips still lingering as you pulled back, close enough that your breath still ghosted across his skin. His ears were red. His cheeks too. He blinked once, then twice. “You… wanted to?” he asked, barely able to meet your eyes.

You smiled, so close he could feel it. “Of course I did.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at you, like he was still waiting to wake up from something too good to be real. Then, hesitantly like testing the weight of the moment Sal leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in return. This kiss was shy, soft, but undeniably him nervous, sweet, and full of something he didn’t quite know how to say yet.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead gently against yours. He was blushing furiously, but he didn’t hide this time.

“…I’ve wanted to too,” he admitted quietly

[saltcxrcle]

all alone? ── . ✶ ruby

summary: ruby loves popping in and bothering you at the most inconvenient times

pairings: bi! ruby 2.0 x bi! reader, ruby x gn afab! reader, mentions of samruby, implied future sam x reader warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', fem pronouns are used, mentions of blood, smut with very little plot, masturbation, use of vibrators, voyeurism (slightly dub-con), fingering, squirting, scissoring, some degradation mixed with praise, some aftercare, in the same universe as motel chats but can be read as a standalone, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own word count: 5.7k a/n: ofc my longest fic for spn had to be smut for ruby LMAO. anyways im a freak for ruby and this may or may not be a prelude to something else i plan to write (hint its mentioned in the fic). also i would add more warnings to this fic but i don't want to spoil anything :p anyways enjoy this you freaks <3 ruby masterlist

SOMETIMES, YOU WONDERED why you were even friends with the Winchesters. You were currently standing in the middle of a living room in this seemingly normal suburban house, covered in the blood and guts of the witch that the three of you just killed.

Well, it's more like she spontaneously combusted in front of you, and conveniently, Sam and Dean weren’t in the splash zone of her body imploding, so they were spared from being sprayed by her insides. 

There wasn’t any inch of you that wasn’t covered in blood. You cried internally about the chunks of flesh in your hair that you would have to wash out with the weak water pressure of the motel shower later. You were just somewhat glad that you weren’t sharing a room with the boys because you would use up all the hot water without hesitation. 

You looked at Sam and Dean—the latter looking like he wanted to laugh at the sight of you while the former had a sympathetic smile on his face at your current state. 

You heard Dean trying to stifle a snicker before he saw your fierce glare on him, pretending to clear his throat. 

“This funny to you Winchester?” You asked him with a raised brow, a plan formulating in your head as you slowly step toward the older Winchester. 

He shook his head, trying to keep a serious face on. “Nope, not at all.” Dean hadn’t registered that you were walking toward him, but Sam, being observant, figured out what you were going to do and took a step back from beside his brother. 

You sent him a smile full of mischief. “Then you won’t mind if I do this.” You quickly darted toward him and hugged him tight. 

Dean didn’t have enough time to move, so his shirt and flannel were getting covered in the witch's blood, making him groan your name out. Sam started to laugh at his brother’s misfortune, and Dean managed to peel you off after squirming in your grip, and it loosened after giggling at the sound of his whining. 

Dean registered that Sam was laughing at him and turned to him, a sly smile on his face. “Hey Sammy, can you come here for a second?” 

“I’m good right here actually.” Sam was by the front door, looking ready to run out of the house, not trusting the smile on his brother’s face. 

“Awe come on! Your brother just wants a hug.” Just as Dean finished his sentence, he rushed toward Sam. 

Sam acted quickly and ran out of the house, Dean’s boisterous laugh filling the air as he chased after his brother. You couldn’t help but smile at the sound. It had been a while since you heard him laugh so freely—the threat of Lilith and the angels had been hanging over the three of you for a while, so it was good to hear the brothers mess around a little and pretend that they didn’t shoulder the weight of the world on their backs. 

You looked around the trashed living room, the results of the chaos that occurred when trying to kill the witch. You sighed, your muscles ached, and you could feel the blood drying on your clothes and skin. You glanced around the living room one last time before heading out of the house and smiled when you saw that Dean managed to catch Sam in an embrace—Dean had managed to wrangle Sam’s tall frame into a headlock. 

You shook your head as you chuckled to yourself at the scene in front of you. You looked around the quiet and empty neighborhood, reminding you exactly where you were. 

You whistled sharply. The high-pitched sound caught the boys’ attention–their heads snapping in your direction.

“We should probably get going, the fight wasn’t exactly quiet.” You told them as  Dean let go of Sam, and he straightened up back to his full height.

They both nodded and followed you towards where the Impala was parked on the curb in front of the witch’s house. 

“Hey, could you try not to get blood on the seats?” 

“Shut up Dean.” 

Sam let out a little laugh at your and Dean’s exchange before the three of you piled into the car and sped away from suburbia and towards the motel you guys were staying in. You were pretty uncomfortable the entire twenty minutes you were in the car; the drying blood on your skin wasn’t a pleasant sensation. So when you arrived at the motel, Dean had barely parked the car when you bolted from the vehicle and to your room, eager to wash the blood and guts of the dead witch off of you. 

After you were done showering and getting dressed, Dean knocked on your door, asking if you were coming with him and Sam to the bar he saw driving in. 

You shook your head. “I’m good. Gonna have an early night in.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow at you before nodding. “See you in the morning then.” 

“See you in the morning.” You confirmed before the two of you traded smiles, and you closed the door with a soft click. 

You let out a small sigh of relief. As much as you loved the boys, you really needed time to yourself. Being confined into a singular room with them and without much privacy led you to feel pent up and sexually frustrated being around two conventionally attractive men at all times.

You weren’t blind to the fact that the Winchesters attracted women (and the occasional man) like moths to a flame. You would have definitely slept with either of them at this point in your years of friendship if you didn’t know any better—which you did. 

Which is why you wanted a room for yourself. You remembered the weird looks they shot you when you came back with two room keys instead of one. You explained that you wanted your own room for once and that the money you used wasn’t even yours, so you might as well use it before ditching it for another card. 

You made your way over to your bag, having left it out on one of the beds in your room, and grabbed the small drawstring bag that held your trusty vibrator and spare batteries. You tossed the small bag on top of the comforter before placing your duffle on the ground and turning off one of the two lamps that were illuminating the room.

You climbed into bed, getting underneath the duvet and thin sheet that the bed was draped in, grabbed the vibrator out of the bag it was in, and set it beside you.

You laid back and closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the mattress. Your hands that were lying idle next to you began to wander. Your fingertips skimmed across your bare thighs, slowly trailing up your leg, bypassing the thin shorts you were wearing and up to the hem of your oversized shirt. 

You let out a soft, almost shuddering breath as your hands made their way up your shirt and reached your bare breasts. Your eyes closed at the sensation of your hands caressing and squeezing at the flesh.

You pinched at your nipples, letting a quiet moan escape you at the spark of pleasure that zipped down your spine. Your underwear was slowly dampening with your arousal as you played with your breasts, the tension you were feeling melting away as you let desire overtake your senses.

One of your hands left your breast and made its way back down your body and underneath your underwear. Another moan left your lips as your fingertips brushed against your clit. You let your fingers swipe up the slick that was leaking from your slit and wet your sensitive nub before playing with it, rubbing at it with some pressure as you gripped your breast tightly in the other hand. The coil in your belly slowly grew tighter and faster than you had expected.

God, how long had it been since you were able to have some playtime by yourself? You couldn’t even answer your own question as lust clouded any other thought in your brain.

Harsh breaths were accompanied by low moans that escaped you as you rubbed at your clit and played with your nipple, but you didn’t want to finish so early, wanting to wring as much pleasure as you could before you went back to sharing a room with the Winchesters. So you stopped, you let go of your boob, and slowly retracted your hand from underneath your underwear.

You felt hot with the layers on you but didn’t mind it. You quickly grabbed the portable wand vibrator from beside you before taking off your shorts from underneath the covers—getting lost in the sheets somewhere.

You shifted further down on the bed, your head now resting fully on the pillows as you brought the vibrator down to your now slightly swollen clit. A rush of anticipation coursed through you as the soft silicone was rubbing against you. You rubbed the wand head through your slick before letting it rest on your clit and turning it on.

A soft moan left you as the wand vibrated on the lowest setting. You bit your bottom lip at the feeling, a sigh leaving you as you leaned into the sensations that the vibrator sent through your weeping cunt. You were so wound up that you didn’t really need to think about anything to try and get off, but it didn’t mean that your mind wasn’t going to conjure anything up.

You thought back on a wet dream that you had of Sam a while back. It was a little mortifying that you had it while sharing a bed with him (it may have caused you not to look him in the eyes for two days)—but you weren’t in bed with him now. Your lust-riddled brain didn’t care enough about your embarrassment of thinking about it at this very moment.

You don’t remember how the dream started, but what you did was fuel your craving and satiate your lust-driven hunger as you turned the vibration up on the wand.

Sam’s hands felt like they were everywhere as you felt his teeth nipping at the soft skin of your neck—driving into you with slow but measured thrusts, hitting your g-spot with precision.

"That feel good, baby? Like it when I stuff my big cock into your tight cunt?” Sam’s voice was dark, almost mocking you as the slapping of skin filled the air along with your whines.

Louder moans left your mouth as the vibrations surged through you, amplifying the pleasure that was flooding your veins. You could feel your body flushing with heat as you slowly began the descent into your orgasm.

“You feel so good around me. Gonna fill you up so much.” Sam groaned into your ear before it turned into a grunt, feeling you squeeze around him tightly.

Sam chuckled. “You want me to fill you up with my cum huh?”

You moaned in response, gripping his shoulders tight as he rammed into you. But a whine erupted from your chest when he halted in his thrusts.

He wrapped his free hand around your throat, your eyes flying open at the feeling, meeting his fiery gaze— a roguish smirk on his face.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, please Sam fill me up. I want it so bad.”

“Good girl.” Sam said before pulling you into a rough kiss and resuming his thrusting, going harder and faster than before—making a choked squeal escape your lips at how rough he was being, but you didn’t mind it for a second.

The coil in you was about to snap. You just needed a little more—

“Hmm, didn’t expect this when I decided to drop by.”

The sudden (and unwanted) voice in your room made you halt in your ministrations. Your eyes flew open as you dropped the wand in between your legs. You shot up from your position on the bed to see Ruby standing by the edge of the bed you were in with a sly smirk on her face—her arms crossed as her dark brown eyes looked over your hot and bothered figure.

A scowl made its way onto your lips. “What the fuck Ruby! Why are you here?”

The demon shrugged. “Well I was here to tell you some info I got on Lilith, but I see interrupted something.”

“You think?” You couldn’t help but grumble. The scowl was still ever-present on your face and deepened further at her words. “Couldn’t you have told Sam instead of ambushing me in my room? Besides, I thought he was your favorite out of the three of us.”

Ruby’s eyes glinted with amusement as her head tilted slightly. “I don’t have favorites, but I will say you climbed up the list from the other time I saw you.”

You knew exactly what she was referring to and narrowed your eyes at her, trying to ignore the fact that she ruined your orgasm and that you were half-naked underneath the blanket.

“Great! I’m so honored that I’ve climbed the ranks.” You snarked as you rolled your eyes. “Sam’s at the bar with Dean, you can tell him there.”

“But I wanted to tell you first.”

“Well, I’m a little busy.”

“Yeah, so busy.” Ruby scoffed at you, uncrossing her arms and settling one of her hands on her hip. “Getting off is a pathetic excuse to try and avoid me.”

Your jaw clenched. “Just get to the point Ruby so we can go our separate ways.”

Ruby pursed her lips before a sly smile grew on her face. “I tell you what I know if you tell me what you were thinking about when you were playing with yourself.”

“What the fuck? No! What is wrong with you?” You looked at her aghast.

Ruby just chuckled at your expression before taking off her leather jacket and starting to crawl up the bed. You couldn’t help but sit up as she slowly made her way to you.

“Come on, its a fair trade don’t you think?” She was on her knees by your side.

“I think our definitions of fair are very different. Besides, you came here to tell me something, not the other way around.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at you as she leaned closer to you. “You’re a real stickler for semantics.”

“Yeah, and you’re a real pain in my ass.”

Ruby chuckled again and leaned even closer to you, her breath fanning over your lips. “You sure know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“It’s not sweet talking when you’re a demon.”

“Really? Not sweet talking? Then why aren’t you leaning away from me?”

You swallowed thickly. You honestly don’t know why you weren’t revolted by the close proximity of the demon in front of you.

Maybe it was the familiar scent of mint, leather, and tequila that brought you back to the night when the two of you slept with each other for the first time, which made you not recoil from Ruby. Or maybe it was because you were still horny, and you had a feeling that Ruby wanted a repeat of what happened last time.

A beat of silence settled between the two of you. Ruby’s eyes flickered from your lips back to your eyes. You couldn’t help but do the same thing, focusing on the plushness of her lips. You remember how soft and warm they were against yours. You blinked before meeting her gaze once more.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” You breathed out before reaching up, grabbing Ruby’s neck, and kissing her roughly.

Ruby couldn’t help but smirk against your lips before kissing you back with the same intensity. She pulled away the duvet that was covering your bare legs before shoving you down back on the bed.

You were a bit breathless from the kiss but barely had time to catch your breath before Ruby’s lips descended back on yours again. Her tongue delved into your mouth, familiarizing herself with your taste again as Ruby slotted herself in between your open legs—her jean-clad center brushing against your bare core.

The harsh material of the denim brushing against your clit made you moan into Ruby’s mouth. Her hands made their way up your legs and to the hem of your shirt. Ruby made quick work of your shirt, her lips leaving yours as she aggressively pulled it off of you, leaving you completely bare to her.

Ruby’s eyes zeroed in on your pussy. It was practically glistening underneath the dim lighting of the room. Her lips quirked up into a smirk before leaning down and pressing her lips against your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin—Ruby’s hands caressing your sides and hips before trailing her lips over the smooth skin of your breasts. She bit lightly at the swell of you breast before she slinked down your body, wet kisses following in their wake.

Your breathing became labored as Ruby reached your cunt. Her kisses were light and teasing in between the soft skin of your inner thighs. She kept you distracted with her teasing kisses. Ruby grabbed the vibrator you were using early and turned it back on, the low hum grabbing your attention.

Your eyes fluttered open, and before you could say anything, Ruby put the silicone head against your clit—a low moan replacing any words that would have fallen from your lips.

Ruby pulled away from your thigh, eyes flickering between your face and leaking pussy. She turned it up to medium speed, a louder moan leaving you at the more intense sensation running through you. Your once-ruined orgasm came hurdling back, the coil winding tighter and tighter and threatening to snap.

“You going to tell me about what you were thinking about earlier?.” Ruby hummed out.

“Y-you mean before you so rudely interrupted?” You could barely spit the words out. Pleasure overwhelmed your senses. “N-not going to h-happen.”

Ruby let out a low chuckle, moving the vibrating head from your clit and running in through your wet slit, lubricating it. “Should’ve known you were going to be stubborn about it.” She murmured before ripping the toy away from you completely.

A frustrated groan left you as you squeezed your eyes shut. This was the third time that you were on the cusp of an orgasm, and honestly, you were close to just pushing Ruby away and doing the job yourself. There was no way you were telling her anything about what you were thinking about.

“The sooner you tell me the sooner you can come.” Ruby was rubbing the slightly slick head of the toy in the crease of your hips. She could tell you were wearing down on the idea, so she put the toy back on your clit.

A pleasure gasp left you. “I- fuck. I was thinking about the last time we slept together.” You were not going to tell her the truth if your life depended on it.

Ruby laughed softly. ““Hmm, I’d be flattered if you were telling the truth.” She moved the toy away from you again before moving up your body, stopping when her clothed figure was draped over yours.

“Tell me the truth and I’ll make you come. It’s as simple as that.” Ruby had a saccharine smile as she batted her eyelashes almost coquettishly at you.

Your lips twisted up in a snarl, irritation flooding your features as you stared at Ruby.

“I bet you were thinking about Sam fucking you.” Ruby’s words made your stomach twist.

You cleared your throat roughly.” How did you-”

“Spells come in handy babe.” Ruby winked at you before moving back down in between your legs again.

You vaguely remember Sam mentioning who Ruby was before she became a demon, and you could only imagine what she did to know what you were thinking about. You jumped at the sudden sensation of buzzing again your already abused clit.

“Was Sam eating you out? Or was he fucking you?” You couldn’t help but clench around nothing at her words. You had no idea why this kind of talk was turning you on so much.

Ruby nipped at your thigh. “Answer me.”

You let out a moan at the familiar words. “Shit, h-he was fucking me.”

“Mmm, hard and rough right? That’s how he usually fucks me.” The sudden image of Sam and Ruby fucking increased the pleasure you were feeling. A keening whine erupted from your chest at the feeling of Ruby’s fingers filling you alongside the toy that was pressed hard against your sensitive nub.

“Ooh, you like that? Do you like the thought of me and Sam fucking each other? Oh who am I kidding, I can feel you clench around my fingers like the whore that you are.”

Ruby’s dexterous fingers were able to find your g-spot with ease and hit it with deadly accuracy. You could feel an unfamiliar but not unwelcome pressure building in your lower abdomen. Your moans echoed throughout the room, along with the buzz of the vibrator against your swollen clit.

“So needy, wanting to fuck me and him at the same time. I bet Sam would like the idea of you joining us.” Ruby cooed, but it almost fell deaf on your ears as your orgasm was building and threatening to spiral out of control.

“I can see it now, Sam fucking you from behind as you eat me out. Or you sitting on his face as I ride him. It sounds like a whole lot of fun to me.” A wide grin was on her face as Ruby felt you squeeze her fingers hard as moans tumbled from your lips.

The scenarios that Ruby was describing were vivid in your mind. The pressure in your abdomen burst, and you all but shouted in pleasure, your orgasm blinding any and all of your senses.

Ruby let out a breathy laugh at the sight of you squirting—soaking the toy, her fingers, and your thighs. She kept moving her fingers in and out of you slowly but removed the toy from your clit and turned it off, tossing it on the other side of the bed.

You could faintly feel a dampness between your legs, but you paid no mind to it as you tried to recover from the pleasure overload you just experienced. You’ve never come that hard before, and it took you a bit to try to calm down. You heard rustling coming from Ruby, but you ignored her as you inhaled deeply and exhaled shakily.

By the time you recovered and peeled your eyes open, you were met with the sight of a nude Ruby hovering over you. You took in her vessel’s tanned skin that was dotted with beauty marks, matching the ones on her face.

“Like what you see?” Ruby teased as her lips brushed against yours.

You didn’t bother with replying, not wanting to give her any kind of satisfaction of a response. Instead, you lifted your head up to capture her lips between yours. It was a softer kiss compared to the ones you shared earlier, but it did the job.

Ruby sunk into the kiss as you reached for her waist. One of your hands made its way up her back, scratching it lightly before you grabbed some of the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled at it. She moaned lightly into your mouth as the two of you kissed.

Ruby pulled away from the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip before removing herself entirely from you. She sat up and grabbed your left leg, moving it so your legs were wide open and maneuvered, so she was almost straddling your leg, but you understood her intention immediately.

Before she could place her pussy against yours, you brought up your hand and rubbed at her wet slit. Fuck she was soaked. You immediately inserted two of your fingers into her.

Ruby let out a husky moan at the feeling of your fingers filling her up, and you pumped them in and out of her a couple of times before she swatted at your hand, making you retract your hand from within her.

You let out a small laugh before it turned into a moan as Ruby placed her wet cunt against yours. She let out a satisfied sigh at the feeling of your pussy rubbing against hers. Ruby started a slow grind against you, moans and whines leaving the both of you as the two of you scissored.

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good against me.” Ruby’s voice was thick with pleasure as her hips started to pick up speed. “We need to do this more often.”

You couldn’t answer her but grabbed her hips to help her move against you. You slapped her ass before gripping it tight and trying to create more friction for the two of you. The two of you were uncaring about how loud you guys were as the both of you surrendered to the desire running through your veins.

Although Ruby was feeling her orgasm building, she felt like something was missing. Her eyes went to the toy she just used on you earlier before meeting your eyes. You caught on to what Ruby wanted, so she stopped her movements so you could grab your vibrator.

Once you did, you turned it on—Ruby lifted her hips from yours so you could place the toy in between the two of you before she lowered herself again.

“Fuck!” You and Ruby exclaimed simultaneously. Your moans got even louder with the added addition of the vibrator in between the two of you. You held on to it while your other hand rested on her hips—Ruby’s hands were on your left leg, using it as leverage as her hips moved rapidly.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” You managed to say in between your moans. You could feel the familiar coil winding up in your abdomen.

Ruby nodded. “Fuck, yeah same m’close.” She started to grind harder against you and the toy, sending more heat down your spine, and the tell-tale sign of your orgasm was soon approaching.

“Come with me.” You said as you squeezed her hip hard, your nails biting into her skin. The sharp sting of pain sent a bolt of pleasure down her spine as she nodded.

Ruby’s hips began to stutter and falter as her orgasm hit her, but she was able to keep moving against you, and you soon followed her; your grip on the wand fell. Your and Ruby’s moans filled the motel room as you came together.

Ruby was barely able to lift herself away from your soaked overstimulated pussy. She fell on top of your relaxed leg, pinning it to the bed as you fumbled with the vibrator, just barely mustering up the ability to turn it off.

The room felt warm as labored breaths filled the silence between you and the demon. After Ruby caught her breath, she lifted herself off of your leg, and when she looked back, you were fast asleep. She let out a low chuckle at the sight of you.

Ruby got up from the bed, grabbed your vibrator, and went into the bathroom, cleaning herself quickly and the toy before using a warm, damp washcloth and going back into your room and cleaning you up. You barely stirred as she did, and once she was done, Ruby moved you to the spare bed in your room.

Her stare lingered on your serene face before shaking her head. If Sam’s puppy dog eyes couldn’t make her cold body feel warm then she couldn’t make an exception for his friend. Ruby quickly left your room, trying to drill into her mind the real reason why she was there and “helping out” the Winchesters. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun with you and Sam before everything unfolded.

BONUS!

⤷ Sam’s POV:

Dean had ditched him at the bar, finding someone to go home with the night. He had tossed him the keys and sent him a wink before following the brunette that captured his attention for the night.

Sam shook his head at his brother, but he was glad that he could sleep in a bed tonight and not in the Impala. Soon after Dean left, Sam didn’t feel the need to stay at the bar any longer, so he made his way to the Impala.

Sam secretly wished that you had come with them so he didn’t have to deal with Dean alone, but he understood why you didn’t come after Dean told him when he got back in the room they were sharing before leaving for the bar.

The drive to the motel was pretty short, and Sam was ready to relax and decompress from today’s events. He made his way to his room, glancing at your door briefly. He was debating on knocking on your door but refrained, knowing that you were tired from the day that you had.

Sam unlocked the room, stepped into the dimly lit room, and closed the door behind him. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the edge of the bed next to him as he sat down—the bed spring creaking under the sudden weight. He laid back on the bed, attempting to sink into the stiff mattress before letting out a low sigh.

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to rest for a bit—Sam wasn’t in a rush to get ready for bed since he didn’t have to fight for the shower with Dean.

The room was relatively quiet, save for the occasional car driving down the street. Sam could feel the exhaustion pulling at him, and as tempting as it was to succumb to the feeling, he wanted to shower the day off.

But before he could get up from the bed, a muffled moan caught his attention. Sam sat up slowly, his brows furrowing at the sudden sound. But it shouldn’t surprise him that people were having sex in this motel and the fact that the walls were thin enough to hear the noises.

Another moan filtered into his ears. It was louder this time and seemingly closer. He shook his head and went to get up from the bed before the moans grew louder and louder, and he realized it was coming from the room next to him. Your room.

His eyes widened. Oh. Sam thought as he tried to ignore your whines through the thin walls of the motel rooms. Is that why you didn’t want to come with them to the bar? Because you needed to relieve your sexual frustration, and that’s why you got a separate room from them? Now your shortness with him and Dean made more sense.

Sam’s mind ran through these thoughts as the moans kept growing in volume. A sharp squeal echoed into his room, and he couldn’t help his body’s reaction to the noises coming from your room, his cock hardening in his jeans. Sam knew that he should stop listening in and go into the bathroom and take the coldest shower to man until you eventually stopped or fell asleep.

But his slightly inebriated state didn’t want him to move from his spot. He swallowed hard before unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. Sam barely pulled down his jeans and boxers—just enough to pull his cock out, now fully hard and beginning to leak precum.

Sam spit into his hand before slowly stroking his length. A low sigh left his lips as he fell back onto the bed. Fuck you sounded so good. His eyes closed involuntarily as his eyes provided him images of you splayed out on the bed, playing with your pretty pussy— it had to be. There wasn't an inch of you that he didn’t admire— a groan left him as his hand slowly sped up, letting the lust he felt run through him and warm him inside and out.

Then there was a loud shout of pleasure before there was a lull of silence in the room, making him halt in his stroking—his hand still on the base of his cock. Sam had to strain his ears to try and hear your low voice through the walls, but couldn’t decipher what you were saying. Did you have someone else in the room with you? He couldn’t help but feel a spark of irritation at the thought as envy filled his veins.

“Fuck!” He heard you exclaim through the walls. It sounded louder than it should have, but then a higher-pitched moan came through the wall. Why did it sound familiar? The thought was a fleeting one before he started to fuck his fist again.

Sam expected a deeper moan following what he assumed to be your noises, but it was a more feminine moan that came after yours. Sam’s face flushed with heat, and thrusted into his hand harder when he realized that you were with another woman. Shit, that’s hot. Fuck I wish I was in her room watching them right now.

The moans grew louder and louder, and Sam could feel his orgasm fast approaching—his dick was twitching in his hand, and more precum trickled from his tip and down his length, using it as a lubricant along with his spit.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Sam heard you say through the wall.

“Come f’me pretty girl.” Sam murmured in response. He felt his balls draw up as his abs clenched in anticipation—feeling his pleasure zip up his spine.

A low grunt left his lips at the sound of your keening whine that practically reverberated off the walls and directly into his ears. Warm spurts of his cum coated his hand and some landed on his lower stomach—Sam had managed to pull up his shirt right before he came. He was grateful that he did, not wanting a ribbing from Dean the next time they went to do laundry.

Sam laid down on the bed for a moment, trying to recollect himself. Both rooms were silent, so he assumed that you and your partner for the night had fallen asleep.

Sam got up from the bed, tucking himself back into his pants, and quickly made his way to the bathroom. He hastily stripped off his clothes and got into the shower, trying to ignore the guilt that was settling in his gut as he cleaned off his cum and the rest of the day off.

Post-nut clarity was a bitch.

[zodiallyradical]

johnny cade x reader smut w squ!rt!ng?

NEW DISCOVERIES//Johnny cade x f!reader

synopsis-in which, you and Johnny discover your special talent

warnings-unprotected sex, p in v, squirting, praise, porn with a little plot, sweet confused moments.

ask and you shall receive! thank you sm for requesting!

a/n-this picture of Johnny makes me wanna pounce at the screen. also anon, i hope you’re okay with the direction i took with this one, im rereading it now and i hope you like it :((

You and Johnny were hanging out with the whole gang, laughter and chatter filling the air. Dally and Johnny were deep in conversation while you and Ponyboy teased Two-Bit. It was a Friday, and with your parents out of town, you didn’t have to worry about getting home on time or school the next day. You let Ponyboy take the lead in teasing Two-Bit, who was currently caught in a headlock. As you glanced around, your gaze landed on your boyfriend, Johnny Cade. You had been together for nearly two years, and you admired his figure as he leaned back on his hands, chatting with Dally. You had never felt this way about anyone before; his gentle touch and passionate lovemaking were unlike anything you had experienced. Your thoughts began to drift as you took in his slender frame, fully aware of what was beneath. He had both ravished you and treated you like the most delicate porcelain doll. But tonight, you weren’t in the mood to be handled with such care. You felt a surge of desire.

A mischievous smile played on your lips as you locked eyes with Johnny, waiting for him to notice you. When he finally did, a shiver ran through him at the sight of your expression—it was different from your usual warm smiles, lacking the sweetness and innocence he was accustomed to. It took him a moment to realize what it meant: you wanted him. The way your eyes gazed up at him and the hint of your teeth sent a rush of desire through him. Without hesitation, Johnny stood up and approached you, extending his hand. Once you were on your feet, he turned to the group and declared, "Well, I think that's it for y/n n’ me." You all exchanged goodbyes before you and Johnny hurried out the door, not exactly discreat.

"They know we’re not stupid, right?" Two-Bit chimed in, and the rest of the gang nodded before returning to their chatter.

————————

The walk home felt endless, but as soon as you crossed the threshold of your front door, Johnny's lips were on yours, his tongue exploring your mouth while his hands pulled you closer; one handful of hair, and one handful of ass.

Somehow, the two of you found your way to the bedroom. As you finally paused to catch your breath, you felt your sweater being torn away, followed closely by your skirt and panties. Standing there, completely exposed, Johnny showered your body with kisses. "Damn, you're so beautiful, baby," he murmured, his compliments mingling with your soft moans that filled the air. After a few moments, he laid you down on the bed and began to undress himself.

While everyone else saw Johnny as the shy, non-confrontational type, you were familiar with this side of him—the gentle yet passionate man who couldn't resist you. You were his baby, his sexy baby. The heat from your earlier make-out session had already left you wanting more, and the sight of Johnny positioning himself between your legs only heightened your desire. He glanced up at you, seeking your approval, wanting to know if you craved this as much as he did. You nodded, sensing the anticipation building: you both had shared countless intimate moments before. He was tender as he aligned himself with you, but then he thrust into you with a force that took your breath away. He didn’t hold back.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust as you arched your back, reaching for his shoulders. He lifted your legs, positioning you in a way he loved most; he enjoyed watching your breasts bounce and seeing the expressions on your face change with each thrust. A strange sensation stirred in your stomach, but you dismissed it, attributing it to the butterflies of excitement. Johnny pushed deeper, craving the tightness of your walls; the way you squeezed him with every thrust drove him wild. "That's it, baby, let me take care of you," he murmured breathlessly. His words contrasted sharply with the force of his movements. The feeling in your stomach persisted, but you brushed it off, thinking it was a sign that you were close to climaxing. Johnny leaned down, planting soft kisses on your neck, and that was the moment you reached your peak. Your back arched in a way you had never experienced before, and Johnny was right there with you, not far behind. It felt like a balloon had been filled with too much air and it popped….everywhere. “Uhhhh, y/n?” “y-yeah?” You tilt your head down to see Johnny’s lower body covered in liquid. A blush immediately erupted on your face as you tried to cover your eyes. “Johnny, I am SO sorry”

Johnny couldn't help but be a little taken aback at the sight before him, his expression was a mix of surprise and something else he couldn't quite place. But amidst the initial shock, he quickly remembered how much he adored you, even in this shocking moment. With a tender smile, he gently reached out to brush a strand of hair out of your face, his touch filled with affection. "Did that feel good?" he asked softly, his voice holding a hint of both concern and curiosity. You nodded a little shyly, still trying to come back to reality. Johnny laid himself next to you, silent. You felt more embarrassed than you ever had before, even when you and Johnny slept together for the first time. “Y-yeah, it did.” Johnny smiled a sly smile before speaking again, “good, ‘cause I loved it.”

hey! I realized that i really like writing plot to things and describing things so i tried to shorten this post a little bit. Please let me know if you prefer either style!

[aychama]

So writing is really really hard and my friend adviced me to just give you guys my ideas instead of writing a big fic for it and Im gonna do that!

And gonna at the little bit of writing I did at the end!

Royal Au Narilamb's first intimate night together

-The kisses to give Lambert the crowns power brings them intimately closer as rime goes by, Lambert tries to initiate it more, make it last longer and Narinder never turns them down or pushes them away.

-Lambert is clearly in love but denies it

-Because of pent of emotions the intimate kissings buil up, Narinder goes to a brothel to wind down instead of risking it with Lambert. He thinks that it's unfair of him to put them in this whole situation in the first place.

-Lambert sees Narinder getting into the brothel and gets extremely jealous and angry about it

-Days pass, Lambert goes back to the land that was given to them to govern and ignores Kings letters

-Narinder visits Lambert in an angry fit, demands the reason why they would ignore a kings letter and threatens that he could send them to jail for it

-They get angry again but they don't have any crown power left in them because they used it too much after seeing Narinder in the brothel so they feel weak

-Narinder kisses them and gives them power only a little bit to keep them up and expects them to explain their situation after feeling better

-He stays in their place? Mansion? -Lambert is not rich idk what to call it, a big place where they govern their land- and later Lambert visits Narinder at night to finally confront him about it

-Lambert confesses that they were jealous and asks him why he would go to a brothel when they were right in front of him. Cornering him on the couch he was sitting in. He says "I thought you didn't enjoy our...times...together. Since you even said it scared you of what would happen if we didn't do it."

So Lambert screams with their face completely red. "Argh are you really going to make me say it?! I'm jealous ok?! You go and sleep with others and I... Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check while kissing yo-"

-Narinder accepts the invitation. Lambert realises how much Narinder has been holding back as he hungrily kisses them, the two stumble to the guest bed and he rips apart Lambert's top.

-But just before they can fully get into it, the two half naked, someone knocks on the door and tells that Heket is on the move and their plan to take her down needs to start

-Narinder hesitates but after hearing Heket's name, he leaves Lambert

-Plot with heket happens and she dies but Lambert is injured

-Narinder does his best to heal them after they are brought back to his castle, to his room, they share an intimate moment where Narinder traces Lambert's fresh and old scars while healing them and in that intimate, alone moment Lambert asks if they are allowed to continue from where they left off

-and boom. They share a soft, passionate and gentle night together.

SO YEA. Writing all of this would kill me so you guys have to wait for it to be turned into the comic!

Here is what I have written so far. I dont think I will continue but yea! Have at thee!

●

A kiss. It was supposed to be simple.

Lambert just needed to kiss Narinder somewhat often so that the crowns powers inside them wouldn't turn them into a crazy blood thirsty maniac.

When such a thing was on the line, Lambert thought it would be easy. A simple kiss with a King they were active betraying, actively giving out information to his oldest sibling about what he was doing.

To be fair, Narinder was attractive... extremely. To Lambert, at the very least.

And yes their heart fluttered everytime they saw him, everytime he touched them, everytime they stared into his eyes.

Everytime they kissed him. But it didn't mean anything.

The kisses started out simple enough even though it was hard for them to initiate it first because Narinder refused to "force himself" on them due to the nature of their positions. It almost felt like he felt bad about putting them in this situation.

It didn't seem like that when he was constantly sending them out to deadly missions though...

But still, kissing on the lips, although it was to transfer power solely, was an intimate gesture. No body could fault Lambert for accidentaly prolonging it for just a few more second, just a few more pecks.

Aside from the kiss, the power also tasted sweet so it was impossible for them to not seek it out. It wasn't their fault! And it certainly wasn't because they had feelings for him. No way! It was the nature of the kiss, doing something like that with any random person would make you act like this if you did it too much! Lambert was sure.

And it's not like he couldn't stop them either. He could push them away like how he did at the start when he thought they had enough. But as time passed, he stopped doing it. Maybe he didn't care anymore or maybe...

What confused Lambert the most was the anger they were feeling that day. When they saw him walk into a brothel.

They thought,

"Maybe he is here to gather information. Yea, that must be it. Brothels are full of pent up people willing to spill out all of their problems after all."

So they hid and waited outside.

It...took some time...

But when he walked into the balcony, half naked, hair messy with a smoke in his hand, it felt like a punch to the gut. Stronger than any punch they had ever felt.

It was the second time in Lambert's life that they felt this kind of anger. So hot their thoughts melted together. So hard their teeth must have hurt from the pressure.

But this time they knew not to stay and let their anger do something they could never take back again.

So they left.

Walked into a forest and screamed their lungs out.

And they cried.

They were confused. Why were they feeling like this?

They needed to get these feelings out. OUT.

They let excessive amounts of the power they were given out in a burst. It looked like a curse Narinder had shown them once. Crushing force that broke everything around them.

The leaves and dirt of the forest were tossed around in chaos as the rocks and trees were torn to shreads.

Their mind started to clear up when their breathing sounded less like a dying animal.

His lovely unpleasant voice rang in their ear 'You need to learn how to control your anger.'

They broke the rock in front of them into pieces.

.

.

.

When they came back to their King given land, it was Ruri who greeted them.

"L-lambert! What happened to you?!" Was the only thing they listened to. They didn't answer and just let her tend to their wounds.

.

.

.

It had been days since their discovery of Narinder's... whatever it was and their outburst to it.

They decided that tending to their people and their needs was a better use of their time instead of constantly feeling a mixure of intense feelings. They had land they controlled now and people to take care of. Something they weren't really good at.

Thankfully Ratau was here to help them.

"This isn't how you should respond to this request Lambert." Ratau sighed for the fifth time that day and handed back the letter to Lambert.

Lambert grunted.

Ok maybe working wasn't the best idea to get rid of their already existing negative feelings.

---

[writingduhh]

ok so, say youre one of the tgc member’s sibling (preferably younger) right. ok so.. youve been messing around with isaac and nobody knows. but BOOM, said tgc member finds out (how? its up to u)

idk if u write smut but if u want to make it smut, go ahead. idrc. im js into the plot!

WAIT YES I LOVE THIS OMHHHHHH

I’m gunna go with Nick being the sibling (I feel like it’s more dramatic that way) and the reader in this is Fem! But feel free to change it! I hope you enjoy!!

Caught || IsaacWhy

You never meant to fall in love with Isaac.

He was supposed to be off-limits. All his friends were off limits. As were you. They were way too closely tangled up in your brother’s world.

But somehow, in between shared glances and late night conversations that bled into sunrise, the lines blurred. And then one night … One perfect, terrifying night — they disappeared completely.

Now it’s been months. Months of sneaking around. Of whispered phone calls, of slipping through back doors, of pretending nothing was happening when Nick was around. And yet… somehow through all the hassle and fear, it was worth it.

Because every time Isaac looked at you like you were the only thing he saw, you forgot to be scared. Every time he touched you like you were made of stardust and miracles, you forgot the rules. The risks. The consequences.

Like now.

You were curled up on the couch at his place, the one he barely let anyone into. But somehow gave to you like a second home. The curtains were drawn. The world outside didn’t exist.

You were in his lap again, his hands tracing soft patterns over your back, your lips brushing his between lazy, melting kisses.

“Mm,” he murmured, smiling against your mouth. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

You laughed softly. “Why?”

“Because every time you kiss me like that, I forget we’re lying to everyone we care about.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned your forehead against his, fingers brushing through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I hate hiding it,” you whispered. “I hate lying to Nick.”

“I know,” he said, pulling you closer. “I do too.

“But I love you more.” The words came out before you could second-guess them.

Isaac froze. Just for a moment and then kissed you, not urgently, but slowly. Deeply. Like the words had been stuck in his throat too.

“I love you too,” he breathed. “So much it scares the hell out of me.”

You smiled into the next kiss, your heart full and aching all at once. “We’ll tell him. Soon. I promise.”

He nodded. “Just… not today.”

“Not today,” you agreed, and kissed him again.

This time it wasn’t slow. It deepened quickly, hunger pushing aside hesitation. Isaac’s hands tightened on your waist, and yours slid under his hoodie, fingertips skating over the warmth of his skin.

“God,” he groaned, lips trailing down to your neck, “how the hell did I get so lucky?”

You grinned, breath catching. “I ask myself that every time you look at me like that.”

“I could stay like this forever. “You,” he murmured between kisses, “drive me absolutely crazy.”

You smiled against his lips, hands tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “It’s not. It’s so not.”

You ended up on the couch, your legs straddling his lap, your fingers knotted in his curls as his hands settled on your hips like he’d done it a thousand times,

And with that, he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, his hands sliding up under your shirt, his touch warm and reverent. Your bodies moved in sync, heat building in the softest, sweetest way. His lips were on your neck again, teeth just grazing skin.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he mumbled, voice thick with want. “Like embarrassingly.

You laughed breathless right as he nipped playfully at your shoulder.

“I’m serious,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you. “I don’t care if we have to fight the everyone. I’m not hiding this anymore.”

You smiled, ready to kiss him again—

The door opened.

“Yo, I forgot my—”

Nick.

Time stopped.

You didn’t even have time to move before Isaac reacted instinctively stepping in front of you, shielding you with his body like his first thought was protect you.

Too late.

Nick was frozen in the doorway, keys in one hand, face slack with disbelief.

The silence stretched like glass about to shatter.

And then it did.

Nick’s voice was low. Dangerous. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nick—”

“No. Don’t ‘Nick’ me,” he snapped, stepping inside and slamming the door. “What the hell is this?!”

Isaac stayed where he was, blocking you from view, but his voice was calm and steady. “Let me explain.”

Nick’s jaw clenched. “Explain? Explain?!” His eyes flicked to you, then back to Isaac with a sharpness that stung. “You knew. You knew siblings were off-limits. We talked about this. You knew.”

“It’s not like that—” Isaac started.

“No?” Nick stepped closer, furious. “Then what’s it like, huh? Sneaking around behind my back? Making out with my sister on my couch?”

Isaac’s hands flexed at his sides. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t want to lie. But I love her. And I wouldn’t hurt her.”

Nick’s face twisted. “That’s exactly why we made that rule. Because people say that and then they screw it up. And you—you’re my best friend. You think I wanna watch you ruin the person I care about most?”

“I’d never ruin her,” Isaac said, voice low and intense now. “I’m not some mistake or rebound. I’ve loved y/n since before I even admitted it to myself. And I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

Nick turned to you. “Is this what you want? Really? You trust him with your heart?”

You swallowed hard, voice soft but firm. “I already gave it to him.”

Nick exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut.

“This is why I didn’t want this to happen,” he muttered, backing away, pacing now. “Because now I have to choose between being mad at you and losing both of you.”

“You don’t have to choose,” you said, stepping beside Isaac, no longer hiding. “You just have to believe that he loves me like you do.”

Nick was quiet. Just breathing hard.

Isaac spoke gently now. “I know you’re angry. I’d be too. But I swear to you, Nick — this isn’t just something I’m playing at. I’m in this. All the way. I love her. And I want you in our lives — not cut out of it.”

Nick looked at the both of you.

After a long (and honestly awkward) but genuine conversation — with real questions, a few jabs, and Nick demanding “no graphic details, please” — things were… better.

And for the first time, you didn’t have to hide.

So when the group got together that night, Nick stood beside you both, arms crossed, the unofficial spokesperson for this now “revealed” secret.

[komorebinked]

⋆౨ Tacit ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

desc ✦ when you come home falling apart, soaked from the rain and too tired to explain, he doesn’t ask. he simply stays. listens. holds. loves.

word count ✦ 5.1K

what to expect? ✦ second person pov, porn with plot, no Y/N usage, fem!reader, hurt/comfort, all lowercase (i got lazy im sorry)

warnings ✦ body dysmorphia, implied eating disorder, metaphorical body horror imagery (NO EXPLICIT GORE), oral sex (f!reader receiving). if any of these things concern you or you worry it may trigger something in you, please click away! :(

a/n ✦ this is my first time writing angst and publishing smut so please go easy on me 💔

it was 6:47 PM. gyeong-seok had gotten home a while ago, having picked up na-yeon from her mother’s house. he waved, said goodbye then got on the bus. he pulled his phone out to send you a text.

“picked up na-yeon ❤️ do you have anything you want to have for dinner? :)”

delivered appeared at the bottom. he smiled, remembering the conversation the two of you had on the matter. you were telling him about a friend of yours who kept complaining whenever you would leave them on delivered. you told him that you only did that because you had no idea what to even text back or because you simply had a life outside texting. apparently, your friend didn’t get that. neither did gyeong-seok—but in a much different way than your friend did.

he said that sometimes when he’d text someone, the bottom of his messages would either say sent or delivered. he never knew what the difference even was, or if it even mattered. you laughed, thinking about how adorable it was that he didn’t know. of course he wouldn’t. he only just got a hold of using his phone properly (or efficiently), it made sense that he wasn’t aware of certain terminologies. you even tried getting him on instagram once, to post his artwork on that platform. he seemed shy, saying that he’ll give it a go next time, that he thinks he has yet to perfect his paintings. that man, you thought, such a perfectionist of his works.

but that was a few hours ago; currently, na-yeon was asleep in her room while gyeong-seok sat on the sofa of your apartment, which he had moved into eight months ago after you complained about having so much space but never having anything to fill the rooms. 

the room that you never used and only gathered dust, was now a room for na-yeon to sleep in. the pantry you had, now had a variety of different snacks; some were na-yeon’s, some were yours, some were his and some were for all of you to share. it was a nice touch. it made you feel more at home.

gyeong-seok was more grateful than ever for your soul. you were so kind and sweet to him, offering him and his daughter a nicer place to stay, and helping him with his daughter’s treatments, even if the two of you have only been going out for a year and a half. it meant a lot to him. he didn’t think he’d ever find someone who would accept him, flaws and all, problems and all. there was absolutely no doubt in his heart that you were the right person for him, which is why he worries about you sometimes.

he worries that, behind your kindness, behind your soft exterior, was someone who just wanted to be treated the same way.

sure, you were open to him. told him your problems, your issues and whatnot, but they were always just the lighter ones. he didn’t know if you were simply an unproblematic person—or if you still hesitate to share your feelings, even with him.

there would be times when your whole mood would change. but it was never anything drastic. just you being quiet. so quiet. with a blank expression on your face like you were thinking of something, something that was bothering you. that bothered him. he never forced you to do anything, let alone tell him anything, so to help you open up, he’d do small things like.. sharing his problems, telling you stories, his insecurities, his desires, his wishes.

but every time he thinks you’re about to tell him what’s on your mind, it’s like you get reminded of something and quickly change the topic and the expression on your face.

gyeong-seok had a feeling that this night was one of those many.

he glances up at the clock, which reads 6:58 PM. he reaches for his phone on the coffee table, pressing the power button to see no new messages from you. you told him earlier this morning that you’d be home by 7:00, and you’d send him an update-text beforehand. but you didn’t. did your phone die? what happened?

his finger reached up to hover on the call button.

should he call you?

maybe you’d think of him as clingy if he did. he is clingy, but he doesn’t want to annoy you because of it, especially when you’re visiting your family. you wanted to bring him with you at first, wanted to introduce him to your parents and your cousins. it would be a great step forward in what you have together, but for some reason, you didn’t. he didn’t think much of it. he just figured that maybe it was too early to have that leap—too early for you. that’s all he cared about. ever since the two of you started dating, he made it clear that you would do things at your own pace. not his. he wanted to make you feel loved and cared for, especially with this being your first serious relationship.

he was snapped out of his little thought bubble when he heard the sound of muffled keys rattling outside the door. that was probably you, he thought. a smile faded into his lips. oh, he couldn’t wait to see you. every night, he always waited to see you. he stood up from the sofa, walking behind it and towards the door to greet you.

when the door opened, you were soaking wet from the rain.

his smile immediately faded into a look of concern.

“oh, honey..” he quickly took your hand and pulled you inside, closing the door behind you and clicking the lock. “did you not bring an umbrella, what happened?”

“i left it behind,” you murmured, your voice stoic.

he frowned, taking your shoulder bag and laying it down on the floor next to you. “you should take a shower, darling, you must be..” his hands ran up your arms, you feel the warmth of it through the sleeves of your top, “cold..” he says.

your gaze dropped to the floor. all you wanted to do was crawl onto your bed and sleep like a baby all night. today was a long day—and he could tell. but he didn’t know exactly if this was just you being stressed over taking a vacation leave from your job or if it was something else entirely.

“have you eaten dinner?” you spoke up, your breathing was unsteady.

he shook his head. “no, i was waiting for your message in case you wanted anything—” he glanced into your eyes, brushing over the strands of your hair that clung to your forehead, “but don’t worry, na-yeon already had her dinner. her mother took care of it.”

you simply nod, mustering a weak smile, stumbling your way forward. he was going to catch you when he watched you take another step forward. it must be the cold affecting you. he went to your side, his hand on your waist as he guided you forward.

“are you heading to the bathroom?”

“mhm..”

“i’ll get you a towel and some warm clothes, then.”

“thank you..”

he glanced at you, but you seemed to have your mind on something else. there it was again, he said to himself. something was bothering you.

you made your way to the shower while your lover busied himself with finding clothes for you to wear. you start to feel your body grow heavy. a fever is imminent. you start to unbutton your top, starting from the highest button.

the sound of the door knob twisting behind you made you jump, turning around to see it was just gyeong-seok carrying the garments and towel he promised you. he looked up at your startled face, chuckling softly. “it’s just me, honey..” he said, placing them on the sink counter. you let out a sigh of relief, going back to unbuttoning your clothes under the warm light of the bathroom.

he watched you struggle before walking over to help you.

“do you want some help?” his tone was calm and reassuring.

you nodded. his hands came up to replace where yours were, his gaze met yours. he still seemed hesitant to take your top off, just like when the two of you slept together for the first time. you found it adorable, how gentle and caring he was with you.

a smile formed on your lips as you rested your palms on his hands as a way to tell him that you’re okay with it.

gyeong-seok leaned forward to place a shy kiss on your knuckle after which he began to undo your shirt. he was careful, up until the very last button. then, he slowly pushes your arms back to pull your shirt down. your breath became a little more unsteady as you avoided his gaze, avoided looking at your body in the mirror. once your shirt was off, leaving you in your brassier, he tossed it over his shoulder and went down to kneel in front of you. you were thankful that he didn’t pay much attention to your bare torso.

you took a deep breath, which made him look up at you.

“is this okay..? can i take this off?”

you hesitated. “i.. uh..”

he could tell that you wanted to tell him something, your lips parted as you thought of the next words that were going to come out of your mouth.

“do you want me to turn arou—”

“did i gain weight?”

he suddenly stopped. a bit dumbfounded by your question. he just stared at you at first, processing the situation. maybe this was your way of opening up.

“did someone..  say something like that to you?” he asked gently and for a moment, you actually felt the seams of your interior start to fray. sniffling, your vision began to blur. the familiar sting of unshed tears welled in your eyes.

gyeong-seok’s expression softened when he realised what was happening. he quickly got up from his knees and cupped your face. “oh, angel..” he cooed. you feel your throat constricting, like you couldn’t breath, “you’re okay.. i’m here.” the memories were all coming back to you. you were glad that you chose not to bring your lover with you to that stupid gathering, but a part of you was regretting that visit altogether.

his hand trailed down your cheek to rub your arm.

“darling.. talk to me.”

you wanted to. but how would you even say it?

the words. they played on loop in your mind, like a broken record stuck on the cruelest parts. the glances, the hushed whispers, the sharp-tongued comments. the way they picked apart your outfit.

“did you gain weight? you look a lot fuller than before.”

gyeong-seok tries to get you to look at him, his fingers tilting your face to him but it was like you were in a daze. your tears spilled over your lashes. he feels his heart clench, gosh, he hasn’t seen you like this before.

you shook your head, trying to get rid of it—to not let it get to you. you were letting yourself go before you even got married—that you were never gonna get married. no one was gonna marry someone like you. and in the blink of an eye, you were back to being 13 and picking at your skin in the mirror.

who am i if not kind?

that was your only redeeming quality. your kindness. everything else, you thought, were unreformable. your face, it was too wide. your stomach, too much was spilling. your eyes looked wider than an owl’s. how could you ever not let it get to you, when a nagging thought followed behind?

“darling, hey.. can you hear me?” his voice was ever so calm.

what if gyeong-seok thinks of you the same way?  it made your left hand reach over to your right arm, your nails digging into your skin. the idea seemed to claw its way deep into your head.

“hey.. hey, don’t do that—” he tries to brush your hand away, but it just came up to pinch another spot, “stop that. you’ll hurt yourself.”

what if he’s just with you out of convenience? what if he only wants your kindness, not you? it made you sick, like you wanted to throw up—throw up everything you ever ate. maybe then you’ll learn to lose a couple pounds.

your sobs became louder, your fingers clenched around your wrist. you wanted to rip your body apart, reshape every edge, then sew yourself together—so tightly that nothing would spill over. gyeong-seok pulls your hand away from your arm, placing it on his shoulder instead. his hands were warm, steady—one resting on your back, the other cupping your face. you wanted to say something, but the words tangled in your throat.

“if you need to pinch something, pinch me, alright?” he said, in a firm yet loving manner. he didn’t want you to hurt yourself. whatever your past was, whatever was going through your head at this moment, he was determined to stay by your side.

with your eyes too wet to see, you simply closed them, allowing your head to fall forward on his shoulders as your sobs began to break free. you were shaking. he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from your crying. either way, he wasn’t gonna let you go anytime soon, but he also knew that you needed to take a warm shower. any time later and you’d catch a fever, that is, if you don’t already have one.

“darling..” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss onto your hair, “do you want to talk about it?”

you barely moved your head, just enough to say no. the weight of it all was still heavy for you—you needed time to calm down and collect yourself so you could tell him properly. so that he could understand.

“yeah. that’s alright..” he brushed your soaked hair back, “but.. you might need a shower, though. can you do that for me? a warm shower might help to clear your thoughts,” he says, making you pull your head back from his shoulder. he smiled. even with your face all flushed from sobbing, your eyes red and your cheeks stained with tears, you were still so beautiful to him.

“okay..” you responded, your voice sounding hoarse and dry. yeah, you were definitely going to get sick. gyeong-seok didn’t seem to mind though, that meant he’d have an excuse to look after you and spend time with you.

he nods, “great, i’ll get the water going. you can take your trousers and undergarments off while i’m at it, yeah?” he leaned forward, kissing your forehead before stepping towards the shower.

he turned the shower knob to the right, adjusting the temperature with his fingers.

you watch him from behind, taking your bra and then your trousers off but leaving your panties. you didn’t want to be.. fully naked in front of him. not right now anyway. you were still a little overwhelmed. stepping into the shower with him, he feels your cold presence which made him turn around. “is this a good temp’?” he asked, carefully taking your hand and pointing the tip of your index finger to the water.

you nodded, smiling weakly at your lover.

“okay, i’ll leave you to it then.”

gyeong-seok gave you a gentle peck on your hair, running his fingers through before making his way out of the shower, unexpectedly being stopped by you grabbing onto his arm. his eyes landed on yours, an eyebrow raised.

“please.. stay..”

his brows furrowed, a bit puzzled at your words. did you.. mean what he thought you meant? “i’m not going anywhere, honey. i’m just going to the kitchen, if that’s what you meant—” he turned his body around, his hand taking yours that was on his arm to interlace your fingers together. “is it?”

“n.. no,” you sighed, your lips still quivering a bit.

he tilted his head to the side. “do you want to shower together?”

your eyes met his, as if to say yes, but he needed more than that. he needed your word. “i need to hear you, is that a yes?” he asked, squeezing your hand ever so slightly. you look down at the tile flooring, nodding your head, “y.. yes. please.”

“of course. all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”

with that, he closed the shower door behind him and tucked a strand behind your ear. “gosh, you’re beautiful..” he smiled, he couldn’t help it. if he could, he’d just pamper you with compliments all day. actually, maybe he will try that some day.

you mindlessly pull his hand up, your lips pressing softly on top. gyeong-seok just stood there dumbfounded for a second, shaking his head. “ohh.. you,” he didn’t get a chance to do anything in return as he watched you take a step back, your eyes fluttering close while the warm stream of water hit your back. you got startled at first, before you realised it was warm.

“it’s warm, remember?” gyeong-seok chuckled. you open your eyes to see him pull his shirt off over his head. you’ve seen him without a shirt multiple times before, but never in this lighting. never under the dim orange lighting, with the glass wall of your shower all fogged up.

his broad shoulders, his biceps that you loved to snuggle up to in bed. his muscles that weren’t overly defined, but you knew could effortlessly carry you if he wanted to. then your eyes travelled to his chest, toned but not exaggerated. he was beautiful too. you wondered if he knew that.

lucky for you, he hadn’t noticed you staring, having been too preoccupied with unbuttoning his jeans. once he did, he looked up at you once again, like he was asking if it was alright with you.

“you know that we’ve slept together before, right?”

there it was. your silly attitude that he loved so much. “i know. i just want to make sure that you’re okay with someone stripping in front of you.”

“that someone is my lover,” you corrected him, “if anything, i want to see you like this.”

“oh? you do?” a cheeky smirk made its way to his lips as he pulled off his jeans, leaving him in his boxers, “that’s something.”

you let out a soft laugh, making him glance up at you. your mood seemed to be improving, that was good. he needs to keep you like that. “you know,” he started lowering his jeans down, the burgundy coloured garter of his boxers coming into view, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were ogling.”

your eyes slightly narrowing, you crossed your arms. “i was not ogling,” oh, you most definitely were now. gaze tracing his pants, the way he was sliding it down. lower, and lower. letting out a shaky breath, you closed your eyes for a second. calm down.

“uh huh, right..” he teased, tossing his trousers up his shoulder. his arm reached out to push the shower door open.

“where are you going?”

a soft laugh escaped his lips. “i’m gonna go get a towel, honey. ‘won’t be long,” he reassured you, giving you a gentle smile before stepping out.

you stare blankly at where he was for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you scoffed. won’t be long.. won’t be long—he was teasing you, like a father soothing his child on the first day of school. you turned around, leaning forward into the steam to allow the water to wash over you completely. 

the warmth soaked your skin as your mind began to wander back to that house. no. you weren’t gonna let it bother you all night. what were you thinking of anyway—visiting? never again. at least, not alone anyways.

your arms loosened, falling to your side. you turn your head up, feeling the light tickle of the shower stream on your face. you tried thinking of something else, anything else. your thoughts drifted to something.. different, almost involuntarily. the image of your lover, hands gently loosening his trousers, that stupid coloured garter. you tried to shake the thought away, but it clung to you like hair stuck to your forehead when you got a little.. too.. hot.

finding your hands trailing down your stomach, you try to ignore the part of your head that was reminding you of your visit earlier. you imagined it was his, it was him touching you like this. you could get him to do that, but he was taking too long with that damn towel.

you open your eyes, looking down at your hand. where it was. just below your stomach. gosh. the things this man made you do, and he didn’t even put his hands on you. a sigh through your lips as you leaned your head back, suddenly feeling warm skin behind you.

“oh, what the hell—” you jumped, turning around to see it was just gyeong-seok, his arms up with a look in his face that you could already tell was regretting sneaking up on you like that.

he swallowed. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to.. i—.. you were.. in the middle of something…” he explained, but you just chuckled, “i didn’t want to interrupt but you said you wanted a shower together.”

a smile played on your lips, shaking your head as you pulled him by his hands closer to you, his hair slowly getting soaked. “you didn’t interrupt.. trust me.”

his eyes remained locked on yours, a gentle curl on the edges of his lips. you watched as a bead of water pooled in the dip of his collarbone; slowly did it overflow, eventually trickling down his midriff. this time, he definitely caught you staring.

you feel his index finger pointed to your chin, tilting your head up. “eyes up here,” he said, his joke catching you off guard. a scoff came out of you as you gently pushed him away. “you ruined the moment..”

“oh, i’m sorry.”

“no.. don’t apologise.”

“.. okay.”

gyeong-seok hummed a quiet laugh as he stepped forward again, his arms pulling you towards him. “better?”

you narrowed your eyes.

“better.”

now it was his turn to scoff, making you smile even more—one might even say you were beaming at him. he tucked a loose, wet strand of hair away from your cheek, cupping your face with one hand. “you realise how beautiful you are, right?”

you closed your eyes. “alright, don’t start pampering me with good words now. i’m not in the mood for that.”

his eyebrows raised.

“then what mood are you in?”

you look up at him. does he know what he’s doing? breath hitching, your lips parted as you tilted your head to the side.. slowly, your palm pressed to his chest, you leaned in to close the space between you. when your lips met his, it felt soft as ever. making him use a chapstick paid off, you thought.

he felt a bit hesitant at first, not sure where this was going. when you slightly push yourself against him though, that was the hint he was waiting for.

oh. that’s what she wants.

a hand coming up to the back of your neck, he pulled you closer, his lips finally moving against you in a rhythm that nearly felt addictive. he pulled away for a moment, eyes meeting yours only to kiss you even more under the warm stream of water. you had no idea if it was the steam getting to you, but you felt a lot hotter.

you stumble, your back hitting the cold tile wall of the shower, before your head could do the same—the hand on your neck went up to cushion the hit. you smile against his lips which made him ease away, his face slightly pink. he looked so adorable, with his hair dripping looking like a lost puppy for you.

“‘you okay..?”

“mhm..” you hummed, nodding your head.

he returned your smile. instead of going back to your lips however, you feel him nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. his breath warm, you exhaled slowly as he places a kiss on your skin. then another. and another.

your hands found themselves holding onto his shoulder, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“so beautiful.. so sweet…” you hear him murmur against your neck.

his kisses were nothing but soft.. yet needy—not once did you feel him suck, like leaving a hickey. he was being so gentle with you. he switches his head to the other side, making your eyes flutter close as he peppers that side with more kisses.

his other hand travelled down your shoulder to your stomach, tracing circles before making its way to the supple curve of your breasts. he squeezed gently, dragging out a whimper from you.

“i’ve barely done anything, sweetheart..” he teased.

your scrunch up your face in frustration. “you know what you’re—...” you cut yourself off as you watch him leave kisses in his wake until he reached your breast. he stuck his tongue out at the peak, taking it in his mouth and swirling it around. you looked away, trying to bite back a moan but failed miserably.

“hm..” gyeong-seok hummed.

then, you feel his mouth leaving your tit. you whine at the lost contact, your eyes blinking open. you see him slowly kneel down in front of you, kissing your stomach, your lower abdomen before reaching your panties.

right. you haven’t taken them off yet. at first, you just simply didn’t want to, now you were glad you chose not to so he could remove it for you. and remove it, he did. hooking his fingers under the band before pulling it down to your ankles. you raised your leg up slightly, one after the other, making it easier for him to discard it on the floor next to him. “why’d you keep it on..?” he asked, his tone ever so sweet.

you tried to speak but no words came out of you. not right now, not when he’s in front of you like this. kneeling, on the hard tile floor just for you. you simply stare, no, ogle him as he leaned forward to press a kiss on your folds.

lips parted yet again, you tried to tear your gaze but you couldn’t. he parted you down under with his tongue, dragging it to that small bundle of nerves, his saliva mixing with the shower water and your slick. you shifted above him, moving your pussy on the bridge of his nose. “oh.. fuck. sorry..” you cursed, reaching down to brush his hair back, “y-you look so… handsome..”

“only for you, darling,” he said. his hand reached up to rub your wrist, “do pull on it if you want, dear. yeah?”

you feel a daze coming over you, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to keep your cool.  “ah.. uh huh.. s-sure.” he gently squeezed your hand, guiding it to his scalp before settling his own on either of your thighs, spreading it. you followed, slowly sliding your feet to spread yourself.

he leaned forward, gathering spit on his tongue before licking you up. you hissed, your fingers curling around his hair. “oh.. go-od..” you moaned.

he closed his eyes as he took your clit in his mouth, eating you out like it was his dinner for the night. his tongue moving in a circular motion—burying himself further, you feel him protruding your slit. you let out a soft gasp.

“o-oh—baby.. s.. uhh.. mm..” you whine, your hips jerking forward which made him press you back on the wall to get you to stop moving. he pulled away for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with his chin shiny from the mix of spit and slick.

“are you okay? was that okay..?” he asked, his thumb soothing over the bone of your hips.

you nod, combing his hair back.

“i need to hear you, honey.” 

you swallowed. “y-yes.. it.. it felt good.”

“may i do it again?”

“please..”

you didn’t need to tell him again before he dove back in. you looked up at the ceiling above you, closing your eyes again as you felt his tongue in you. a breathy moan escaped your lips, then one a pitch higher when his nose brushed hard against you. he was lapping at you like he’d been craving you for days. your walls clenching around his tongue, making him flick his tongue up your clit. it was no surprise when soon you felt a knot forming in your stomach. one that was no stranger to you.

you feel yourself arch instinctively, trying out his name on your lips again. a warning, perhaps, but it didn’t really matter as the second one came out broken. caught in a moan as you ground yourself by gripping his hair tighter. that heat. it builds up fast. fast and sharp, you can almost feel it pooling in you. you didn’t even know how long it has been, probably not even that long before your body tenses as you gave in.

slowly opening your eyes, you glanced down at him, but he was already looking at you. he gently withdrew, pressing soft kisses on your folds. “what a sight..” he murmured, a lazy yet satisfied smirk curling at his lips as you feel his thumb rubbing on the skin of your thigh.

your eyes narrowed a bit, breath hitching with your lips parting as you let out a weak whine from the lack of him down there. still feeling that fluttering feeling inside your stomach, your hand ran through his hair again as he started peppering kisses up your body.

a soft noise, nearly a whimper, from you when he reached your collarbones. now that he was standing straight in front of you, he gently took hold of your palm. “what is it, darling?” 

you shook your head.

“no. don’t be like that, tell me what you want to do. i’m here, and i won’t do anything until you tell me to,” he squeezed softly, placing a firm kiss on your knuckles, “do you understand that, honey?’

you let your head fall forward on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

“i just.. really—i need..” you stumble over your own words despite neither of you being in a hurry. he hushed you, pulling you in a hug. “oh, shh.. you’re okay. i know, and i got you.”

those were all you needed to hear to know that no matter what words spew from others, he’d always be there for you. his sweet little angel. also you probably should turn that water off. bills aren’t cheap!

a/n 2 ✦ hihihiii!! i hope u enjoyed that fic. im sorry it took so long for me to finish and publish this. i know this might be a downer note or something but i got SA’d a while ago and have been having a hard time trying to finish or process anything that’s.. you know. sexual. i was gonna go deeper with this fic but i really couldn’t, i hope u guys understand :’) anyway, have a great day!! <3

also im like lowkey on a lewis pullman grind lately thanks to thunderbolts*. if ur also on that train, hmu w some requests! not smut preferably. im already working on some fluff though :D

[harrystyleshotwife]

Hi, I kinda have an idea I’ve been tossing around, briefly considered attempting to write it myself, but yeah, I’m not great at pulling plot twists, etc, so Im throwing it out here, maybe you can do it justice! First, I have to say that I absolutely MUST have a decent degree of angst - but nothing too bad that it seems too unforgivable, because a happy ending is nonnegotiable (well, for me anyway, those are my own personal rules).

So MC is a single mom with a baby/toddler, and for whatever reason she’s had to move to a new town where she doesn’t really know anyone, so to make new friends she joins a mommy/me playgroup - where she meets Gemma & her baby girl and the two are instant friends, which is how she’s eventually introduced to Harry. Of course their chemistry is off the charts, resulting in a strangers to friends to lovers thing. BUT, at the time he’s just stared filming DWD. And here comes the angst…because Olivia def had her sights set on Harry & shes just manipulative enough to play dirty for what she wants…and after Harry turns her down or whatever by explaining that he’s kinda seeing someone, who Olivia finds out is you & she ain’t having it! It’s only after she overhears Harry talking to someone about Y/N, how they met, the mommy group, etc…there’s her in - she immediately signs up for the play group but with a plan: get rid of you by sewing discord by any means necessary, befriend Gemma so she can get to Harry….so, yeah. That’s all I’ve got so far, do with it what you will ;)

Strangers, Playdates, and a Bit of Trouble

Warnings: nothing but angst basically

———

The move was supposed to be a fresh start.

She kept reminding herself of that as she unpacked the last of the boxes in her tiny apartment, Ava babbling to herself in the corner while scattering puzzle pieces across the floor. No one told her starting over would feel so lonely. She loved her daughter more than anything, but the silence that filled the space when Ava napped? That silence hit different.

It didn’t help that she didn’t know anyone here. No family nearby. No friends. Just her, Ava, and a GPS that still got her lost half the time.

So, when she stumbled across a post about a local mommy-and-me group, she didn’t hesitate. She figured it’d be good for Ava—and maybe even good for her, too.

The first meeting was overwhelming in that overstimulated, sticky-hands, Goldfish-on-the-floor kind of way. But then came Gemma.

Warm, welcoming, and refreshingly blunt, Gemma immediately made her feel seen. The two moms clicked in that way that mattered—through shared exhaustion, similar routines, and toddlers who instantly became best friends. There were coffee dates, long talks, laughter that felt like exhaling after months of holding her breath.

Everything started to settle into place. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was drowning.

Then, she met him.

It was meant to be a normal drop-off at Gemma’s—Ava and Lily having another playdate—but Gemma wasn’t there. Her brother was.

She knew the name before she saw the face. Harry Styles. And yeah, she’d seen the photos, the articles, the internet chatter. But none of it prepared her for how normal he looked standing barefoot in sweatpants, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he opened the door.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough from sleep. “Come in. They’re inside—tearing the place apart.”

He was easy to talk to. Surprisingly so. They ended up chatting longer than they needed to, and when it was time to go, she didn’t really want to leave.

He started showing up more after that. Always casual. Friendly. Sweet with the kids. He and Ava got along like they’d known each other forever. But beneath it all, there was something unspoken building between them—long glances, lingering touches, conversations that went a little deeper than they probably should’ve.

It turned into something before either of them said it out loud.

A quiet night on Gemma’s back porch, stars overhead, both of them just sitting there after the kids fell asleep. He kissed her like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. And she let herself believe, for the first time in a long time, that maybe something good was happening.

But things got complicated fast.

Because a few weeks later, he left to film Don’t Worry Darling.

And Olivia Wilde noticed him.

At first, it didn’t bother her. She trusted him. He texted every night. Called when he could. But then things started to change. The calls got shorter. The texts less frequent. He was tired. Busy. “Just dealing with stuff on set,” he said.

She tried to be understanding.

Until Olivia showed up at the mommy group.

Smiling. Effortless. Charming in a way that felt too polished.

“I just moved to the area,” she said sweetly. “Figured this group would be a great way to meet some moms.”

And she was nice—too nice. Overly friendly. But there was something in her eyes that felt off. Calculated. The way she glanced at her. The way she mentioned Harry a little too casually in front of the others.

It wasn’t long before things started shifting.

Other moms began treating her differently—standoffish, subtle judgment in their glances. Whispers that stopped when she walked into the room. Gemma seemed distant too, like she wasn’t sure what to believe.

She confronted her.

“What’s going on?” she asked one day after group. “Everyone’s acting weird.”

Gemma looked uncomfortable. “Olivia’s been saying stuff. I don’t know how much is true. She said… she and Harry had a thing.”

Her stomach dropped.

“She said what?”

“That you were just a rebound,” Gemma said quietly. “That he’s been seeing her. That he never told her about you, or Ava.”

It felt like someone knocked the air out of her.

She didn’t believe it. Did she?

But the doubt was there now, whispering in her ear.

So she called him.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

No answer.

She stared at the phone for a long time, wondering how something that felt so good could fall apart so quickly.

She didn’t want to fight.

She hated fighting.

It started with a text.

From a number she didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this. He told me you weren’t serious. I never would’ve let things go that far if I knew you had a baby at home.”

– O

She stared at the message for a long time. Long enough for Ava to pull at her sleeve, long enough for her stomach to twist and turn until the room felt too small.

It was a lie. It had to be. But the doubt hit her like a sucker punch.

Because Olivia was calculated like that. She didn’t make moves without motive. And this? This was intentional.

She texted Harry. Can we talk?

She didn’t expect a reply, because he ignored her calls just hours earlier.

But he showed up. Hood up, cap on. Eyes tired.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping inside. “You look—”

“Did you sleep with her?” she cut in, voice sharper than she wanted, but trembling with restrained fury.

He froze. “What?”

“Olivia. Did you sleep with her?”

His brows pulled together. “No. What—where is this coming from?”

“She messaged me, Harry.” She shoved the phone toward him, her chest tight. “Said you told her we weren’t serious. That you didn’t even tell her I had a kid.”

He read the text, jaw locking as he passed the screen back to her.

“That’s bullshit,” he said tightly. “I never said that. I didn’t touch her.”

“Then why does she think you did?” she demanded. “Why does she know anything about us at all?”

“Because she overheard me talking about you!” he snapped, more frustrated than angry. “She put two and two together and decided to blow it up. That’s what she does. She twists things.”

She stared at him, voice hollow. “And you didn’t think to tell me she might try something like this?”

“I didn’t think she’d go that far.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich. Because I did. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I watched her embed herself in my life—my friends, our group—just so she could come between us.”

His expression shifted, like he finally realized the damage that had been done.

“Hey… look at me,” he said, stepping closer. “You know me. You know I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“But you didn’t tell her about me,” she said softly, wounded. “Not really. Not when it counted.”

“That’s not true.”

“She knew I existed. But not who I was to you. Not enough for her to back off.”

“I kept things quiet because I didn’t want to bring attention to us,” he admitted, eyes pleading. “Not because I was hiding you. I was trying to protect what we have.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who’s been protecting it?”

That landed.

The silence that followed was thick. Harry stepped back like the weight of it was too much.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said quietly.

She swallowed hard. “Maybe you can’t.”

Ava’s laughter rang out from the other room—completely unaware, beautifully innocent.

Harry’s eyes flicked in that direction, then back to her. “Please don’t shut me out.”

“I have to think about her,” she whispered. “About what kind of environment I’m bringing her into. I can’t have this chaos in her life.”

“I’m not chaos,” he said, brokenly. “I love you.”

“I want to believe that,” she said, voice cracking. “But right now, I don’t even know what to believe.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push.

He just nodded—defeated.

And then he left.

⸻

For three days, they didn’t speak.

She cried more than she’d admit. Ava asked where Harry was every morning, and she had to smile through it, lie through it. She missed him—ached for him—but her pride wouldn’t let her reach out.

Then Gemma showed up on her doorstep.

“You’re both being idiots,” she said, blunt as ever. “He’s miserable. And you’re in love with him.”

She didn’t deny it.

“You don’t walk away from something like this,” Gemma added, softer. “Not when it’s real. Not when you know he didn’t cheat.”

⸻

When he finally came back, it wasn’t with flowers or some grand gesture. He just stood at her door, exhausted and quiet.

“I was scared,” he said. “Of screwing it up. Of not being good enough for you—or for Ava.”

She stepped aside, let him in. They didn’t say much after that.

They didn’t have to.

⸻

Eventually, the truth came out. Olivia left the group. Left the movie early, too—something “schedule-related,” the press said. But they knew better.

Gemma apologized. The other moms softened again. Life slowly, slowly began to feel normal.

And through it all, Harry stayed. And that was all she needed.

[br4tphobia]

# — 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 !

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! : 1.6k wordzz, connie x black fem ! reader, shorttt, proof read? nah. reader is wearing a sundress obvi, petnames (princess, ma/mama, baby ) you/your pronouns useddd 𝐍𝐒𝟒𝐖 + unprotected sex (condoms yall condoms!!), con talks you through yo orgassmmm, smut with not much plot obvi, fingering (f received) boob suckinn, choking, cowgirl, tummy bulgeeee, car sex, missionary, and dirty talk as always!!

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! : oh did i tell yall this from experience? yhh 🥴 (NO THAT NIGGA DID NOT NUT IN ME.) @digitalreblogs here bby!!

a sigh fell from your lips, you miss him already and its only been an hour. you cant be this hooked onto this boy! right now, youre on the phone with your friend, liv. telling her everything that happened last night when he came over. until you get another notification from him, immediately making you smile.

“girl why is he tellin me to get readyyy!” you laughed at reading out the message connie sent you to liv. “girll get ready right neow!!”

“i sho am, hello??” you prop up your phone as liv watches your scavenge through your drawers and closet, you was becoming upset about having nothing to wear until you found this sundress, it was simple and cute, you could style it with anything. but you only threw a simple jean jacket ontop with your favorite fair of fuzzy slippers.

“oo shit girl you look cutee!”

“furreal? bc if im lookin bummy and you let me leave like this imma beat yo ass.” you’d pout, liv laughed. “puhleasee girl y’know i would nevaa”

“yeayeaaa..”

you stared at him coming closer on maps, which made your stomach sink deeper. “boo im kinda scared” — “why?? all that nasty shit yall did last night, you wasnt scared then?”

“girl. thats the point!” hearing another laugh from liv, “im sure youll be fineee.” — “girl i hop—“ the sound of your doorbell rung throughout the house, you swear your heart dropped to your ass. “what happened???” her eyebrows pinched together in confusion, “hes here girl.. ill call you back!” — “oh! ok have funnnn”

you both shared your goodbyes as you rush to the door, not hesitating to open it. “hey princess” a small smile was on his face, “hi con” he went in for a hug, your gladly took that offer, his cologne clouding your nostrils. he smelt good (like always.)

connie led you to his car, opening the door for you.

once he got in his eyes are immediately on you. the way the dress hugged your body perfectly, displaying every curve and dip. it wasnt long before he pulled over by a curbside.

you notice connie eyeing your beautiful physique again before unbuttoning his pants. “c’mere.” his voice was deep, seeing his semi-hard sitting in his boxers, which made you not hesitate to climb onto his lap, immediately having his lips touch yours. your tongue running over his as you both roam your hands on eachother. you feel his hands pull your dress up to your waist as he started playing with your clothed clit. humming out in pleasure. trailing down your neck with kisses, all you could do is grind on his lap waiting for the main thing you wanted. he knew it too although he wanted to make you wait.

“c-con..” his fingers playing through your folds making you choke on your words. “you can wait.” inserting his middle and ring into your slicked sex, earning a moan out of you. already going to work inside your walls, with his thumb reaching up to rub your clit. you reach your hand down to his now-hard dick, stroking him a few times, hearing connie let out a groan. his fingers still pumping and scissoring inside of you so good youre damn near riding his hand. letting out honey sweet moans in his ear, muffling them in the crook of his neck. you curse at his sly fingers bringing you closer to the edge with every flick of his wrists. “g’na cum already? youre getting wetter princess..” you felt embarrassed, how he could turn you into

“y—yes oh my god..” bucking your hips against his fingers eagerly for your orgasm inching closer to you, “cmon..give it to me, pretty.” his voice caressing your ears, hearing his cute sounds as you jerk him off slowly. “like that! shitt” your head flew back with a string a moans from your throat.

“a little more..fuckk” youre pulsing on his fingers, feeling your release coming. “make a mess, mama.” connies voice triggering your orgasm, gripping on his shoulders as he talks you through it. whispering sweet nothings in your ear while kissing on your neck. “fuck..con..” broken whines passing your lips, coming down from your high. “there you go..” his thumb still rubbing your pretty pearl, your cum stained thighs shaking from overstimulation.

“ready mama?” you didnt know what he was talking about until your felt his tip slide through your wet folds. a small gasp left your lips as you immediately hum a response. “words, princess.” — “mm…yes” you can feel him smile against your neck as he inserts his tip, holding a grip on your hips to help you sink down on his 7 inches, you both sharing a moan.

sitting there for a while to adjust to his size, his hands slid to your ass guiding you. “ouu shit..” your back arched, your breasts so close to his face. he just cant help but tug the upper part of your dress down and take a nipple in his mouth, suckling on it like there was no tomorrow. adding more sensations throughout your body, bouncing on his dick with his hand slapping your ass — he wishes he could see the ripples display like water waving.

“fuck...” your arms sat around his neck, head lowered right by his ear so he could hear all your sweet sounds he loves oh so much. the way your tongue carries the vowels of his name will never be attractive to him.

he started to thrust up into you a bit, his tip kissing your cervix sweetly as you already feel your second orgasm approaching. “shit g’na cum again ..” another pornographic sound leaving your mouth, along with your nipple leaving his.

“my godd..” you slow down, basically grinding on him to ride out your second high. “shit.. mama.” he’d groan with his head burried in the crook of your neck, feeling his breath fanning. he pulled away and pecked your lips before you started riding again, overstimulation clouding your mind, but it feels so good you cant stop.

“yo shit so creamy ma.. fuckk” groanin back into your neck as you continue your pleasing motions. you know hes about to cum by the way hes panting and getting louder. “cmon make cum princess..y’know how to fuck me..” moans and groans are sharing together throughout the car.

it wasnt long until you felt his cut spurting inside your walls drawn out with a groan. humming at the soothing feeling, cock warming him for a while before he slapped your ass. “get in the back.” a smile crept on your face as you pulled his dick out of you, seeing a thick ring around his shaft. a few droplets of his seed dripping onto the arm rest while climbing into the back seat before laying down. connie, who is trailing behind you.

“whatchu smilin fo’?” — “oh n—nothing..” he slid his tip inside you, causing you to choke on your words once again. a small laugh erupting from his chest.

his hips met the back of your thighs with your legs on his shoulders, “ouu shit..” gripping on his bicep with his strokes deep and slow, already hitting your g-spot deliciously. “you like that? when i fuck you deep like this?” your eyes rolling at his voice, “yes! yess fuck..” he leans down and touches his lips with yours, immediately swirling tongues around eachother, moaning in his mouth as you feel his thumb on your clit.

“oh shittt” muffled into his mouth, he pulled away and started speeding up his thrusting. aiming for the roof of your pussy, seeing a tummy bulge appear. your moans turning into a silent scream as you grip on anything in reach. connie only watches in awe on how he could please you so good.

only thing heard is the squelching of your pussy, along with small gasps and moans. he knew he was fucking you good and loved it, seeing every facial expression on your face. your brain feels like mush, your mind only on him and his dick. “mmm dont stop..! cumming again!” that signaled him to go deeper, with his hand slithering around your throat, holding a small grip.

“baby..baby! ohh my goddd.” — “i know, i know.” slowing down his thrusts, rolling his hips into yours with passion. “y’so wet mama..” followed with a small moan from him. you swear youre seeing stars, slurirng your inaudible words. “wanna gimmie one more? i know you can princess.” you hum out another response just you have your face grabbed, “words” — “y—yes.. i can.” your voice cracking as you focus on your pleasure. sticky lips parting to let out the sweetest sounds hes thriving on. running your hands over his skin layered with thin sweat ontop.

“fuckfuckfuck..” cursing at the rhythm of his pace, you can feel it near, its so far yet so close. “dont stop dont stop dont fuckin’ stop..” you both maintain eye contact, his are low — heart eyes would appear if they could. “you so pretty ma..” a another smile, showing off your pretty whites with your mouth forming into an ‘O’ soon from the spots hes hitting. “mmmfuhhck!” your wrap your arms around his neck, staring into his pretty hazel eyes.

“m’close baby..” — “yea? cmon princess, im there with you.” he switches both of your legs on his right shoulder, hitting the perfect spot you never knew existed. the wet sounds of your pussy growing louder by the second along with your whines. “hold out f’me.” — “i gotchu, mama.” cursing under his breath as he removes your arms and holds your hands. “a little more m’soso close..” your whole body feels like jelly, every stroke is like small sparks of electricity that pushes a moan out of you every time.

“shitshitshitt m’cumming..cum wimmie please..” pulsing around his dick, with the ring around his shaft thicker. he gave you a few more thrusts before sinking into you, you knew he was cumming the way you both shared moans together.

he kissed you, before he pulled out. “sorry. you look good s’all.” panting as you look at him with disbelief, only to see a goofy ass smile on his face.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

hey! im sorry to make another post like this, but i feel like i need to say some things. because honestly, if i don’t, i won’t be able to move on from it.

further text under the cut because i don’t want to flood your feed with this

when i posted that anon message, i wasn’t expecting.. well, anything, really. i just felt very awful, i dumped my feelings out because i got emotional and i was ready to just delete this app and not come back. i thought, okay, that’s it, i embarrassed myself for the last time, im done. but when i came back, suddenly there were all these kind messages from people telling me they care, and i think it’s only because of you all that i’m still here. you all mean so much to me, i don’t think i’ve ever felt this supported in my entire life. i don’t know what i did to deserve this kind of kindness, but it means everything to me. so thank you, thank you so much to everyone who didn’t just walk past me when i needed it the most, i really needed to hear that. i cant help but smile when reading your words. i appreciate each of you.

the truth is, that anon text hit me like a knife to the chest. and i hate that it did. i hate that i let a random person make me feel sick about my own hobby, my own blog and everything i’ve ever shared here. but the thing is i’ve always felt this way. hesitant, always unsure if i even have the right to take up space here, i guess a lot of that comes from the friendships i used to have.

because ive always been that friend. the one who listens, who gives. who’s always there when someone needs to vent, to cry, to talk about their passions, struggles or random thoughts. and i never minded, i loved being there for people. but when i tried to share smth about me, it was always met with indifference. like what i had to say wasn’t worth anything. and after years of that, i started believing it myself. even now, posting this, i still feel awkward. like, it’s hard for me to even write this without thinking, should i delete this before anyone sees it? that’s where the anxiety comes from and it’s smth im still working through

so when that anon said what they did, it was like hearing all of my worst thoughts spoken out loud. as if they reached inside my brain, pulled out every insecurity i’ve ever had, and threw it right in my face. ive always felt like im being too annoying. i know i post a lot, but every time i cant help but feel so cringe about it. and i fight it because i dont like being constantly embarrassed for just being myself, but it’s exhausting.

so yeah, when i saw that message, i just felt so damn embarrassed about everything, like i was making a fool of myself this entire time and just didn’t realize it and i hate feeling that way.

and the part that really got to me was the comparison. it hurt more than anything, it made me feel like no matter how hard i try, ill never be enough, that all the effort, all the time, all the small moments of pride i let myself have were just misplaced. i know I’m not perfect, i know there are better writers, faster writers or just people who seem to create more interesting ideas or plots or describe characters way better, but i didnt mind? i mean i was just trying to find space where i can express myself without fear, but then that comparison just made me feel so sick of myself. like “oh look, they’re better, so mb you should just give up.” it made me feel like i don’t have the right to take up space here at all

its hard to explain, but that comparison just made me feel like i was less than

i wouldn’t say i’m a perfectionist, but i am very critical of my writing. i put a lot of effort into my stuff, especially since english isn’t my first language. it’s twice as hard to make sure my sentences are right, that i didn’t mess up the grammar, that i used the right words. and when you pour so much effort into smth and then someone just comes and shits all over it, it kills any desire to create or continue smth. makes you feel like maybe you shouldn’t create anything else. hell, i know that sounds dramatic, but that’s how it feels. and i hate that i’m letting this ruin smth i loved

and the part about taking too long to update... i don’t know what to say to that, i’m not a machine, i write when my brain lets me. when i have an idea, an image in my head, when i feel inspired. and i did have inspiration. i spent a whole week writing that last fic, actually enjoying the process, i felt proud of it, which is rare for me. excited to share it with people. and for what?

and the worst part is, i was planning to start posting my art too. i wanted to finally get out of my comfort zone, to share smth i’ve been afraid to share for so long. but if this is the kind of reaction i get for just writing, then what the hell is gonna happen when i post art? i blocked the last anon who sent me hate, so this is someone new then? meaning there’s two people now who actively dislike me enough to go out of their way to make sure i know. and i know, i know, i shouldn’t care about whether people like me or not. but fuck, it’s hard, i’m a professional overthinker, and unfortunately, i don’t think i’ll be quitting that job anytime soon.

i already had so much going on in my personal life. so much i was trying to get off my mind by being here, writing, sharing things that make me happy, talking with people. and then i open this app and see that, and suddenly it’s like, what’s even the point?

i know i’m being a sensitive crybaby. i hate to be this way. and i get that it’s the internet, and people can be jerks and assholes. but i REALLY don’t understand how much poison you have to have in yourself to send this hateful shit to a complete stranger. i just don’t get it. i’ve never left hate on anything, not even on stuff that isn’t for me. it just feels so pointless?

and as for the thing about Stan’s speech in my fics - im not american. english isn’t even my first language. and you have no idea how much effort it takes to get his voice even close to what it should be, he is one of the hardest characters for me to write. so fuck you, anon, you suck. genuinely

but... as much as that anon’s words gutted me, the kindness i received in response meant even more, it reminded me of why im here in the first place. to share things i love, to create, to talk with people who actually care. what im trying to say is thank you for making me feel less alone. i’m honestly just.. overwhelmed, in the best way. i was drowning in self-doubt, and your kindness and support pulled me out. i don’t take it for granted. i love all of you ♡♡ ive read all your messages, and ive never felt SO damn appreciated

[starkeymeow]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── rafe trying to process things, cliffhanger i fear, him seeing u conveniently bc the universe hates him

authors note ── im gna switch between past & present with these chapters so we get a build up of each process (rafe making his decision about going to lucuna but also the process of why they broke up in the past) simultaneously so NEXT CHAPTER IS ANOTHER FLASHBACK n then we’ll pick up here in ch5. if ud like to be part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru dms, replies, anons, or reblogs !! <3

main masterlist | ending vote | previous next

rafe doesn’t think. he just drives.

his truck tears down the dirt road, the engine roaring beneath him, the tires spitting up gravel and dust as he presses the gas harder, harder, like he’s trying to outrun the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull.

his grip on the wheel is tight, fingers curling, jaw locked. his head is just a storm. questions crash into each other, his thoughts spinning so fast he can’t grab hold of a single one before it slips away, replaced by another. why? how? when? did you even hesitate? did you even think about him before you signed away every single piece of him, of you, of us? did you—

his chest is tight. the truck is going too fast. or maybe not fast enough.

rafe presses down on the gas again, speedometer needle twitching up, adrenaline surging. for a second, just a second, he wonders what would happen if he just let go. if he took his hands off the wheel and let the truck decide where to take him, let fate roll the dice. would he end up wrapped around a tree? flipped over in a ditch? would you even care? would you even know?

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head, forcing the thought away. stupid. dramatic. he’s better than that. he’s rafe fucking cameron, and he doesn’t let a girl, even you, turn him into some reckless idiot.

but that’s a lie, isn’t it? because you always did.

he forces himself to slow down, foot easing off the gas, hands flexing and tightening on the wheel, exhaling through the knot in his chest. a minute later, he pulls into a gas station.

it’s muscle memory. he doesn’t even realize where he is until he steps out, the familiar ding of the old station bell ringing as a car pulls away. the air is thick and humid, the faint smell of gasoline and saltwater clinging to the breeze.

rafe doesn’t move at first. just stands there, hands braced against the truck, breathing hard, his pulse still hammering from the speed, the anger, the everything.

then he swipes his card at the pump.

the numbers on the screen blink to life as he grabs the nozzle, shoving it into the tank, pressing down until the gas flows. the steady hum fills the silence, the rhythm almost grounding.

and that’s when it really hits him.

this gas station. this fucking gas station.

he exhales sharply, staring down at the pavement like it might split open and swallow him whole.

it’s different now. no loud music blasting from your open car window, no smell of coconut sunscreen mixed with weed, no teasing smirk as you leaned against the pump, watching him with that spark in your eyes like you already knew how the two of you were gonna end up.

it’s just him.

he grips the handle tighter, knuckles going white, his other hand dragging over his face. he shouldn’t have come here.

the pump clicks off.

he stays still, slowly letting go of the handle, like now if he moves too fast, the moment might crack wide open. then, headlights cut across the pavement, the low hum of an approaching engine rolling over the quiet. a car pulls into the next pump over.

rafe doesn’t have to look. he already knows.

but he does anyway.

and there you are.

mindless, effortless. like the universe isn’t playing some sick joke on him right now. like you didn’t just wipe him from your life and go on existing like nothing ever happened.

your window’s cracked, letting the warm night air slip inside. the radio hums low, a song he almost recognizes but doesn’t. you park, put the car in park, and reach for your phone in the passenger seat. the screen lights up against your face as you check something, tapping a quick reply before you push open the door and step out.

you don’t notice him at first. why would you?

rafe watches, standing still as you move on autopilot. the way you pull your card from your back pocket, swiping it at the pump without a second thought. the way your lips move as you talk—oh. you’re on the phone.

your voice is light, casual, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known forever. you laugh, and it’s soft, like nothing in your world is out of place. like you haven’t just turned his completely upside down.

then, as if you finally feel the weight of his stare, your eyes flicker over.

just for a second.

and that’s all it is. a second. a passing glance, a polite, distant kind of recognition, like seeing a stranger at the grocery store.

but then, a smile. small. barely there. not the kind that means anything, not the kind that holds weight, but it kills him anyway.

then you look away. back to your pump, back to your phone, back to anything but him.

rafe exhales slowly, fingers pressing into his eyes like he can erase the sight of you standing there, so close but so impossibly far away.

small fucking island. of course, the two of you would end up at the same gas station at the same time. of course, it would be tonight.

he wants to say something. wants to hear your voice directed at him instead of whoever’s on the other end of that phone.

but he just watches instead.

silent, because what the fuck would he even say?

but you look . . . happy. the realization cuts deeper than anything else. because even if you don’t know him anymore, even if every piece of him has been stripped from your mind, something in you is still light, still soft, still unburdened.

and who is rafe to disturb that peace?

his stomach turns, his ears ring, his chest aches.

he remembers that smile. remembers it pressed against his skin, against his lips, felt between kisses and whispered promises. he remembers how it used to be his.

now it’s just a ghost.

the pump clicks off on your side, and you move without hesitation, tucking your phone into your pocket and grabbing the receipt before getting back into your car.

still, you don’t look at him, not when you start the engine, not when your headlights sweep over him as you pull away, not even when you turn onto the road and disappear into the dark.

rafe is still standing there long after you’re gone. he swallows hard, forces himself to move, slow and mechanical, placing the pump back on the rack before climbing into his truck.

the engine roars to life, but he doesn’t drive off right away. instead, he sits there, staring at the spot where your car was just parked. his head falls back against the headrest, and he lets out a breath that shakes on the way out.

he should go home. and eventually, he drives.

the roads blur under his tires, the world moving past him without sticking, without sinking in. the drive back home is muscle memory too, turns he barely thinks about, stop signs he doesn’t register.

when he pulls into the driveway, the house is exactly how he left it. quiet. still. like nothing happened at all.

the door slams harder than he means for it to. the wind picks up, stirring the trees, rustling the leaves against the pavement as he makes his way up the front steps. every movement feels mechanical, every step dragging like he’s walking through water.

ward is already there, standing in the foyer like he was waiting for this exact moment. he watches rafe carefully, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his arms are crossed, the way his weight shifts slightly. it’s hesitation, maybe.

“where’d you go, bud?” his dads voice is low, but it carries, the casual tone sharp with concern, like he’s trying to get through to him in the way he always has.

rafe doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t look at his father. the words come out like they’re forced, halfhearted, still thick with the tension gnawing at his chest.

“nowhere.” he shrugs it off, his hands digging into his pockets. he can feel the weight of his eyes on his back as he walks toward the staircase, but he refuses to turn around. refuses to let ward see whatever the hell he’s feeling.

he hears ward shift behind him, a grunt of acknowledgment, but the silence that follows feels too loud.

his shoes creak on the stairs as he begins to ascend, each step dragging him further from his dad, further from the weight of the house. it’s the quiet that gets to him.

rafe feels it deep in his chest, gnawing, pressing against him from the inside. this all feels wrong. like he doesn’t know who he is anymore. like everything has changed and all he’s left with is this hollow feeling and the question of whether it’s all worth it.

he takes another step. everything is crashing in again. those little moments with you. the way you used to smile at him. the way he thought he could hold onto you forever, not knowing how badly things would get so fucked up.

his feet come to a sudden halt on the next step, his hand bracing the railing as he stares at the wall in front of him, his head spinning.

there’s no going back now, is there?

the words come out before he can even think, slipping from his mouth like a desperate plea for something, anything, to pull him from the dark hole threatening to swallow him whole,

“what was the name of that company again?”

@luvrclub @nemesyaaa @flvredcas @montanajgbn @f4dedtouch @psychocitylights @faephoria @annaconscience @congratsloserr @rafekisser @grandfartvoid @vampiriito @countryclubwhore @yktayy9669 @lilou0401 @gemininormouzz @k4yr14 @pinkamenap1e @nelo321 @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @dreamybabbyy @peachyparkerr @drewstarkeytruelove

[g3tj1nx3d14]

even more caitvi / violyn because i’m bored !! fair warning i’m SO tired so these will be incoherent

warning, spoilers up to act three season two, NSFW after the big warning, and mentions of alc + w33d

SFW

• I see a lot of people saying Vi would smoke, but I fear Caitlyn could also be a bit of a stoner. She was insanely nervous when Vi got her to try smoking, but after her first time taking an edible and getting in a bubble bath with a book? She’s relaxed, that’s her new favorite little thing.

• Vi quit drinking after her underground fighting time. She doesn’t like how it makes her feel, especially as she’s been trying to develop more healthy coping mechanisms for stress.

• Caitlyn gets jealous. It’s harder to tell, as when Vi gets jealous— which is much rarer than Caitlyn— she tends to be very obvious. Grabbing Caitlyn’s waist, the obvious comments of “MY girlfriend”, maybe even straight up PDA. But Caitlyn? Oh, you looked at Vi the right way and all of the sudden Caitlyn is plotting your downfall. She doesn’t share well, at all.

• Random less wholesome one because I like hurting people emotionally; when Caitlyn got out of surgery for her eye— considering she lost it, there must’ve been some sort of surgical process post stabbing— she didn’t call for Vi or Jayce like expected. She called for her mom.

• Vander used to just yank his kids around, so the kids did it to each other too. Not in any bad way, just scruffing them or pulling them over his shoulder with no hesitation. Vi didn’t notice most families didn’t do this until the first time she wanted to show Caitlyn something in the other room and decided to just yank her out of her seat and carry her into the other room.

• Vi and Caitlyn would SO have a dog. 100%. There’s no disagreements there, but on the name? A huge disagreement. Caitlyn wants to name it a cute person name, while Vi wants to name it something stupid. They both train it to respond to their name. This dog ends up named like, Florence but also replies to Microwave.

• Given the amount of explosions they’ve both been in proximity to, they both have wonky hearing. They’re either always super close to hear each other properly or kind of shouting and not realizing it.

• Vi gets more piercings. 100% would.

okay freaky time, warning we’re lowk getting nasty in a good way

NSFW

• I need to elaborate on the Vi bites thing because I’m so sure it’s true to me. She’s biting Caitlyn’s shoulder anytime it’s exposed. Biting her fingers whenever they’re near her mouth. Biting down on her thighs. Everything. She grins like a smug idiot whenever she sees Caitlyn with teeth marks.

• Similarly, Vi is a hickey leaver. She takes it as a challenge whenever she sees Caitlyn try to cover up a love bite.

• Caitlyn tried to do a similar thing, leaving lipstick marks all over her face to embarrass her, but she was proven to be an idiot for that when Vi proudly showed everyone what her girlfriend did.

• Vi would SO be a strap user I fear, and she treats it like it’s her own. I know a lot of people hc the hex strap as feeling like it’s an actual appendage for the user, but if she’s using that or not, Vi is 100% using that shit like she can. Now I can’t stop imagining Cait giving her strap head SORRY IM A FREAK

• Vi tried to tease a few times, but Caitlyn was somehow even more patient than her and cracked before she did.

• Caitlyn used to think she’d always be solely into very pre-planned sex— think candles, already having a plan of what she’d do beforehand, never spur of the moment— but Vi quickly changed her mind. Before Vi, she usually had to spend a bit of time before any hook up trying to make herself get worked up, but with Vi? She could see her in her pajamas, half brushed hair, just grinning at her in a certain way, and she’s jumping on her.

• Vi lowkey seems like the type to lick her fingers after ✌️.