#thinking i should link the playlist ask to my masterlist...

[loz-chainsofcorruption]

Hey! I saw that you were putting together playlists for the chain and I think I’ve got another for Wild. Now by Paramore. Tbh if I had the time or skill I’d make an animatic because the lyrics fit him so well. It’s got that “you tried and failed to kill me (permanently) once, that was your only shot” spunk to it.

Oh this is VERY good

"Feels like I'm waking from the dead

And everyone's been waitin' on me"

"Instead I have some memories... For the days I don't feel anything

At the least, they will remind me not to make the same mistakes again"

!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS VERY GOOD ANON, CONSIDER IT ADDED

[lupinqs]

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

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

☆ ━ word count: 10.8K

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

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

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

THERE’S NOTHING WRONG with Lucas.

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

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

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

You like that. You like him.

It’s good.

It’s normal.

It’s healthy.

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

And it’s worked. Mostly.

Until it doesn’t.

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

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

But Paige?

Paige was fucking weather.

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

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

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

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

It’s easy, being with him. Comfortable.

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

Lucas is all of those things.

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

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

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

You don’t let yourself go there.

You shut it down

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

And besides, you already tried loving like that.

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

You remind yourself of that whenever your mind drifts.

Lucas doesn’t make you cry.

Lucas shows up.

Lucas texts back.

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

You can trust him.

You just don’t burn for him.

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

So, no—you don’t miss Paige.

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

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

The problem is that she’s here.

Paige fucking Bueckers is here.

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

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

And worst of all?

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

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

She probably wants it more than she ever wanted you.

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

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

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

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

You try not to think about any of it.

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

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

She doesn’t notice you staring.

Good.

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

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

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

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

Then another.

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

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

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

And she’s looking right at you.

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

And you remember everything.

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

And then did.

You break eye contact first.

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

So you look away.

Swallow hard.

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

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

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

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

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

You hate her.

You hate her so much.

Except… not really.

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

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

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to breathe.

Then—the handle jiggles.

Your eyes snap open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you want it, too.

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

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

And worse—you’re letting her.

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

And you should care.

But you don’t.

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

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

But you also want her.

Desperately. Viciously. Shamefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re drunk. And this is Paige.

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

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

But she does.

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

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

It is muscle memory.

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

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

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

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

But you go anyway.

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

Still, your body keeps walking.

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

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

But you do.

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

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

But that’s how it always was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re cheating on your boyfriend.

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

And the worst part is that you want her to.

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

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

She pauses when she sees you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grab at her wrist. “Paige.”

She hums against your skin. “Mm?”

“Either take ’em off or don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she moves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

And then: she stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be good,” she scolds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t let up this time.

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

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

And when you finally cum, you really cum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod tiredly. She grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes fly open. “Paige—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah. Want you, P.”

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

“I’ve got you,” she mumbles.

Then she starts to move.

And—God.

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

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

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

You gasp, nails digging into her skin.

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

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

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

You do.

Fuck, you really do.

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

“Shit,” you choke out.

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

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

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

You shudder—because yeah. She is.

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

But this?

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

It’s better. So much better.

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

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

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

You gasp. “Paige—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod fast, begging with your eyes now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost say no. Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Paige sighs, light and wrecked.

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

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

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

[baisemains]

A Thousand Words

lottie matthews x gn!reader

word count: 3.8k

contains: modern au, both of you are mid 20’s, sickeningly sweet fluff, food mention, making out, established relationship, slight language, mention of jackienat, the l word is dropped, suggestive themes at the very end, a Lot of hand holding, just go with it

description: when your girlfriend finds out you've never been to a fair, she drags you to the local one for date night.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

lottie matthews masterlist

A cool breeze slips in through your girlfriend Lottie’s bedroom window, a welcome break from the heat that’s been plaguing your town the last couple weeks. The sun will start setting soon, and the two of you are a tangle of limbs atop her plush comforter, having just woken up from a nap.

You’ve started scrolling on your phone, looking through social media and seeing how everyone’s been spending their summers. A couple of your friends posted on their story that they visited a fair yesterday, and the location tag tells you that it’s local. Noticing something, you announce your interesting discovery to the room.

“Jackie and Nat both posted that they were at the fair yesterday but they didn’t tag each other,” you snicker. “I don’t know why they’re acting like we don’t all know they’re dating, they’re shitty liars anyway.”

Turning around in your arms, deep brown eyes find your own, shining with excitement.

“Wait, I saw that! I was gonna tell you when we were on the phone last night but I fell asleep.”

She laughs, grabbing her phone and typing quickly, then turning the screen towards you to show what she was doing. She had pulled Jackie’s story up and typed a message into the reply bar.

Just tag Nat already, we know.

“Should I send it? It’s kinda messy but they’ve been doing this for weeks, like, just hard launch already.”

“Do it. They’ll get married thinking they’re still being subtle.”

At your encouragement, Lottie sends the note off, locking her phone and chuckling to herself, already imagining her friend’s reaction.

“Jackie might actually get pissed at me for that.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta give their asses a push.”

Setting your own device down, you wrap your arms around your girlfriend’s waist and pull her close.

“And if she tries giving you any shit for it, just tell her I told you to do it, she’s still kinda scared of me.”

Giggling, Lottie slowly leans into you, pausing only a breath away from your lips.

“My knight in shining armor.”

“Damn right.”

You close the gap and gently slot her lips between your own, applying the slightest amount of pressure. Hearing a hum, you just barely open your mouth, teasing her bottom lip with the very tip of your tongue. You feel her groan before taking over, kissing you with fervor as her hands slide up your neck to cup your face. The energy shifts after a few minutes, turning into something softer before the two of you separate and stare into each other’s eyes.

Lottie then looks past you out to her window and notices the color starting to change in the sky, sitting up to take pictures of it. She has easily over a thousand sunset photos but she insists on taking some every chance she gets, and you love how she enjoys little things like that.

Laying your head in her lap, Lottie moves a hand from her phone to scratch at your scalp, the action causing you to let out a noise akin to a purr. Looking down, she smiles and exposes her fangs, another one of your favorite things about her.

“Comfy?”

“Mm, yes actually, thank you for asking.”

That gets a laugh out of her, and at the same time, she gets a notification saying that Jackie has messaged her back. Opening it, she reads Know what? We’re friends. Groaning, Lottie simply shows you her phone, causing you to roll your eyes.

Grabbing it from her, you type out Everyone knows you’re dating, stop being a pussy and launch already 🙄 , sending the message and tossing the device on the bed behind you.

“It’s done.”

Lottie looks at her phone with wide eyes, shifting her gaze to you.

“Babe, what did you tell her?”

Smirking, you stretch your arms above your head and pat your stomach, suddenly hungry.

“What she needed to hear.”

Your girlfriend lets out a sigh at that, you were much more direct than she was and she wishes she could be fearless like that sometimes. She watches you stand up from her bed, steps relaxed as you make your way to the full length mirror on her wall, checking yourself out.

“You ready to eat? That nap gave me an appetite.”

She’s looking at her phone again, swiping through other people’s stories, Damn, everyone’s at the fair lately. She gets an idea and leans back on her elbows, waiting for you to look at her.

When you do, she’s wearing that smile that you love so much, and you subconsciously match it, walking over and placing your hands on her cheeks, enamoured by her. She brings hers up to cover them, turning to the side to kiss your palm.

“How do you feel about having dinner at the fair? I have a craving for a corn dog now.”

A corn dog? Out of everything in the world she could have? Just a few days ago, she took you to a Michelin star restaurant because she wanted pizza.

You look at her with a puzzled expression, eyebrow raised, but Lottie‘s looking at you with those glossy doe eyes and you’d have given her anything she wanted in that moment. Though you have no idea what to expect, you agree.

“I mean, yeah, that’s cool, there’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

Squealing, she stands up from the bed, pressing a kiss to your lips before looking in her closet for a change of clothes. She finally registers what you said and looks over her shoulder, asking you a question.

“What do you mean, first time? Do you not eat when you’re there?”

You’ve moved to look around Lottie’s room, knowing she can take a while to get dressed.

“No, I mean I’ve never been to a fair.”

Seeing her freeze out of the corner of your eye, she turns to you, mouth agape.

“What?! Like not even as a kid with your family?”

Scratching the back of your neck, you now feel a bit embarrassed that you’ve never participated in this seemingly important activity before.

“Just never got around to it, I guess…”

Lottie realizes that she made you uncomfortable and tries to rectify the situation. Her face quickly softens and she steps in front of you, placing a gentle hand on your cheek, a gesture you’ve told her relaxes you.

“Babe, it’s okay, no shame in that. Sorry for being surprised, I just assumed most people have been before, but that’s dumb, everybody’s experiences are different.”

With a small nod, you look back at her, finding comfort in her understanding.

“But don’t worry, we are gonna go and have a great time, I promise.”

She punctuates her sentence with a kiss to your nose, and you laugh as she walks back to her closet, deciding what to grab among her abundance of clothes.

That’s another thing you loved about Lottie. Though she grew up an only child, she was very emotionally mature, and if she ever misstepped, she always apologized. She was also exceptionally giving and always made sure to provide you with experiences you otherwise might never have had. You were incredibly lucky.

“Okay. Don’t take too long getting ready though, I am getting hungry.”

Chuckling, she promises to do her best as you head to her bathroom to freshen up, distracting yourself from staring at your girlfriend while she changes or you definitely won’t make it to the fair. Almost a half hour later, she’s in a new outfit and has touched up her makeup, the sight taking your breath away. Though she’s just in a t-shirt and pants, her beauty is undeniable and never fails to stop you in your tracks.

“Oh.”

Taking your short response as a bad thing, Lottie looks down at herself, suddenly nervous.

“Is it too much? I picked leather pants instead of jeans cause I’ve never worn these but I can change—“

You cut her off mid rant by cupping her chin and pulling her into a firm kiss. When you pull back, Lottie looks dazed and is adorning a goofy smile.

“You look amazing. It was a ‘I can’t believe I’m dating the most gorgeous woman in the world’ 'oh', I promise.”

A slight blush begins to creep onto her cheeks and she looks down at her feet, bashful.

“Ah. Okay, thank you.”

Sliding your hand into hers, you squeeze it to bring her attention back to you, beautiful brown eyes gazing into yours.

“Ready?”

She nods excitedly, ready to create new memories with you.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

She leads you out to your car, moving to open the passenger door before you press a firm hand to it.

“Allow me.”

When you grab the handle, Lottie giggles as she slides in, blowing you a kiss as you make sure the door is firmly shut. Walking around to the driver’s side and settling in, you hand your phone to her to pick the music, turning the car on and starting the journey there. Your hands lay intertwined on her thigh the whole drive, windows cracked as the summer air envelops you both, sunset now visible through the windshield.

Once you arrive, you hop out and escort your girlfriend from the parking lot to the entrance, walking to the back of the short ticket line. Lottie plays with your fingers as you wait, always having to be touching you somehow. When you first started dating, you thought it was a jealousy thing but you soon learned that she just loved physical contact.

It’s finally your turn and when the cashier tells you your total, you begin pulling out your wallet before Lottie grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Let me.”

“Lot,” you start to protest but she simply pouts and your resolve cracks instantly.

“This was my idea so I should pay. Please.”

Sighing, you can’t argue with that, though you want to, and your girlfriend beams as you put your hand back in your pocket. After paying and thanking the ticket person, Lottie grabs your hand and pulls you towards the entrance, stopping in front of the lit up sign overhead.

“Let’s take a picture.”

She pulls out her phone before you can decline, not that you would have, and faces it towards the two of you. Centering you both and making sure the sign is visible, she snaps multiple photos, grinning in every one.

“Okay, what do you wanna do first? There’s carnival games, rides, food stands, we can do whatever you want.”

Your stomach grumbles at that exact moment, causing you both to laugh.

“Food it is.”

Walking over to that area, you’re overwhelmed with the options, reading every sign like a kid in a candy store. Fried pickles, fried Oreos, fried cheesecake. Whoa.

“Is everything here fried?”

Lottie giggles at your statement before a look of realization crosses her face.

“Um, no? There’s definitely other things to eat, I promise.”

Seeing a booth that looks promising, you internally cheer when you see more common food options. You settle on nachos and a soft pretzel, a safe bet before you dive into the more intense choices, and Lottie gets her corn dog. You make sure to pay before she can even try, practically skipping over to a nearby table.

Sitting down across from each other, you begin eating, seeing the content look on your girlfriend’s face as she enjoys her meal.

“Man, I haven’t had a corn dog from here in forever.”

A faraway look blooms in her eyes before she continues.

“My parents used to take me every year before they got divorced, it was one of the few places they wouldn’t argue.”

Nodding along, you don’t say anything as Lottie recaps her favorite memories from this place. Early on in your relationship, she told you that her parents separated when she was young, and you knew it was a sore subject for her, rarely ever talking about it. You reach a hand across the table and squeeze it, letting her know you’re there for her.

A sad smile appears for a second before she looks back at you, eyes roaming over your face.

“But now I get to make new memories with you.”

Raising her hand to your mouth, you press your lips to her knuckles in silent support. Her smile widens at the sweet act, and the look on her face has you mentally cursing out everything that’s ever caused her pain.

“I’m definitely full now. Can we go check out the games?”

Her enthusiasm is infectious and you can’t help but feel the corners of your lips tugging up into a grin.

“Of course, come on.”

Getting up and clearing your trash, the two of you head over to the carnival area, arms swinging between you. Lottie plays a few different games, not winning anything, and she asks if you want to join her but you’re content just watching her at the moment. Reaching the very last booth, Lottie sees something that has her stopping in her tracks.

“No way. Babe, look!”

She rushes over to stare at a large deer plushie hanging on the back wall, complete with dark lashes and glossy eyes that mirror your girlfriend’s.

“She’s perfect.”

You stroll over to get a closer look and once your gaze lands on the stuffed animal, you know you have to win it for her. Getting the worker’s attention, you give her the amount of tickets required before finally looking down at the game. You hadn’t realized it was a ring toss, which you’ve heard was notoriously hard, but you were determined.

Lottie backs away to give you plenty of room, and as the worker is getting you the rings, you try to map out your game plan. She tells you how many you’ll have to make for each prize, and when she says that you’ll need to land all 5 for the big ones, your back straightens up.

With no room for error, you toss the first ring and land it perfectly. Feeling good, you throw the next three with near perfect precision. The last one sits in your hand like a weight, and you take a deep breath before sending it up into the air, watching as it bounces off the bottle you meant it for, rebounding off of two more before landing on the very furthest one in the corner.

Lottie runs into your arms as you wrap them around her waist and pick her up, both of you ecstatic. Once you put her down, you face the worker who asks which prize you’d like to claim.

“The deer!” Both you and Lottie say at the same time, causing the girl in front of you to laugh and head to the back of the booth to grab it. She brings it over to you a minute later, handing it straight to Lottie who’s practically bouncing with excitement. Thanking the employee and wishing her a good night, Lottie drags you away, content with her winnings. She takes a generous amount pictures of it and with it, posting one of the three of you on her story with the caption our new daughter 🥹🦌.

“I can’t believe you won it on the first try, I wasn’t getting anything at the other games.”

You shrug with a smirk on your face, wrapping an arm around her hip.

“Beginner’s luck, I guess.”

Huffing, she bumps her shoulder into you as she playfully rolls her eyes.

“Sure.”

She’s going to tell you something else when a photobooth catches her attention and she looks toward you.

“Ooh, can we go take some pictures? They’ll be so cute.”

You’re down for anything at this point, feeling good after that win.

“We can do whatever you want, babe.”

You pull Lottie towards the machine, sliding onto the seat before pulling her into your lap. She draws the curtain shut behind her, both of you now realizing how cramped the space is. Feeding the necessary bills into the slot, you let your girlfriend pick the photo options, making sure it’ll be in color and give you two copies.

The countdown for the first picture begins and you pull her against you, her head leaning against yours as you both smile into the camera. The flash goes off, causing you to sit back before Lottie wraps her arm around the back of your head, squishing your cheeks together. For the next pose, Lottie pulls up the stuffed deer as best she can and places it in front of her chest. You take advantage of her being distracted and kiss her cheek in time for the loud click.

Facing you, Lottie eyes gaze into your own before drifting down to your lips and leaning in slowly, kissing you as you eagerly return the act. You see the bright light flash behind your closed eyelids but make no move to pull away just yet. Only once the unmistakable noise of photos printing announces itself does Lottie lean back, proud of herself for the effect she has on you.

Seeing the screen in front of you light up, you look to see that it’s giving the option to email the video that was recorded as the pictures were being taken. After sending it to herself to post later, Lottie bends over to grab the film strips from the tray they’re sitting in, cooing when she sees how they turned out.

“We look so cute.”

Facing them towards you so you can look, you immediately smile. The poses came out perfect, capturing the affectionate energy between you both.

Lottie flips one around and presses her lips to the back of it, leaving behind a subtle lipstick print, before handing it to you.

“That one’s yours.”

You can’t help but pull her back to you, pressing kisses all over her face before hearing footsteps outside of the booth, alerting you that someone else is waiting to use it.

Collecting your things, you and Lottie head out, giggling together as you pass the young couple who gets in the booth after. They remind you of yourselves and it almost feels like a full circle moment.

You’re now roaming the grounds aimlessly, hands intertwined as you begin heading towards the rides. Not looking for anything in particular, you end up in front of the ferris wheel and seeing that there’s not too many people waiting for it, Lottie turns to you with a smile.

“Wanna ride it?”

Nodding as you kiss her cheek, she walks you to the end of the line, and you two pass the time with conversation and picture taking, Lottie insisting on printing these photos out. Once you reach the front, the employee takes your tickets and ushers you into an empty cabin, closing the door behind you as you take your seats next to each other, setting the deer plushie on the floor.

The car starts moving up and the higher you get, the more you can see out towards the city. Night has fully arrived, and the lights below illuminate your girlfriend in a way you’ve never seen. Sliding away from her, Lottie looks at you in confusion before seeing you pull your phone out.

“I wanna take a picture of you.”

Smiling at your initiation, she begins posing for you, giving you plenty of material to choose from. Eventually, you reach the top of the Ferris wheel and stop, Lottie simply gazing out at the horizon but you can’t help but be in awe of her. Lowering your camera, you drink in her profile, wondering what on earth you did to deserve the woman in front of you.

“The view is gorgeous.”

Lottie softly smiles, eyes raking over the cityscape.

“Ugh, isn’t it? Everything looks so beautiful from up here.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

Turning towards you, she sees the look you’re giving her and her entire body begins to tingle, a warm feeling spreading from her chest outwards.

“C’mere.”

Obeying instantly, you move closer until your thigh is pressed against hers and Lottie’s hand is cupping your cheek. The moment feels so fragile that even breathing would shatter it, and all you can do is stare into her eyes.

“I love you.”

Big brown eyes shine with emotion, feeling so peaceful in this moment that she can’t help but utter those three little words that have gone unspoken until now. Breath catching in your throat at her confession, you always thought you’d be the one to say it first, but Lottie continues to surprise you.

Before you can think about it, you’re leaning in to capture her lips, over and over and over, conveying all of your feelings for the women in front of you. The cab jolting into motion breaks you apart, but you stay close, forehead leaning against hers.

“I love you too.”

When the ride finishes, the two of you step off, fingers intertwined, feeling light as air in the aftermath of the mutual admission. Lottie’s carrying her plushie, grinning like a fool while you have your free hand in your pocket, pinching your thigh to make sure this is real life. Both of you decide to call it a night after that, ending the evening on a high no one expected.

Reaching your car, you once again open the door for your girlfriend, allowing her to fit herself and the stuffed deer in the front seat. When you slide into the driver’s side and begin the drive to her place, the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, not feeling the need to communicate besides the occasional glance and hand squeeze.

Upon arriving, you park along the curb, turning the engine off and opening your door before rounding the hood to let Lottie out. She hops out of the car with ease, her smile remaining on her lips as she takes hold of your hand, pulling you towards the front door to her house.

Handing the deer to you, she opens her purse and begins to rummage through it, searching for her keys, and letting out a soft curse when she can’t find them quickly. You chuckle, stepping behind her, reaching around her waist and into the bag. Your front is now pressed to her back and your body is shielding both of you from the brisk night air. Finding the keys, you remove them from her purse, unlocking the door without any trouble, still standing in the same position. Lottie takes the chance to lean her back fully into you, enjoying the proximity.

“Are you coming in?”

You can hear the smile in her voice and you wrap your arms around her midsection, pressing your lips into her neck, leaving a quick kiss there.

“Of course, baby.”

Following your girlfriend inside, you kiss the entire way to her bedroom, the two of you expressing your love for the rest of the night.

(The next time you’re at Lottie’s, you notice the deer plush on her bed and the photo strip tucked into her mirror, constant reminders of the best night of her life.)

taglist: @t-wylia @theoreticalfreak

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Ten.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Eleven. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - The two of you have some time to yourselves for what feels like the first time in forever.

Pairing - Dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes x female reader - soulmate au

Warnings - smut. cursing. mention of a panic attack. initial hospital setting. one alcohol mention.

Word Count - 4k

Authors Note - 10!! 10 whole chapters!! can you believe it!! pancake recipe taken from mr carlos sainz - thanks carlito <3. double date next chapter (with protective/jealous bucky, as requested ;)). and the much awaited conversation… coming very soon. thanks for the love and support and kindness. it means the world, always <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

“Before I came down to find you, your Mom raised a question with me.”

“… which was?”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales it shakily.

“She asked me how long you and I have been soulmates.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We can’t sit out here forever, honey.”

You stretch out your legs from where they’ve been tucked up against your chest, chin resting on your knees. Bucky places a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles.

“We can.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss into the top of your head.

“I know it’s scary, but we can’t run from this any longer. We’re just going to have to face it head on.”

“I know,” you sigh, taking his hand in yours. “I’m just…”

You trail off, leaving words unspoken in the air like particles of dust in the sunlight.

“What are you so afraid of? Is it that they won’t support us? Honey girl, they aren’t gonna have much of a choice. We are literally soulmates.”

You’re trying to find a way to explain, but none of your thoughts are coherent enough to articulate into something comprehensible.

“I don’t know, Buck. At first, I think it was that. But now? Maybe I just feel guilty that we’ve kept something so huge a secret for so long. I used to tell my parents everything - by choice. That’s how we’ve always been. And suddenly, the biggest event of my life happens, and I… didn’t tell them?”

“You’re letting this guilt eat you alive, baby. Listen, I feel it too. You’re not alone in this. Do you know how many times your parents have asked me about dating in these last eighteen months? How many times we’ve talked about soulmates? And I guess I never lied… but I haven’t exactly told the truth. I’m just as guilty as you think you are.”

“I’m sorry,” you confess, resting your head against his broad shoulder. “I’ve had such tunnel vision with this whole situation. I’ve been selfish. I should have thought about you more.”

“You haven’t had to.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for, honey baby. You’ve never had to ‘think about me more’, because you’ve known how I felt this whole time. In here.”

He places a hand over your heart. You close your eyes, letting the warmth from his palm bleed into your chest. The weight of it grounds you back down to Earth, tethered to your soulmate in more ways than one.

“That’s the beauty of it,” he continues. “You don’t have to guess how I’m feeling, or when I’m feeling it - because I’m always telling you. And you’re always listening.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, squeezing his hand where it’s still linked with yours.

“The Universe disagrees,” he whispers back, leaning in to kiss the spot underneath your ear. “I disagree.”

It’s all so tender, so gentle, so real, that a lump in your throat forms instantly. You blink rapidly, fighting back tears as you press your side into his. If you could sew yourself into his ribcage and live there forever, resting your head on his beating heart, you would.

“Come on,” he coaxes carefully, pulling you to your feet and watching to see if you’re steady enough. “Let’s do this thing.”

You stare up at him, lost in those ocean blue irises. For a moment, you swear you see the waves moving in them, crashing against the shore in a motion so comforting, it reminds you of home.

“I love you.”

Bucky smiles at you, pupils dilating and heart beating that little bit faster. He’ll never get sick of hearing those words.

“I love you more than all the stars in the sky, honey girl. More than anything.”

Tangling your fingers with his, you inhale deeply before taking the first step forwards, towards the front doors of the hospital.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When you reach your Dad’s room, you drop Bucky’s hand as if by instinct. When he links your fingers once more, you panic momentarily, before realising it’s futile.

They already know. There’s no point in hiding it anymore.

You walk through the door hand in hand, pressed into each others sides as if it’ll keep you standing upright. Maybe it will.

Your Mom instantly bolts out of her chair, coming over to assess you. She looks you up and down, cradling your face in her hands as she checks you over.

“You were gone a long time, sweetheart. You okay? Have you been crying?”

Bucky lets go of you to give you some space, but doesn’t go too far. You can still feel his warmth from behind you as you watch your Mom’s eyebrows furrow with worry.

“I had… I think it was, um… like a - a panic attack, or something. I don’t know. I just got overwhelmed.”

Your voice sounds so small again, so fragile. You mentally chastise yourself for not being stronger for her.

“Oh, honey.”

She pulls you into her chest, stroking your hair just like she did when you were a child and had a nightmare. You’d run across the hall and into your parents room - your Mom would always bolt upright when she heard little feet on the wooden floors, waiting for you with open arms.

“Your Dad is gonna be fine. I promise you, the Doctors have said he’ll make a full recovery.”

“It’s true.”

The voice is croaky and rusted from misuse, but it unmistakably belongs to the man lying in the hospital bed.

You make your way over and sit down carefully, cautious and calculated. Your Dad takes your hand, stroking his thumb across your skin.

“I’m gonna be just fine, kid. I know I scared you, and I’m really sorry. But I’m okay. Promise.”

You smile at him, genuinely this time, before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You guys should go home.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go home, get some rest. The two of you look almost as exhausted as Lori does.”

Your Mom laughs, shaking her head. You chuckle, watching them. There’s no one funnier than your soulmate.

“I think we should stay a little longer, Jack.”

Bucky’s voice has all three of your heads whipping around to face him.

“Buck, please be on my side here. You’re tired. Go home, sleep it off. All I’m gonna do for the next twenty four hours is sleep anyway. There’s no point in you sitting here watching me like a bunch of creeps.”

You chew your bottom lip, watching your Dad’s face carefully.

“Mom, Dad - we need to talk about-”

“I know, babygirl,” your Dad interrupts. “And we will. But not here, and not now. We’ll do it when I’m home. We can all sit on the couch and drink your Mom’s cherry lemonade and talk about how you and Bucky have been soulmates this entire time.”

“Not this entire time,” you grumble at his attempt at a joke.

“Seriously, you two. I won’t ask again. Go. Home.”

You look at your Dad for a moment, before averting your gaze to your Mom. They’re both wearing the exact same facial expression - the one they used to give you when you’d refuse your bedtime as a six year old on a school night.

“Come on, honey. You heard them. We’re practically dead on our feet.”

You rise from the bed reluctantly, pressing another kiss to your Dad’s cheek before doing the same to your Mom.

“Call me if anything changes, or if you need anything. I mean anything, you guys.”

They both nod as your Dad does a mock salute, laughing at himself.

Bucky extends his hand out for you. This time, you don’t hesitate to take it. You hold it tightly all the way back to his truck, and then all the way back home.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Bucky get ready for bed in silence, both of you flitting around your apartment as quickly as possible. You can’t wait to finally get under your duvet and lose the stress of the last twenty four hours.

The minute your head hits the pillow, you’re wide awake.

The exhaustion has seeped into your bones, making you weary but restless. You can’t settle, physically or mentally.

Bucky, on the other hand, is out like a light.

He looks so peaceful like this. The moonlight soaks through a gap in the curtains, illuminating his face like some sort of angel. His hair is a little longer than usual, stubble growing out across his sharp jawline. He looks rugged, a little rough around the edges. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

As if he can feel your gaze on him, he cracks an eye open, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. He has a pillow crease across his skin, cheek flushed pink with a dusty blush.

“You okay, baby?”

His voice is hoarse and all sleep heavy, rumbling through you like gentle summer thunder.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, trying to fight back tears. “I’m so tired, Buck. So fucking tired.”

“But you can’t sleep?”

He pulls you into his chest, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and stroking your hair soothingly.

“It’s like my body is exhausted, but my brain is wide awake,” you mumble into his bare skin. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing makes sense,” he chuckles lowly. “Nothing in this goddamn world makes sense. Except for me and you.”

Bucky spins you in his arms so your back is to his chest, bodies pressed together without an inch of space between you. Pressing a kiss into your neck, he starts mumbling.

“You just need to turn your brain off, baby. I know it’s easier said than done… so I’m gonna help you. All you need to do is focus on my voice, on my touch. Focus your attention on my hands on you, my lips on your skin. The heat of my body against yours.”

He skims his fingers down your side, gripping at your hips to ground you. He’s still kissing your neck, nipping occasionally to vary the sensation. He slips a hand down your front, cupping you over your underwear as you close your eyes, breathing him in. He smells like salt water and sea air and gasoline and home.

You cant your hips into his touch, trying to get him where you want him. Bucky takes the hint, slipping his hand into your panties and running a finger through your wetness. You groan, throwing your head back into his solid shoulder.

“Just switch off, honey baby. Give in to me.”

Bucky glides a finger into you, crooking it towards him. His palm hits your clit and you keen, whining all high pitched and breathy. His hips buck into your backside at the sound, and he chuckles.

“Fuck, you sound so sweet. Sweetest girl in the world.”

He adds another finger, using his thumb to circle your clit in precise, firm motions. You’re writhing against the mattress like a serpent, unable to stay still as Bucky takes you apart.

“Come for me, baby. Can feel you squeezin’ my fingers. That’s it, atta girl… ride my hand, take what you need. Wanna hear how pretty you sound when you come.”

Your entire body tightens up as you reach your climax, back arching away from Bucky as he continues to curl his fingers. He pulls you close, anchors you to him as you moan and shudder.

Your head is empty, besides the thought of your soulmate. All you can think about is Bucky.

Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

You take a stuttered inhale as you try to catch your breath, beads of sweat dripping down your back.

“You okay?”

He’s muttering into your shoulder, mouth never leaving your skin. You nod, linking your fingers with his where they rest on your waist.

“You didn’t come,” you whisper, leaning your head back into Bucky.

He kisses your cheek, chuckling lowly.

“This wasn’t about me,” he reassures. “It’s all about you, baby. Always is.”

The two of you breathe together for a little while, allowing you to come down from your high. Eventually, Bucky taps your thigh, nudging you up.

“Come on, honey. Get up and use the bathroom, and then we’ll sleep for the next week.”

You do as he says, crawling back into bed with limbs that feel like jelly.

“How you feelin’?” he asks as he pulls you into his side, resting your head on his chest.

“Fucking fantastic.”

He laughs and you can’t help but laugh too, as if by reflex.

“Yeah? No more racing thoughts in that pretty head of yours?”

“None. All I can think about is how much I want to sleep right now.”

Pressing a kiss onto the top of your head, Bucky tightens his arms around you.

“Then sleep, baby.”

You snuggle into your soulmates side, relaxing into the mattress.

“I love you,” you mumble into his skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs back. “Sweet dreams, honey girl.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When you wake, you can’t tell if you’ve slept for five minutes or five days.

The sheets are crumpled, linen strewn across the bed as the pillows sit completely unmoved at the headboard. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, warming your skin that’s exposed to the sea soaked breeze.

You reach over to the other side of the mattress, seeking Bucky’s warmth. You’re met with empty space, and the sound of a throat clearing on the other side of the room.

The man in question is leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and sun kissed. His boxers are hugging his thighs just right, and you repress the urge to crawl over and sink your teeth into the muscle. Later.

“Morning or afternoon?” You croak out, watching as he softly smiles at your sleep addled voice.

“Morning. Eleven twenty four.”

You stretch your arms above your head, unaware of the way Bucky’s eyes are glued to your bare stomach.

“You want breakfast, or have you eaten?”

“Haven’t eaten yet. Was waiting for you.”

You slide down to the end of the bed where Bucky meets you, leaning down to press a minty kiss to your lips.

“Have you been awake long?”

He shakes his head, stealing another kiss.

“Ten minutes or so.”

“How’d you sleep?”

He moves some hair away from your face gently, the morning affection making you light up inside.

“Like a baby. Don’t think I moved once.”

You laugh, running your fingers over his bare shoulders.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept like that.”

“Me neither. I think we need to start prioritising sleep a little more.”

“It’s just… so hard,” you murmur, rising onto your knees on the bed so you’re face to face. “I don’t ever want to sleep when I have the most handsome man alive in my bed. I can think of many other things I’d rather be doing.”

He groans, chuckling lowly.

“Watch it,” he warns. “Or I’ll keep you in this bed all day. Won’t let you leave.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Barnes?”

He football tackles you suddenly, both of you falling backwards into the plush sheets. You squeal, caught off guard as his hands squeeze your sides firmly.

“Keep running your mouth and see what happens, angel.”

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to get a reaction. When his eyes flutter closed, you breathe out a laugh.

“I’m so scared,” you tease, peppering his face with gentle kisses. “Like, quaking in my boots.”

He goes to retort, but is interrupted by the deafening sound of your stomach rumbling.

“If we weren’t about to get noise complaints from the neighbours about that hunger of yours, I would absolutely continue this. But…”

“We need to eat.”

“Yes, we do.”

You peck his cheek before jumping off the bed, stretching as you make your way to the kitchen. Bucky follows you eagerly. Of course he does.

You click the coffee maker on as you spin to face him where he’s leaning against the counter.

“I’m about to make you the best pancakes you’ll eat in your entire life, James.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Watch and learn, baby.”

When he doesn’t move, you walk him backwards, pulling out the bar stool from underneath the island.

“You just sit there and look pretty.”

He shakes his head with a smirk as you wink, turning on the stove and grabbing your bowls and utensils. He didn’t ask for a cooking lesson, but you’re about to give him one.

“The trick is to separate the egg whites from the yolks, and whip them. When they’re fluffy, you fold them into your mixture, and it makes the pancakes light and airy and gorgeous. Then you add honey, for extra sweetness.”

He watches you flit around the kitchen as if you’re the sun, bright and warm and radiant. He can’t take his eyes off you for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

Bucky’s blinking back tears, suddenly, as you sway your hips while flipping the pancakes at the stove. He wants to drop to his knees, yell out to a higher power and ask what the hell he did to deserve someone like you. He’ll beg, if he has to, for someone, something, to make sure that he finds you in every universe, in every version of this crazy life.

“I love you,” you beam at him, as if you’ve read his mind. “I love you more than anything.”

Your grin is so blinding, so utterly brilliant that the entire room lights up with it. Your own form of electricity.

“I… I-”

“I know, Buck.”

It gets like this, sometimes. Too overwhelming to put into words. To love someone more than anything, anyone - a love that knows no bounds - is completely indescribable.

So he doesn’t even try. He just nods at you, watching as your eyes light up at the sight of him.

“Will you pour us some coffee while I put these on a plate?”

“Anything you need,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair as he squeezes past you to grab the mugs. “Always.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You settle down to eat on the balcony, letting the midday sun warm you both up.

“I brought syrup, but, I also brought this.”

You hold out a plastic tub that contains a dark pink mixture, popping the lid off.

“Try it.”

Bucky sticks his little finger in, putting it in his mouth and sighing in contentment at the taste that coats his tongue.

“Good?”

“So good. What is it?”

“My homemade raspberry and lemon coulis. I make it to go on top of pancakes and waffles - it beats maple syrup any day.”

“You’re a genius.”

“So it’s been said,” you laugh, pouring it over your plate. “Now eat before they go cold.”

“Yes ma’am.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You weren’t lying,” he says when he’s finished. “They were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten.”

You laugh, sliding across to press your side into his.

“There’s a lot more where that came from. I have so many recipes I want you to try.”

“God, I’m so lucky. I have the most perfect soulmate in the world, and she’s a baker. What did I do to deserve you, hmm?”

You lean in to kiss him gently, licking across his lips. He tastes like raspberries and sugar and eight hours of sleep.

You’re sat in comfortable silence when your phone rings, startling you both.

“Hello?”

“Babe?”

“Lacie?”

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

You smile instantly, and Bucky does too, by default.

“Your Mom called me and told me about your Dad. She’s been keeping me updated over text. How are you guys holding up?”

“We’re good, honestly. It was a little touch and go at first, but now… we’re okay. All of us.”

“Good. I love you guys.”

“Love you too. So much.”

She sighs all deep and wistful, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“What’s up, Lace?”

“Well… I’m calling with a proposition. And I feel like you’re gonna say no, but your Mom already told me that I had to force you to do it, so.”

“Oh, God.”

“Come on a double date with me and Cameron tonight. Come for dinner and drinks with us.”

You take a deep breath, looking over at Bucky. He nods in agreement, encouraging you.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Her surprise is undeniable, the octave of her voice rising ever higher.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you in too long, and it’ll be good for me to meet Cameron, finally. Plus, we’re visiting my Dad this afternoon, so we have a free evening.”

“Oh my God, I am so excited! Okay, I’ll text you the address of where we’re eating. Cam knows so much about you already, he can’t wait to meet you. And I can’t wait to meet Bucky… again? I mean I’ve met him before, but not as your soulmate.”

“Yeah,” you giggle. “It’ll be good for everyone to get… reacquainted.”

“Exactly!”

“Alright, Lace. We’ve gotta get ready to visit my Dad, but I’ll see you later?”

“See you later, babe. I am so excited. See you then!”

She puts the phone down, and you can almost picture the cloud of perfume and pressed powder that’s about to rain down on her bedroom. You wish you were there to watch it happen, like old times.

“Our first double date, huh?”

“It’ll be our last if you don’t behave,” you tease, leaning in to peck Bucky’s lips.

“Don’t tempt me.”

You laugh into his mouth, running your fingers through the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. It’s the longest you’ve seen it, and it’s starting to curl all cute and soft and wispy.

“Come on. Let’s go see my Dad, and then spend hours mentally preparing ourselves for Storm Lacie.”

“I always liked her. Seemed good for you.”

“She is. She’s the best.”

Bucky wraps a strong arm around your shoulder as you swing your legs over his lap, burying yourself in his bare chest.

“You nervous?” he asks into your temple.

“A little, weirdly. Meeting each others soulmate is the kind of thing we’d talk about when we were kids. And now we’re doing it.”

“We can handle it,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing patterns into your arm. “We can handle anything, you and I.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, honey girl. Anything.”

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Time Is On My Side | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: y/n is getting unhinged as fuck man, torture, mentions of childhood trauma,

Word Count: 4738

A/N: this gif should not be attractive but here i am sitting in a puddle... WHO SAID THAT

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Three weeks. All Dean had left was three weeks. 

It felt like your heart was constantly in your throat. It felt like you could never get Dean close enough to you when you slept beside him. No amount of late night conversation or sexual escapades could save you from the anxiety you had welling up inside you. 

And so, you went back to work trying to find the demon holding Dean’s contract. 

You lingered behind Sam in the back of a dark room in an abandoned cabin where Dean was throwing every torture he could possibly think of at the demon strapped to the chair in front of him. “You ready to talk?”

“I don't know,” he wailed. “I don't know anything!”

“Oh, you hear that, guys?” Dean taunted. “He doesn't know anything.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Sam smirked. 

You stayed silent.

“I'm telling you the truth,” the demon pleaded. 

“Oh, you are? My god, then I owe you an apology. Allow me to make it up to you.” Dean held the demon’s mouth open and forced Holy Water down his throat. “I'm gonna ask you one last time: who holds my contract?!”

You were mentally scolding yourself for finding this interrogation sexy in any manner.

The demon went quiet and hung his head low. He looked up with inky black eyes, smiling. “Your mother. Yeah, she, uh, showed it to me right before I bent her over.”

“I want a name. Or else—”

The demon cut Dean off. “Or what? You're gonna squirt your holy water in both ends? Please. Brother, that's like a flea bite compared to what's coming to me if I tell you jack. Do what you want. The only thing I'm scared of is the demon holding your ticket.”

You stepped forward for the first time. “Let me try something.”

Dean looked at you skeptically, but the wheels in your head began to turn. The boys hadn’t seen you in action with an interrogation just yet; a skill you could credit your father for bestowing upon you. 

“Oh, god,” the demon laughed. “Gonna torture me with a kiss, pretty girl?”

You kept your gaze ahead, preparing for what you were going to have to do to this demon. “We got any salt in the trunk, Dean?” 

He shot you another skeptical look. “Yeah…?”

You nodded at him to go get it while you circled the demon holding the iron fire poker behind your back. When you were behind him, you quickly carved the binding link symbol into the back of his neck through the demon’s screams of protest. 

The demon laughed when you were finished. “A binding link? Really?”

“Hate to say it, I’m with him on this one,” said Sam, looking at you with confusion written all over his face. 

You gave him a look that told him to just trust you. When Dean returned with the large bag of salt he had in the trunk, you doused the iron poker in holy water and dipped it in the salt. “Is this gonna feel like a flea bite?” you asked, your face completely flat. 

The demon’s eyes flashed with fear, but he kept his “tough guy” persona up. You lightly cut down his left thigh with your knife before shoving the poker in the wound, and he screamed out louder than Dean had been able to manage making him. 

“Who holds Dean’s contract?” you asked evenly. 

“I can’t tell you,” he replied flippantly. 

“You can,” you said, “you just don’t want to.” You cut down the inside of his left thigh and created a deep gash, repeating the same action of putting the poker inside the wound. “See why I wanted you stuck inside?” you snarled. “You’d miss all the fun.”

“I’m not telling you anything!” he cried. 

You recoated the iron in holy water and salt. You cut up the side of his torso and put the poker against the wound once more. “Tell me,” you demanded. 

“No!” he screamed in agony. 

“Tell me!” you screamed in his face, holding the poker to his throat. 

“(Y/N)—” you heard Dean say quietly from behind you. 

You shoved the demon to the ground, still bound to his chair, and grabbed a handful of salt. Harshly, you rubbed it into the bleeding wound on the inside of his thigh. “Fucking tell me!” 

“(Y/N)!” Dean pulled you up from the demon by your elbow. “Sam, finish this fucker.” He pulled you outside of the cabin, and you shrugged him off you. 

“What the fuck, Dean?!” 

“I couldn’t watch you do that anymore,” he said. 

“What, get some demon to spill his guts? I thought that was what we’re here to do,” you scoffed. 

“Yeah, but that?” Dean pointed back at the cabin. You could see Sam exorcizing the demon through the window. “I’m not gonna watch you do that to yourself.”

“This has nothing to do with me. I’m fine,” you responded. 

“I’ve never known you to be like that,” he told you. 

“Like what?”

“Like me,” he answered, looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“C’mon, Dean—” you rolled your eyes. “This has nothing to do with my character versus yours or something like that. This is a desperate time. Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“Whatever,” he said. “Why is this just a casual thing for you?” 

“I grew up a hunter with a mean ass dad, Dee. He taught me all this,” you said, waving your hand in reference to the cabin. 

“Really?” he questioned. “You never told me that.”

“It never really came up,” you smiled lopsidedly. “Besides, not much time for backstories when we’re trying to break a demon deal and keep Sam from going Dark Side.”

“Don’t do that again. Not for me, okay?” Dean asserted. “I can’t watch that again.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you replied. “But if it gets us some answers, I will do it again.” Dean went to protest, but you kept going. “If it gets you out of this fucking deal, I’ll do pretty much anything. I love you, and I respect you, but this is not up for debate. I have a skill. Why not use it?”

***

“Guys, why are we gonna go after a fucking zombie when we should be focusing on Dean’s deal?” you asked, referring to the case Sam had found in the paper. “We’ve been on soul-saving detail for months now. But three weeks out, all of a sudden, you’re interested in workin’ a case?”

“Look,” Sam sighed, “I just thought since Dean’s been all gung ho to hunt, I’d be doing him a favor.”

“Obviously I wanna hunt some zombies, (Y/N),” Dean grinned. 

You dropped your head back knowing you’d lost the fight.

***

The man who’d died had apparently had his liver removed surgically. After thoroughly convincing a coroner that you were insane, you realized your zombie theory was all wrong.

You remained fed up with the fact that you weren’t focusing on Dean’s deal but went along with the case anyway. While Sam and Dean remained focused on talking to another man who’d had an organ cut out of him, you were angry with the entirety of the situation; not specifically the two brothers.

Now, back in the motel, you sat on Sam’s bed while Dean happily chomped on a burger. You pretended to research on your laptop while Sam actually worked on his. 

“So, I got a theory,” Sam piped up. 

“Yeah?” Dean asked through a mouthful of food. 

“Yeah, I talked to Mr. Giggle's doctor. Turns out his incisions were sewn up with silk.”

That caught your attention. “What?”

“That’s weird,” Dean added.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, nowadays, it is, but silk used to be the suture of choice back in the early 19th century. It was really problematic. Patients would get massive infections. The death rate was insane.”

“Good times,” Dean quipped. 

“Right, so doctors, they had to do whatever they could to keep infections from spreading. One way was maggots,” Sam grimaced. 

“Dude, I’m eating,” Dean winced. 

“It actually kind of worked because maggots, they eat bad tissue, and they leave good tissue. And get this. When they found our guy, his body cavity was stuffed full of maggots,” Sam explained. 

“Dude, I'm eating!” Dean groaned. “Alright, let me get this straight. So, people are getting ganked, right? A little ‘antiques roadshow’ surgery, some organ theft. But why is this all sounding familiar?”

“Uh, Dr. Frankenstein?” you quipped. 

“No, because he’s heard it before,” said Sam. “When you were a kid. From Dad. Doc Benton: real-life doctor, lived in New Hampshire, brilliant and obsessed with alchemy, especially how to live forever. So, in 1816, Doc abandons his practice and—”

“Right, yeah,” Dean cut his brother off, “nobody hears from him for like 20 years, and all of sudden, people start showing up dead.”

“Dead or missing an organ or the hand or some other kind of part.”

“ 'Cause whatever he was doing was actually working. He just kept on ticking. Parts would wear out; he'd replace them. But I thought Dad hunted him down and took his heart out.”

“Yeah, I guess the Doc must have plugged in a new one.”

“Alright, where's he doing the deed?” Dean questioned. 

“According to this, Benton's picky about where he sets up his lab. He likes dense forest with access to a river or stream or some kind of freshwater,” replied Sam. 

Dean took another huge bite of his burger. “Why?”

“Because that's where he likes to dump the bile and intestines and fecal matter.”

Dean gagged. 

“Lost your appetite yet?” Sam deadpanned. 

Dean considered, looking down at his burger. “Oh, baby, I can’t stay mad at you.”

Though you normally would have giggled at Dean’s joke, you simply rolled your eyes this time. 

Dean had apparently been expecting you to laugh, too. “What’s up?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” You shut your laptop and walked out with the brothers staring after you to smoke a joint. 

***

Almost an hour of you sitting outside later, Dean marched out of the room with his bag. 

“Where you going?” you asked him. 

“Sam lied to us. He knew Benton was here,” he replied, throwing his duffel into the back of the car. 

“What?!” you exclaimed angrily. 

“Yeah,” Dean huffed. “And Bobby knows where Bela is. That’s where I’m goin’.”

“I’m coming with you,” you asserted. Off his look, you stated, “I’m not asking.”

“Can’t say I’m loving this new attitude of yours,” Dean said as you headed back to your shared room for your bag. 

“My dude’s gonna die in three weeks. Forgive me if I’m a little on edge,” you called over your shoulder as you strutted ahead.

***

Dean drove well into the night as you sat beside him holding his hand. You couldn’t help but want to constantly be touching just to revel in the fact that he was here, and he was okay. 

You arrived in Canaan, Vermont around three in the morning. You and Dean stopped at a motel to get a few hours of sleep before you would head to meet Bobby’s contact, Rufus Turner. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean told you through the dark, holding you against his chest. 

“For what?”

“Everything,” he replied, voice rumbling deeply in his chest. “I’m sorry I’ve been hard on you. I know this has been…” he trailed off, sighing. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Dee,” you told him. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just stressed out.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I put you in that position.” 

You tilted your face up toward him and kissed his chin. “It’s okay. Let yourself off the hook.”

The two of you didn’t speak for the rest of the night, but you knew that Dean wasn’t sleeping. The both of you were staring up at the ceiling thinking about what was awaiting Dean in less than three weeks. 

The evidence of that showed in the bags that hung under your eyes as you approached Rufus Turner’s house. A handwritten sign hung on the porch reading, “No solicitors, that means you! No asking for donations. No selling ANYTHING!"

Dean rang the buzzer and than banged on the door. 

You heard a noise behind you and turned to see a security camera positioning itself toward you. “What?” a man’s voice asked through the intercom. 

“Hi,” you said politely. “Rufus?”

“Yeah, even if I am, the question is still the same. What?”

“I’m (Y/N). This is Dean. We’re friends of Bobby Singer’s,” you replied. 

“So?” he asked. 

“You called him this morning,” explained Dean. 

“So?”

Dean tried to flash a charming grin at the camera despite his obviously growing frustration. “You told Bobby about a British chick who made contact with you.”

“And so?” Rufus continued. 

“You know where she is?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Could you tell me where I could find her?”

“No.”

“ ‘Course not,” Dean muttered to himself. He looked back up at the camera. “Look, Rufus, man—”

The door jerked open to reveal the man you’d been speaking to. “Look, let me point something out to you. You are knocking at my door, so don't ‘Look, man’ me. I'm not your man.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean replied politely. It was like he was speaking to his father, and how quickly he snapped into line startled you slightly. 

“Alright, let me tell you a little story,” Rufus began. “See, once upon a time, Bobby called me, asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Bela Talbot. I got a whiff. I called. The end.”

“Okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where she is, I mean, that would be great,” Dean chuckled awkwardly. 

“Dean, right?”

Dean nodded. 

“Dean, do I look like I'm here to help you?” 

“I’m gonna say no?” 

“Then get the hell off my property.”

“Would a bottle of scotch change your mind?” you asked, holding up the bottle Bobby suggested you bring with a lopsided smile. 

Rufus eyed you, brows drawn, then the bottle, and then grinned. 

***

Rufus was actually pretty cool once you’d gotten to know him and plied him with a little liquor. What he told you about Bela was what really piqued your interest, though. Rufus managed to find Bela’s— well, Abby’s— records from England. She’d apparently lost her parents in an accident where it seemed the brake lines were cut on their car. 

You didn’t drink, seeing as Dean wasn’t intending on being the responsible one in this scenario, and as a result, you drove a very drunken Dean back to your motel. 

“But Bela—” he whined. 

“I’ve got her. You’re staying here,” you asserted, doing your best to get him on your bed. 

“I don’t want you going alone,” he replied. 

“You are too drunk to be handling a gun, m’ love,” you told Dean. “I promise I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Wait.” Dean grabbed your hand as you turned for the door. “Be safe, okay?” 

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You helped Dean tug off his boots and get into bed. He passed out pretty much as soon as he hit the pillow, and you gave him a lingering kiss on his forehead before you left. 

***

As soon as Bela closed the door to her hotel room, you were on her with your arm across her throat and your gun in her face. “Where’s the Colt?” you sneered. 

“(Y/N),” she replied calmly. 

“No extra words,” you asserted.

She quirked a brow at you. “It's long gone, across the world by now.”

“Liar,” you said, shoving her neck harder. You grabbed her bag from her hand to look in it, keeping your gun firmly trained on the place right between her eyebrows. 

“I'll call the buyer. Speak Farsi?” she smirked. 

You pulled her against you and made quick work of frisking her in search of her gun. 

“What the hell are you—?!” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, dangling her gun in front of her face that you’d found tucked in her waistband. You used the tip of your gun’s barrel to flick the light on, then pointed it back at her. “Don’t fucking move, or I’ll kill you, I swear to god.”

You began to search the room, taking every drawer and bag apart. 

“I told you, I don’t have it,” Bela spoke evenly. 

“We are way past trust, angel,” you explained to her. When you heard movement behind you, you shot at the door inches from her head. “I told you not to fucking move.” You continued searching.

After a few minutes, she spoke again. “It's gone. Get on a plane if you must. Track down the buyer. You might catch up to him eventually.”

You angrily threw the last drawer open, rummaged through it, and stood with your gun pointed at her head. 

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

You simply nodded in response. 

“You're not cold-blooded, darling.” Bela rolled her eyes. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you stated flatly. “The boys are more of the Care Bear type than I am.”

She gave you a skeptical look. “Really.”

“Really,” you smirked cruelly. “You and I are way more alike than I think you realize.”

“How’s that?” she snickered. 

“Both annoyingly bitchy. Both with various vices and addictions. Both brutally honest. And we both killed our parents,” you told her. “But what I can’t work out is why you did it.”

She looked completely shocked but tried to maintain her composure. “I don't know what you're talking—”

“Yes, you do,” you replied. “Don’t fuck with me. You were, what, fourteen? Shady car accident, police suspected a slashed brake line, and little Bela— well, Abby— inherits millions. Ringing any bells?”

Her mouth agape, she breathed out, “How did you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” you drawled. 

“They were lovely people. And I killed them. And I got rich. I can't be bothered to give a damn. Just like I don't care what happens to Dean,” she shrugged.

Seeing red, you pushed her against the door with your arm against her throat again.

“You make me sick,” you snarled. 

“Likewise,” she grinned. 

You backed away from her, pointed your gun, and cocked it. Then, you noticed the woven herbs hanging above her door were ones used for warding off Hellhounds. Deciding killing her now would be letting her off easy, you clicked the safety back into place and shoved her out of your way. “I’ll see you around, Abby.”

***

When you returned to the motel, Dean woke up as soon as you opened the door. He hummed sleepily. 

“Morning, princess,” you smiled. 

“You haven’t called me that in a while,” his deep voice rumbled. 

You giggled. “Figured it was time to bring it back.”

“Is she—?” Dean trailed off, referring to Bela. 

“No,” you said. “She will be soon, though.”

He shot you a confused and slightly irritated look. “I thought you were gonna—”

“I was. And then I saw Devil’s shoestring hangin’ above her door. I figured that would be a more suitable death for her,” you shrugged. 

“Damn, she made a deal?” he questioned, getting up from bed. 

“I’m guessing to kill her parents,” you replied. 

“Good thinkin’. Well, let’s get goin’ back to Sam.”

You nodded. “Sure you don’t need to nurse that hangover first?” you asked mockingly. 

He groaned. “That scotch was some serious shit, man.”

***

“I’m really fucked this time, (Y/N),” Dean admitted, voice breaking slightly. 

You pulled your eyes from the road to look at him for a brief second. “Dee…”

“No,” he shook his head. “The Colt’s gone, and Sam was right. Bela was a goose chase.” Dean’s phone rang. “Speaking of…” he trailed off as he answered the phone. “You okay? Was he there?... Did you kill him?... What do you mean, ‘no’?... What, the live-forever formula?... Great, let me guess. I got to drink blood out of a baby's skull?... Wait, wait, wait. What are— What are you saying? You think… Okay, so, this formula…” He suddenly got panicked. “Sam?! Sammy!” He slammed his phone shut. “Dammit! Drive faster, (Y/N).”

“What happened?!” you questioned. 

“He found Benton’s cabin. He said that whole, uh, live-forever thing is just science. Meaning… it’s doable. And then, Benton found him,” Dean explained. 

“Oh, fuck.” You floored it completely. “Well, how the hell are we gonna find Sam? Weren’t there, like, five different possible cabins?!” 

“I’m gonna get the phone company to put a track on it,” Dean responded. 

After he did so, the car went quiet for another moment as you focused on driving. However, there was a nagging thought in the back of your mind. “Are you… Are you gonna take the elixir of life?”

Dean considered for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is gonna work.”

“Right. I don’t know if changing out whose pancreas you’re carrying is gonna have an effect on the Hellhounds’ ability to… y’know…”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “This fucking sucks.” He slumped down in his seat. 

“Hey, all is not lost,” you told him. 

He shot you a look that said, “Yeah, right.” “Look, right now, we just need to focus on Sam,” he asserted. 

“Okay, then. What’s your plan?” you asked. 

He gave you another look. 

“Right,” you said dryly. “Why would you have a plan?”

***

Thankfully, when you got to Benton’s cabin, you found a bottle of chloroform on the table in the kitchen. Silently, you held it up to show Dean. He took it from you and drenched his Bowie knife in the liquid. 

As you approached the cabin’s basement, you could hear Doctor Benton’s voice becoming closer and closer. Dean mouthed to you, “One, two, three,” and then, you and he began shooting at the doctor’s back after jumping out from behind the wall blocking the basement’s stairs from the rest of the room. 

“Shoot all you want,” Benton grinned, approaching you. You let loose two more bullets, and Dean swept up behind him to stab him in the back. 

He stumbled and turned around. “A knife? What part of immortality do you not understand? Pity about the heart, though. It was a brand-new one.”

“Good. It should be pumping nice and strong,” Dean smirked. “Sending this stuff throughout your whole body. See, I picked up your little bottle upstairs and dipped the knife in it.”

Dr. Benton’s mouth fell open in shock, and his eyes rolled back in his head just before he collapsed. 

“(Y/N), gimme a hand?” Sam asked as Dean dealt with Dr. Benton’s body. 

You rushed to his side, unstrapped his limbs, and carefully peeled the pieces of duct tape off his eyelids that were holding them open. “You okay?” “Yeah. You got here just in time,” he smiled weakly. 

You gave him a quick hug, both relieved that he was okay and happy to see him again. 

“Alright, break it up,” Dean groaned. “Help me get this mook on the table. He’s fuckin’ heavy.”

***

You sat in the corner of the room waiting for Dr. Benton to wake up. After about an hour of twiddling your thumbs, the doctor groaned. 

“Oh, hiya, Doc. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” Dean deadpanned. 

“Please—” the doctor panicked. 

“ ‘Please’ what?” Dean taunted. “You've been killing poor bastards for over a hundred-fifty years, and now, you got a request? Shut up.”

The creature struggled against his restraints. “No, you don't understand. I can help you. I know what you need.”

Dean ignored the doctor and focused on you and Sam. “We might have to cut him up into little bits. Y'know, this immortality thing is a bitch.”

“I can read the formula for you. You know… immortality… Forever young, never die,” he tried. 

“Dean,” Sam said suddenly. 

“Sam,” you warned. 

He walked out of the room, indicating for you and Dean to follow. 

You kept an eye on the doctor just to ensure he couldn’t go anywhere while Sam addressed his brother. 

“I mean, we're talking Hell in three weeks, or needing a new kidney in, like, half a century,” Sam urged. 

“Yeah, well, you can't exactly get those at a Kwik-E-Mart,” Dean snarked. 

You kept silent. 

“It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, Dean. I mean, please, just- just think about it.”

“No,” Dean replied firmly. 

That surprised you, if you were honest. 

“Dean, don't you want to live?” Sam asked in desperation. 

Dean gave him a sympathetic look, but his voice was firm. “What he is isn't living. Look, this is simple.”

“Simple?” Sam scoffed. 

“To me it is, okay,” Dean returned. “Black or white; human, not human.” He strolled back into the room to tower over the immobilized doctor. “See, what the Doc is is a fuckin’ monster. I can't do it. I would rather go to hell.”

“You don’t understand. I can help you!” The doctor yelled. 

You poured more chloroform onto a rag and handed it to Dean. Dean covered the doctor’s mouth with it and turned to Sam. “Now, I'm gonna take care of him. You can either help me or not. It's up to you.”

***

The three of you laid the doctor’s body in the ground inside a refrigerator wrapped in chains. You dropped the doctor’s book on top of the box. 

“No!” Benton wailed. “Stop it! I can help you!”

“Enjoy forever in there, Doc,” Dean said, sounding slightly emotionless. 

As gruesome as the thought of being trapped down there forever was, it was what needed to be done. And so, you shoveled the displaced dirt back on top of the refrigerator and book. 

When you’d dusted your hands off, you turned to the boys. “Alright, we gotta get the hell outta dodge.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. 

“Bela’s probably on her way to the motel as we speak,” you replied. “She swiped the receipt from my pocket.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything till now?” Dean asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. 

“We were a little preoccupied!” you remarked. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get our shit before she gets there…. Should be in about three hours.”

***

After exactly three hours had passed, you called the motel room you’d been staying in while Dean drove the three of you away from trouble. Quickly, the phone picked up. 

“Hiya, Abby,” you cooed. “Figured you’d be stopping by.”

“Wh—”

You cut Bela off. “I felt your hand in my pocket when you took that receipt.”

Her breathing had become quicker. “You don't understand.”

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure I do,” you told her calmly. “I saw that Devil’s shoestring hangin’ above your door. There’s only one use for that: holding Hellhounds at bay. So I went back and took another look at that obituary for your parents. Exactly ten years ago today. Happy anniversary, I guess.”

When Bela didn’t speak, you continued. “Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal; our gun for your soul?”

“Yes,” she replied, and you could tell she was crying. 

“But stealing the Colt wasn't quite enough, I'm guessing,” you nodded, pursing your lips. 

“They changed the deal. They wanted me to kill Sam,” she cried. 

“Really?” you mocked. “Wow, who’da thought that demons would’ve been untrustworthy. Well, I’ll leave you alone now. Let you live out your last few minutes in peace.”

“(Y/N), listen, I need help,” she begged. 

“We are weeks past help, lovebug.”

“I know I don't deserve it,” Bela continued crying. 

“Y’know, come to think of it, you don’t. But if you’d come to us sooner and asked for help, we probably could’ve taken the Colt and saved you.”

“I know,” she swallowed, “and saved Dean, too. I know about his deal.”

Your heart sank, and your voice became dangerously low. “And who told you that?”

“The demon that holds it. She holds mine too. She said she holds every deal,” Bela explained. 

“She?”

“Her name’s Lilith.”

‘Fabulous,’ you thought. “Lilith? Why should I believe you?” you spat.

“You shouldn’t, but it’s the truth.” “This can't help you; not now. Why’re you telling me this?” you questioned. 

“Because just maybe you can kill the bitch,” she replied, voice holding her usual charm for the first time during your call with her. “Tell Dean I’ll see him soon.”

Taking in a shuddering breath, you said, “See you around, Abby,” and hung up the phone.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[i-may-be-an-emu]

SFTH FAQ and Info Masterpost

This is kinda long so

sfth info:

General info

Sam and Tom’s last names being different sometimes

Shark Friend, Mr Wompa and Squidboi terms origins

the boys degrees

information about what you get with patreon

navigating patreon

roll from the hip

wing it

All sfth youtube videos have been subtitled in English by the amazing subtitle team, as well as many other languages too!! The people who have done them are credited in the video descriptions. Patreon subtitles are being worked on, currently all the Patreon improvised plays are subtitled and some of the fringe shows :)

Unfortunately some sfth videos (especially on tiktok) have been stolen and uploaded as an attempt to impersonate sfth’s account. Please try to report these accounts!! Sfth are verified now, so it’s easier to see which is the real them.

Obviously there’s no rules on tumblr but as a general courtesy to the guys, consider keeping in mind:

Don’t share patreon links (which is probably a patreon rule anyway) and keep clips of patreon things under 2 minutes. Screenshots and discussions are fine!! (As some people have been wondering) Personally, I use the “#sfth patreon” tag so anyone who wants to filter it out can

Don’t share old sfth content around, such as videos and photos of them from years ago from accounts that aren’t theirs. They’ve stated they don’t want this done.

[again, tumblr doesn’t have rules- I’m just making some things known that respect the guy’s wishes]

links to stuff:

The Current fanfiction masterlist and also the Fanfiction masterlist- no longer updated (both lists are mine, fics are of many different authors all credited through the ao3 links) and also an ao3 page with mostly all sfth fics by @bbatcat-09

ao3 guide a relationships ao3 tagging guide and a revised ao3 tagging guide (specific for the sfth fandom) (all by the incredible @youling-the-ghost)

List of games that sfth have posted (by @letsbesharkfriends)

sfth fan wiki (by @youling-the-ghost, I and others have also contributed a little but it’s mostly him :))

tv tropes sfth page (by @friendofthesharks)

Sfth map (by @goingroundincircles-ontrack)

kiss count, not up to date (mine, diagram by @leftenmost-window)

“who said it” and “which member are you” really fun sfth quizzes! (by @toddandersonwithtrustissues)

Another very fun quiz a “which unrelenting aubergine character are you” quiz by @youling-the-ghost :))

You can find amazing sfth gifsets by @hellsquills (to find these search “shoot from the gif” within her blog)

Very impressive and helpful sfth death count by @letsbesharkfriends

some info about dnd and the bitter sweethearts and eftv characters classes in a reblog by @youling-the-ghost

tier list maker for all the longforms including patreon by @ardenofthegarden

sfth discord info by me

sfth videos youtube game playlists by @goingroundincircles-ontrack

info about sfth’s youtube membership “The Beetroot Brigade” by me:

How to join if it’s not working for you

what exactly it is

sfth family tree headcanon by @not-an-idiot and @svnnyd4ys

search “#sfth asks” on my blog to find any asks about or relating to sfth- it’s not just questions, but there is a great deal of questions that you might find yours answered by :) I’m always happy to get asks and to help out with any questions!!! I’ve also started tagging “#sfth faq’s” recently for things that I think others might want to know

You should check out all the amazing fanart too under “#sfth fanart”!!! (also sneaky self promotion that I make fanart sometimes lol “#emu draws” is my art tag :))

feel free to @, dm me or send asks anytime if you have any sfth related questions or wanna obsess over it with me :)

Fandom tags:

(from memory and just the common ones I see)

(These are of course and by no means rules with tagging or anything like that, just if you want to search for specific things!)

main tags:

#shoot from the hip #sfth #shootimpro #sfthposting #sfth screenshots

#sam russell #sfth sam #alexander jeremy #sfth aj #luke manning #sfth luke #tom mayo #sfth tom #sfth sam

fanwork tags:

#sfth fanart #sfth fanfic #sfth fanfiction #sfth edits #sfth headcanons

patreon tags:

#sfthpatreon #sfth patreon things #sfth patreon #the bitter sweethearts #sfth dnd #sfth livestreams #sfth livestreams #escape from the vault

roll from the hip tags:

#roll from the hip #rfth #the plaugeround

Here’s the link to join the sfth fan discord! https://discord.gg/sfthcord (Just a note that it is a 14+ server.) Everyone is lovely and there’s no pressure to interact- but if you do the community is so welcoming!!!

sfth linktree (stuff about their upcoming shows and links to their things. you can also sign up to their patreon here)

sfth website

sfth ko-fi

AJ ko-fi (for his film making) and his film insta @lofi_film25 and youtube

Tom’s graphic novel @futurethecomic (insta)

Sam wrote an audiobook “Evergreen” and you can find it on Spotify

if you think of anything that should go on this post let me know! :)

[kittenintheden]

BG3 Fics & Drabbles Masterlist

thought I should probably start a masterlist. it's mostly being horny on main for Astarion lbr.

~clicky for art thou nasty etc.~

One-Shots

Where were you, when I was new? - 18+, Pre-Canon, Virgin Astarion, Law Student Astarion (plus bonus gift art by tavplum!!)

No Thoughts, Just Vibes - 18+, Post-Canon, Spawn!Starion, sex toys, holiday fluff

Closer to God - 18+, breeding kink, sex pollen-ish (everyone aware/consenting, just big horny), heat/mating, rough sex, but also tender sex

Professionals - 18+, roleplay, sex work, biting, blood drinking, oral sex, PIV sex

You Can Read Me Anything Part 1 | Part 2 - 18+, innocent Tav, illiterate Tav, secondhand smut via fake bodice ripper, first time oral, retell of the forest clearing scene, Astarion playing himself

Ethics Review - 18+, magistrate roleplay, post-canon, light BDSM, spanking, orgasm denial, dirty talk, light edgeplay, oral sex, PIV sex

How could I say no? - 18+, dirty talk, established relationship, AFAB F!Tav (3rd person), sexy kisses, teasing, orgasm delay, analingus

Poker Face Real Version | April Fool's Version - 18+, gender neutral Tav, quickie, semi-public sex, sex in a closet (sort of), wall sex, blowjob, penetration

Right Side of My Neck - 18+, female OC, oral sex, PIV sex, mirror sex, stoned sex, Ori and Astarion get high and Astarion gets the weed hornies

how to train your brat - 18+, future NYS sneak peek, Ori bratting, Astarion brat-taming, light BDSM elements, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, light spanking, blowjob, PIV sex, the dorks being complete menaces

how to lose your mind - 18+, future NYS content, Astarion gets lovingly pegged until he's nonverbal, strap-on, anal, p-spot orgasm, multiple orgasms (male), established relationship, handjob, facesitting, oral sex, get loved losers etc.

hit the bricks - 18+, Oristarion, semi-public sex, wall sex, quickie, established relationship, tiny bit of Ori being a power bottom

I Slit the Throat of Your Confidence - 18+, Lae'zel/Astarion, hatesex-ish, fighting kink, blood kink, blood drinking, rough sex, rough oral, fingerfucking, PIV sex, orgasm denial, impact play, feral cats matching energy

When I Think About You - 18+, Astarion/Reader (You), masturbation, mutual masturbation (sort of), voyeurism, pillow humping, Astarion playing himself once again because I have a type and that type is simp in denial

Wanna Give You My Sugar, Baby - 18+, Astarion/Female Tav (3rd person), food play, oral sex, PIV sex, inappropriate use of both chocolate and mage hand

-

Drabbles (under 1k)

Sip the Tea - 18+, temperature play, blowjob

Devil Inside - 18+, Haarlep being an asshole, Astarion making it better

music to my ears - 18+, eargasm, ASMR, touchless orgasm, creaming pants

Mirror Image - 18+, oral sex, 69 position

Let Go - 18+, fluffy, gentle sex, disgustingly in love about it

Before Morning's Light - 18+, fluff, comfort after nightmare of the needy nighttime quickie persuasion

we're going down - 18+, Astarion/reader, cunnilingus

Here for Wyllstravaganza? Find all the Wyll Ravengard goodness here!

People send me Ask Box prompts sometimes - you can find all those here!

-

Long Fic

Not Your Sweetheart (AO3) - 18CHA bard Orianna vs 10CHA dumbass rogue vampire, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, absurd amount of zingers & hijinks

It's Always Sunny in Nine Hills (AO3) - it's the crew we all know and love but they're modern-day dirtbag losers who live and work at a beach with big SoCal vibes

NYS Spotify Playlist - The playlist that accompanies Not Your Sweetheart, updated every chapter <3

Masterpost of Ori Art - The non-spoilery art I have of Ori (and Astarion, occasionally), with all artists linked

Header art of Ori by Freya

Icon art by @hamrikaa

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // epilogue

summary: a few years later...

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n:

here it is :) the epilogue :)

(i'm crying, could you tell??) i figured it was time to post this now that we've officially entered the overlapping requiem/michigan cherry era. tbh i was just afraid to let these two go bc i love them so much.

thank you all again SO so much for all the love on this fic. it has truly meant everything to me that so many people came on this actual JOURNEY with me, i never intended this to be so long but here we are.

anyway, stick around for requiem!! and i hope you loved this if you made it this far!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

You were all dressed up in one of your finest gowns, attending the gala that preceded the presidential election.

Coriolanus was running, of course, and you were so incredibly proud. He's worked toward this for years, and you had been there every step of the way since the tenth annual Hunger Games, all those years ago. It felt like a distant memory- albeit one that still haunted you regularly.

You were a whole new person. A Capitol citizen most of the year, and you were happy most of the time. You and Coryo had always gone home in the summers, though, to spend your days surrounded by friends and family under the District Twelve sun. You always looked forward to it, but three months never felt like quite enough time. You missed your old life, but that's all it could be now.

While some Capitol elite was talking your ear off about the upcoming games, that's all you can think about. Well, how after the election that your boyfriend would most certainly win, those summers of peace would be a thing of the past. It was hard to think about, which is why you focussed on how you could work around it. Perhaps you would make smaller visits throughout the year- although Coryo was prepping you for the endless tasks that would even be put onto you as the First Lady of Panem. Once he wins the election, he would propose- and it would be followed by the wedding of the century. You didn't know if you dreaded it or if the pressure of it all just scared you beyond what excitement could repair.

"Miss Y/L/N?" Your train of thought is abruptly interrupted and you hum in response, bringing the champagne glass to your lips, acting like you were paying attention the whole time.

"Yes?" You respond as you lower your glass. "My apologies, I just spaced out for a moment there. It's a big day, after all..." You chuckle to recover, tilting your head slightly at them.

"I was just asking if you had any input in the arena for the next Games, if you could give us any hints." The man asks, seemingly impatient with you getting distracted.

"Oh," You reply, smile fading softly. "No, I- I really try to stay out of all of that." You laugh nervously, gripping tighter onto the glass as you take another sip, relieved when you feel someone's hand on your arm.

"Y/N, come sit. Coriolanus's speech is about to start, he got me to save you a seat at my table." Sejanus says, linking his arm with yours.

You politely excuse yourself from the conversation and allow him to pull you away. "Many thanks." You whisper to him, chuckling slightly as you glance back over your shoulder at the older man you were speaking to. "Some people are so tone-deaf, aren't they?"

"Most definitely." He sighs, shaking his head as he guides you toward his table at the front of the banquet hall, close to the stage. "Apparently that will never change."

Sejanus Plinth was your saving grace all these years, that, however, had never changed. You didn't see him as much anymore, with you being locked up in your office in the Snow penthouse focused on writing book after book until you were burnt out. His role as a doctor in and out of the Districts certainly didn't help either, but you knew he was partial to working back home in Twelve so he could spend more time with Lucy Gray. You were glad he was much more fulfilled in his adult life than you were; you always knew he would do well and you were proud. You had to take moments every so often to remind yourself that when you first met him and Coryo, you had been sad that you wouldn't get to see the men they would become but you had wondered. Now, you had your answers.

"Is that not the truth." You scoff under your breath, smiling and giving a quick wave to a few familiar faces as you pass. You had become somewhat of a people-pleasing expert, the same way Coriolanus had.

You sit down at the table at the front of the room just as the lights slightly dim, and the spotlight hits the stage. You gently cross one leg over the other, careful not to wrinkle your dress and clap in just the perfect polite way you had learned how to over the years, smiling as you see Coryo walk up onto the stage.

He waves, and people whistle and clap, and the smile on his face seems a little more genuine than it normally is during these speeches. Of course, though, this is his final address before he no doubt gets voted in as president, and you know that he is excited.

"Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out tonight..." He says, in a subtle cue to get people to quiet down so he could speak, a drink still in his hand that he delicately hovers above the podium next to him. "This has been such an incredible opportunity for both of us running, and I must say, it's been fun." He tips the glass toward the other table at the front, and your eyes follow the movement to the other candidate, your friend and former classmate, Hilarius Heavensbee. They've never gotten along, and you know Hilarius wants nothing to do with this job. Not really. It makes you sad, a little bit, that his family would push him this far when he had confided in you in his freshman year that it wasn't what he wanted.

The man just gives Coryo a polite but nervous smile, taking another sip out of his own champagne glass. From where you were, you could see his hand trembling. You knew he would have to go next, and Coriolanus Snow was always a tough act to follow.

"Now, I am very happy about this turnout, because I have two important announcements to make." He continues, and whispers fill the room. You look over at Sejanus, a slight look of shock on your face. You didn't know he had anything special to announce, and he always kept you in the loop on everything. Sejanus just shrugs, looking back up at Coryo again. It must not actually be a big deal- it was probably just thanking some more people who have donated to his campaign.

"Firstly," He clears his throat, taking a step to the side as the screen behind him lights up. "For just a moment, see me as your head game maker and forget all about me running for president. Or don't, actually, maybe keep that in mind, but at the back of your mind." He chuckles, the little joke making the audience laugh. He was much more personable now than he once was, you smile a little as you remember helping him write his earlier speeches in a way that would make him more likable. "With the help of my fellow candidate and personal good friend, we are trying something new when it comes to The Hunger Games."

When he speaks, your heart drops and you sit up a little straighter- feeling all eyes on you as you just focus on him. For the first time, he looks down at you and gives you a small smile, the slightest nod in an effort to reassure you that it wasn't as scary as it sounded. You swallow and just keep your smile on as best as you can, ignoring all the stares.

"So, we all love The Games. They're exciting, the stakes are high, and I know every year we all pick our favourite tributes to root for and it's hard to watch them fall but, god, do I know better than anyone how good it feels when they win." Your cheeks burn intensely as Coryo sends a smile and a wink your way, and the screen behind him flashes to a picture of the two of you, taken after your shared university graduation just a couple of years ago. You were both smiling, but he was looking at you as he held you tight around your waist, and you looked into the camera and held up a three-finger salute. People are laughing and awe-ing at the photo of the two of you, and you laugh nervously, looking over at Sejanus with slightly panicked eyes.

You would be absolutely fine with this if he had just run it by you before, and you knew that whether you liked it or not, the Games were an integral part of who you were now, and always would be- but you certainly didn't want your name on anything to do with these new changes they're making. But, he wouldn't be talking about you at all if he knew you would hate it. You had to remind yourself of that.

"So, you all know my beautiful Y/N, of course, we're all big fans of hers here," Coryo says, gesturing to where you were sitting and you let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head at him in a way that would appear teasing to everyone else while he waits for everyone to finish clapping for you. "Don't get embarrassed already, darling, I've got a bit more to say about you so just sit tight, okay? Nothing bad, I promise." He says to you, looking into your eyes even as he stands up on the stage, everyone's laughter echoing in the background.

"So, I have known Y/N and her outstanding mind for years now. The Games are what brought us together when we were both just kids, but you all already know that story so I'll spare you the details. The bottom line is, I am so proud of the woman she has become. She's written two books that will soon become three, she graduated in the top three percent of our class with only a District education to build on, and she is the single most well-spoken, well-mannered, beautiful, and caring woman I have ever met. Truly, she has changed my entire outlook on life." He says, talking more so to the audience than to you, knowing that you're so embarrassed by this. And he would be correct. "It has truly been a privilege to know her, and to love her."

"But that was a long journey for us both, and a seemingly endless uphill battle for her recovery, despite her strength. The Games can be scary, let's be totally honest. It's life or death, and winning will change you, but Y/N came out the other side and wanted to make a difference for her family and that inspired me. And she continues to inspire me every day." Coryo says, pausing to take a sip of his champagne again. "So, all of this is to say, I'd like to thank her for all her support through my education, this campaign, and through the life we're building together. She inspired this idea in me and with the help of my fellow game makers as well as the Plinth family..." You look over at Sejanus as he continues, suddenly realizing he must have known about what was happening. He keeps a small smile on his lips as he watches, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"This," Coryo says, turning to look up at the screen while a picture comes up of a small cul-de-sac of beautiful homes. "Is just the beginning of the Victor's Rehabilitation Initiative."

You tilt your head, a shocked and confused smile on your face as you take in the photo and try to decipher what he's talking about.

"So, recently, Y/N has been more open with everyone about the struggles that came with being crowned a victor in our Games. Yes, they get to walk away with their lives, but what if winning meant something more? What if it meant security for them and their families, so they're not returning to their Districts with no sense of what to do next? That, everyone, is what this program is for. To help the strongest of them find a purpose again, and to encourage the bravest of Panem's children to get back on their feet after such an impressive feat as winning the Games."

You have to very consciously force your jaw to stay shut when you realize what he is saying, clapping along with everyone else while your smile relaxes into something more genuine. You knew that he wanted to abolish the Games altogether, and you knew that no matter who won the election, they wouldn't proceed for much longer. This was the first step in that direction, and you were flooded with emotions. Pride, excitement, relief.

"For ten years, until the beginning of the mentorship program, our victors were cast aside. Never to be heard from again after their win, I, for one, became curious as to what happened to them after the Games as soon as I met Y/N, and I have heard that question from many of you as well since we were all given the pleasure of getting to know her." Coryo's smile is one of pride and excitement, sparing a glance at you as he allows the audience to have their responses. So far, all seemingly positive despite the present undertones of him caring about the people in the Districts. He was a smooth talker, he knew exactly how to command a space and get people to believe what he wanted. And he was using it for good. "I mean, how many other victors have something extraordinary, just like her, that won't be utilized or nurtured? We never knew."

"From now on," He continues, the crowd quieting down. "Our victors will be given homes in what we've decided to call Victor's Villages in each of the Twelve Districts. They'll have ensured security for themselves and their families, and a generous sum of prize money to help them with whatever they need. Whether that's medical attention, both physical and emotional, or, if they so choose, when they reach the appropriate age, they could apply at our university to further their education. Though, between you and I, admittance is not guaranteed." He winks at the end and it's accompanied by laughter, which you try and go along with, but you're too close to tears to even process fully what was going on. This was a huge step in the right direction, even if like he said, acceptance was not guaranteed. "What I mean, is that it will be up to them. They can live their lives to the fullest, just like our gem, Y/N."

He looks at you again, and you can really only see his blurry form through your tears until someone is handing you a handkerchief to dry your eyes while people clap and cheer over the idea.

This was something you couldn't have imagined years ago. This was everything you've wanted since the Games- to make a difference, for people to care. And it was happening right before your eyes. Thanks to him. Thanks to you.

"And with that," Coryo says after a few moments, waiting for the crowd to quiet down after taking in your reaction. "We can move on to my second announcement, which is my formal withdrawal from the presidential campaign."

Gasps fill the room and your smile disappears, a hand coming up to your mouth as you look up at him, shocked and confused with the announcement that blindsided even you.

"Are you happy here?" You ask quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the evening as you walk from your parent's house back to your own in the Victor's Village.

"I couldn't be happier." Coryo replies through a soft sigh, swinging your hand gently as it's clasped between you.

"Are you sure?" You say again, feeling a little uncertain despite weeks of his endless reassurance that this was, in fact, what he wanted.

To him, this scenario was perfect. He could keep his job as head gamemaker, planning to only return to the Capitol for a few months or so every year for the Games. He knew that wouldn't last much longer, though, not with Hilarius Heavensbee in office. Coryo gives it a few years and a few major "accidental" mistakes on his part for the viewership of the annual event to die out and open the door for the president to call them off, just like he had always wanted to.

And every day Coryo would wake up to see you in your happy place, the only place you'd ever felt truly at home. He was more than happy to give it all up for the greatest sake of seeing you smile.

"Of course." He smiles, never growing tired of telling you the same thing over and over again if it meant he could ease your mind.

The moonlight bounces off his in a way that makes you think it could be glowing if you didn't know any better.

"I told you that I would be. Years ago. You remember?"

"Of course I remember."

He lets out a breathy laugh at your reply, shaking his head. "That was a foolish question. I don't think you've ever forgotten a single word anyone has ever spoken to you."

"Sure I have." You say, tilting your head as you look up at him, trying to catch the same moonlight reflect in the blue of his eyes as you walk down the path. "I just don't forget... the important bits."

"I will try my best to take care of you while you're here."

"My honest, best advice? Figure out a way to escape."

"I can't have killed them all for nothing."

"You are not a beast."

"Please, don't walk away again."

"I survived because I had to learn to love you."

"Like in your books?" His voice interrupts the swirling of speech from years past, and you shrug.

"Not exactly... it feels different. Because I can hear it, still." You explain, voice dropping into something more quiet as the remnants of your fear eats away at the back of your mind, the cold night breeze imprinting your skin.

"God, the way your mind works, love." He says, and as you look up at him to be met with an expression of pride that always changes everything. "You amaze me every day."

You stay quiet, cheeks getting hot as you look back down at the path.

"Are you happy?" Coryo asks after a moment, eyes never daring to leave your profile as you walk next to him, hardly more than a silhouette in the dark. But certainly more than a ghost, now.

"I am." You reply, the smile creeping back onto your lips. "Such hours are beautiful to live, but hard to describe..."

He hums softly in response. That was a yes, but also a no in the most you fashion possible. His heart remains heavy in his chest knowing that there is nothing more he can do for you to help you heal besides be present. "Is there anything more I can do?" He asks anyway, hoping that maybe you would come up with something.

You shake your head, giving him a tight-lipped smile laced with reassurance.

"Well, then..." He sighs, rather dramatically. "I did have an idea, you know, something that might make you happy. Even just for this one beautiful hour."

You let out a laugh, squeezing his hand a bit. "If that was you asking me if we could-"

"I would like to marry you." He says, for the first time ever, not feeling guilty about interrupting you.

You stop in your tracks, and he stops with you instantly as if he were waiting for it, his hold on your hand not faltering for a second.

"I... you-"

"Darling," He starts, stepping in front of you now, blocking out the moon but hardly putting a dent in the presence of the stars over his shoulders, their soft light reflecting off his blonde curls. "I do love nothing in the world so well as you."

Your shock and confusion begins to wear off as he speaks the familiar words, and you laugh softly. "In your own words, Coryo."

He tilts his head at you, clearly not having expected that kind of response. He expected a lot of things. He planned for everything that could go wrong, he prepared for rejection, for tears, panic, even, but he did not expect that. "I, uh..." He chuckles nervously, giving his head a quick shake to get himself back on track.

He had read that play just for you. Just for this- because he knew how much you loved it, and he remembered the joy it brought you. The smile on your face when you told him about it that day at the lake had never left his mind.

"If you ask me in your own words, I shall say yes." You assure him, hands gripping tighter onto his despite your surprisingly calm demeanor.

"I thought you would like that... You know, knowing you..."

He's quick to defend himself, and your eyes almost sparkle as you look up into his own. "We should have learned by now that our story is our own, yes?" You ask. "We are not Beatrice and Benedick, or Laurie and Amy, or even Romeo and Juliet, just like I used to think we were supposed to be when my days were numbered. I thought I wanted one of those stories to be mine at least once before I died, but I was wrong." You say, taking in the embarrassed flush of his cheeks even in the dim lighting. "You are you, and I am me. No matter what you say I will be happy to marry you, so long as you ask me yourself, and not as someone else."

"Alright then." He gives you a curt nod, a smile on his face as he lowers himself in front of you, careless of the dirt that would no doubt cake into the knee of his pants. "You're everything to me, Y/N/N. My world... my heart, my soul. I didn't know what love was until I met you. I've spent the entirety of my adult life learning to love you, and I never intend to stop. Not even for a moment, so please, let me marry you, love."

"A Coryo indeed." You say softly, recalling the first day you had met him- when you only knew him as Coriolanus, and how far you both had come since then. The growing smile on your lips twitches and you nod, holding his hand a little tighter and attempting to pull Coryo back to his feet. "Of course I will. Nothing would make me happier."

He stands again and very quickly his arms are around you, holding you just as tight as they always had.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls , @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @cascadingbliss

if you want to join the taglist for future fics (requiem, michigan cherry, etc.) as well as the bonus content for this fic, follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on post notifs! all i do over there is reblog my own writing, so it's effectively a taglist :)

thanks again for being here.

xx, raye

[kaitsawamura]

-> somebody come get her (she's dancing like a stripper)

-> SUMMARY

You have bills to pay. That's the only thing on your mind when you go in for your shift at the strip club. The only thing on your mind until you see Daichi.

Daichi doesn't expect to find you, the girl of his dreams, at the strip club. In fact, he's 99% certain he shouldn't be here. But now he can't stop thinking of all the things he'd let you do to him.

Will your mutual attraction pay off for the both of you?

-> STATS

Pairing: Daichi Sawamura x Stripper!Reader (get that bread!)

Rating: M for Mature, MDNI

Warnings: My take on a corruption kink except Daichi's the one getting corrupted

Tags: Corruption, strangers to lovers, smut I tell you, filthy filthy smut with my husband, strip club au, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, a bit of choking (like a tiny bit), hair pulling, nasty nasty f*cking with my husband, sex in public (sorta, it's in a public restroom), a little dominant confident Reader (if I missed anything y'all can let me know in the DM's)

Word Count: 6.3K

Author's Note: I knew the moment I saw Mint's post . : HERE : . that I had to write something about it. They obligingly gave me the go ahead to be inspired so off I went a-writing. Obviously, this might be considered mild corruption by some but to me? This was like I went into a blackout and woke up not knowing what year it was. So, here you go, enjoy some nasty filthy smut with my love!

-> LINKS

Main Masterlist

HQ Masterlist

Playlist

Moodboard

“Rent’s due on Monday,” your roommate reminds you, concern masked with sympathy clear on her face. She’s not trying to be mean or overbearing but damn it, the stress of the situation makes you want to snark back. But you don’t.

“Do you have your half?” She nods. You nod back decisively. “I’m working tonight. Fridays are good days to work. It’s my first one without shadowing anyone. I’ll have the rest of my half in tips, don’t worry.” Her face brightens as she pours herself a glass of orange juice, sunlight streaming in the kitchen window of the tiny two-bedroom apartment you share with her.

“Thank god. The landlord’s being an ass again. We’ve been late one time. I have half a mind to give him a list of all the things wrong in this shithole instead of the check.” You roll your eyes conspiratorially but in reality, you don’t know if you’ll make your half in tips or not. Maybe your boss will give you an advance. You’ll talk to him tonight. He was surprisingly reasonable so the odds were at least in your favor.

Either way, you’ll get the money. You just hope you’ll be able to put the nervous energy thrumming through your veins to good use.

Daichi Sawamura should not have come here tonight. The guys in the office had convinced him, said there was a new pretty girl who was exactly his type. But this place was not the sort he was used to coming to. It wasn’t that this establishment was a bad one or that he had any problem with it; people had to make money how they could. Empowerment and autonomy and all that. It was more that he felt a little inadequate if he was being completely honest with himself. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone from here. He was used to good girls, the ones who had a routine and didn’t like anything too kinky. Which was also fine. But there were things he wanted to try, had a suspicion he would like that he just couldn’t ask of anyone he’d been with. He scrubbed a hand over his face, realizing the conversation he was having completely in his head was stressing him out.

“Dai, bro, just relax. She’s pretty. You better tip her good but you don’t have to talk to anyone but me and the bartender if you don’t want to. Just enjoy the show.” Kuroo smirks at his friend; it has been a long week. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve to wind down. Part of him just wishes he was doing it in the comfort of his home, with his favorite ramen from around the corner and a good movie. But who knows, maybe he’s getting complacent.

So he sits in the seat Kuroo has pulled out for him, a front-row spot directly in the middle of the runway. Right in front of the center pole. The seats are comfortable and he’s got a whiskey neat in his hands. He can feel a little of the stress release from the muscles in his traps, can feel his jaw unclench just in the slightest as the first warm sip of whiskey flows down his throat.

This is fine, he reassures himself, pushing work from his brain. Kuroo takes a sip from his own drink, a fruity one that he insists is the most delicious ever but is just a little too sweet for Daichi. The place is in a lull right now, preparing for the next act. But soon there’s a growing murmur from the back. Someone whistles, and a few others catcall. Daichi bristles just a bit, but he can’t even see anything until you hit the steps and it’s then that Kuroo elbows him.

“That’s her,” he says, raising his voice so Daichi can hear over the now thrumming bass. He feels it in his toes, in his chest, in his head. But your steps, the bounce of your tits in a skimpy bright blue bikini top, he feels in his dick. It barely covers anything, just like the matching bottoms. Cute little bows keep them on your hips and your heels are a deep black. As you get closer, your walk slow and sensuous, he can see the peep toe and your fresh French manicure poking through. He tries to adjust his navy suit pants with little success. He’s in so much fucking trouble.

You strut up the steps, the blinking LED strips embedded into the floor blinking in rhythm with the bass and the rhythm of your hips. You put a little bit of extra attitude into the sway tonight, praying to any higher power that will listen that tonight will be a good one for tips, even though it’s your first show without any supporting performers. Part of you gets it; you’re new. The owner has to make sure you know how to use those doe eyes and amazing tits properly. The other part of you, the one that knows you’re hot and knows exactly what you’re doing, wanted to smirk a little when your boss had said you wouldn’t get a Friday on your own until you’d completed two weeks of bartending and shadowing.

Your hard work has paid off though, and when you take your place at the center of the runway, you know you have your audience hooked even before dancing. There’s one guy in particular, right below you. He got arguably the best seat in the house along with his friend. You’ve seen the friend before, all confidence, slicked-back black hair, and a steamy attractive smile. Your coworkers say he’s pretty regular and always tips well. Thank god. The one next to him though, you don’t know anything about him except for the fact that the five stages of something flow across his face as you make eye contact with him. The low lighting does nothing to hide the blush flushing from the open neck of his crisp white button up to his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. He’s got a wad of cash already set casually on the bar top in front of him.

You smile, bright and unguarded, knowing. You’ll have the rest of Monday’s rent if he’s an indication of the rest of the customers that will be coming in tonight. He turns away, uncomfortable. Aw, how sweet. So unlike some of the slimy patrons you’re used to. Something you don’t like trips low in your belly. The biggest rule was no sex with any of the customers. It was in place for a reason and a majority of the time was a good one. You remind yourself of it as the song for your first dance starts playing over the speakers.

Buss it, buss it, buss it, buss it

Is you fuckin’? Two shots, fuck it

You take a deep breath, hands on the shiny silver pole, and wrap one leg around it. The metal is cold to the touch but something else has goosebumps crawling up your bare skin. When you spin, turning in the new guy’s direction, your suspicions are confirmed that the feeling is not the rest of the eyes on you but his. And his are suddenly, somehow, the only eyes you want to perform for. So you do.

Daichi can feel Kuroo snap to attention next to him; he can’t blame him. You’re stunning and you know it. You look like maybe you shouldn’t know how to do this so well, but none of that matters as all coherent thoughts leave Daichi’s head when you spin and drop, rolling your hips so your ass faces him. You turn and look at him as you rise slowly, a deliciously naughty smile still all over that pretty little mouth. He rushes to take a sip of his drink, drums his fingers on the bartop, runs them through his hair, anything to occupy his hands. Because he knows the only place they really should be is all over you. Oh, the things he would let you do to him. He’d do anything for you. He takes another gulp of whiskey, disappointed when he drains the heavy glass.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. He knew you were making eye contact with him but when you get on all fours and crawl to him like some lethal jungle cat, the end of the song nearing, he knows he’s in for it. And he’s okay with that. Any doubts he had, about being here at least, have vanished completely. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him but he leans forward to meet you where you are at the edge of the stage. The crowd is roaring around him, the cheers only growing louder at the chemistry shooting like electricity through the air between the two of you. They’re jealous cheers he thinks, although he’s sure as hell not looking away long enough to check anyone’s expressions to confirm.

“Got anything good for me, pretty boy?” Your voice is pitched low as you blink big eyes at him, a smirk playing on your lips. Because, goddammit, he is pretty. Prettier than any other patrons you’d ever catered to. You would not mind if he came to be one of your regulars, regardless of any funds that might be exchanged. You would not mind if he came regularly—in your cunt, on your ass, on your tongue… A girl could take her pick with a man like him. Thick dark hair, glittering brown eyes, full lips. A barrel chest and wide shoulders to boot. No sex with the customers, no sex with the customers, no sex with the customers…

You watch, heat pooling low in your belly, as he unbinds the cash you had noticed earlier. You can’t quite figure him out. Because he’s making eye contact with you as he spreads the folded bills, licks his thumb, and pulls out two crisp Benjamins but there is a nervous tremor in his large hands as he passes the bills to you. Your eyes widen, the act dropping momentarily before you catch yourself and push out your bottom lip in a pout.

“Hm, a girl should get a little more than that for such a good performance, don’t you think?” You are completely used to this, the schpeel. You’ve done it thousands of times at the last place you worked and hundreds more at this club. It’s part of the persona within these walls. Mystery man is apparently not used to acting this way. You can see the war within him as you take the bills and he leans back, trying to be casual but every line of him is taught like a rubber band about to break.

“You here all night?” Don’t give anyone your schedule. If they like you enough, they’ll figure it out on their own by being a regular paying customer. You nod, liking this new game. Toeing around something you would normally consider dangerous, if only for all the variables far out of your control. But that makes it all the more fun, especially when he clicks his tongue behind his teeth and replies “Good, then so am I. I have more where that came from. Do you?”

Kuroo is watching the interaction with a gaping mouth. Daichi doesn’t have a clue where this new side of him is coming from. Except. Except he does. And it feels damn good. Despite being sure it is glaringly obvious that he is leaping so far out of his comfort zone, you seem to be very receptive. He shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of staying all night. He could use some sleep. But he could also use that mouth around his cock. You probably have rules, rules that should be followed, for your safety. Daichi knows he’s safe, but you don’t. He most definitely should not ask for your number or give you his or ask what time you’re off. You shouldn’t answer him.

But you do, nodding earnestly when he asks if you’ll be here all night. He has no choice. There’s something about you that he can’t shake off. The extra cash is of no consequence to him, and maybe, just maybe… No, he won’t let that thought go further. He won’t imagine how you’d look on your knees, or bouncing on his cock. He won’t imagine you writhing beneath him or securing him to his headboard with those cuffs he’d bought but never gotten to use. He won’t imagine you breathily calling him pretty boy again even though, fuck, he wishes you would so, so bad.

“What’s your name,” you ask before you can stop yourself, before you rise to your feet. The rules here are good ones, meant to keep both the patrons and performers safe.  You’d worked at other establishments before that didn’t care so much about safety so much as they cared about money.  Your radar has never been off in the past and maybe that shouldn’t be enough for you but everything about Mystery Man makes you want to break every rule ever set before you.  There’s something about him that makes you want to risk it all.  You want to hear him whimper and you’d place bets that you could get him to do it in record time.  Even now, his breathing is shallow and he seems unable to answer you.  His friend leans over, elbowing him into action.

“His name’s Daichi.  And mine’s Kuroo.  Ya know, in case you wanted to know.”  His smile is genuine, not creepy at all.  You return the grin as you stand before turning back to Daichi.  He straightens a little, snapped back to reality by his friend.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say to Kuroo.  He is attractive, just not who you have your eyes set on.  But it’s good information to pass along to your coworkers.  Judging by his tailored suit that fits just as good as Daichi’s, you’d wager his job pays like his friend’s.  The music swells again, the DJ cueing to your next song.  “Kuroo, make sure your friend doesn’t go anywhere.  Tonight’s for him.”  Kuroo scoffs in friendly disbelief at Daichi’s luck.

“I’m hauling you to the club more often,” he says to Daichi, who flashes a quick small smile.  Oh god, that smile could bring anyone you know to their knees.  It could certainly do it to you.  That smile alone could get you to do anything Daichi would ask.  You point at Kuroo as you take your place at the center pole again.

“I’m holding you to that, Kuroo.”  You brace your hands one over the other on the pole, and shake your ass for all it’s worth.

Body crazy, curvy, wavy, big titties, little waist.

Daichi’s going to have a stroke, he just knows it.  He can feel the veins in his forehead and neck bulging.  The blood has flowed elsewhere too.  His cock is so hard it feels painful.  There are several different ways he could get relief, most of which he should not be considering seeking in a public area.  But it’s unbearable and there’s no way he’s going to let himself come in front of all these other people.  He waits for the end of your current number and then he’s standing so fast his chair screeches out behind him; a couple of people look his way but for the most part, you’ve got everyone’s attention.  Kuroo glances sideways at his friend; he doesn’t say anything, just smirks as Daichi tosses another hundred on the bar top, telling Kuroo to give it to you before rushing to the bathroom.

He makes his way down the hall and notices there are several doors marked RESTROOM in bold capital letters.  Thank god there are single-person stalls.  He stumbles into one, shutting the door and locking it with shaking hands.  The music is still audible, even here; it seems to have dropped to a low steady hum.  Intermission.  Perfect.  Daichi turns to the sink and splashes cold water on his face, one last attempt to snap himself out of this fucking trance.  Because that’s what this has to be.  He’s getting all hot and bothered over someone who he doesn’t even know.  And god, he wants to think that you like him but he knows he’s tipping good and he’s not one of those creeps that can’t recognize it’s your fucking job.

The image in the mirror is one that almost shocks him; his eyes are glazed, and his hair’s a mess.  Just once, he just needs to come once and then he can stay here until the end of the night like he said he would.  He’ll tip you like a good customer would.  Then he’ll leave and he’ll never come back.  Because this?  This is Daichi out of control and he’s not sure that’s a good thing.  Maybe he should go back to making love to nice girls in his king-sized bed.  Yes, that’s what he’ll do.  He’ll leave here and he won’t come back and he’ll never think of you again.

Daichi unbuckles his belt, the metal of the buckle clanking as he yanks his zipper down.  He lets out a pained breath, his cock straining against his underwear.  He slips his hand into the elastic band, taking it into his hand and bringing it out into the air.  He backs up to the wall, the cool air offering little comfort for the engorged head, and closes his fist around himself.  A breath comes fast and heavy out of his mouth as he starts jacking himself off slowly, trying to make the moment last.

You watch as Daichi stands abruptly, so quickly and sharply that he almost topples his chair over.  You watch as he tosses another bill on the bar top, leaning in to say something to Kuroo.  You watch as he throws one last glance your way before beelining to the bathrooms.  Idiot.  Absolute idiot is what you are because you’re making your way off the runway, ignoring the audience as a low boo goes through the crowd.  Your boss catches your eye from the end of the bar and waves you over.

“What the hell is going on?”  It’s not said unkindly but more with an air of annoyance.  This is your first Friday night on your own and you might be blowing it.  But you don’t care.  You put on a fake wince and point at your head, trying to look as contrite and imploring as possible.

“I’m so sorry, I know it’s my first Friday and I’m so grateful.  But I’ve really gotta pee and I’ve got this horrible headache starting.  Can I take ten?  Just ten minutes, enough time for an ibuprofen to set in while I go to the bathroom, and then I’ll be back out.  Please.”  You put those big eyes back to use, blinking slow and tilting your head slightly like you’re trying to relieve the pain of your fake headache.  Your boss squints his eyes but doesn’t protest as he pulls a bottle of Advil from behind the bar.  He hands you a couple with a glass of water.

“Ten minutes.  Go to the bathroom.  Take a breather.  Then get your ass back out there.  I’ve seen the business you’re encouraging after two sets.  You’ll be back up there as one of my main performers if you keep up the good work.”  You smile as you throw the pills back with the water and hurry in the direction of the restroom, pulling on one of the extra robes from the bar.  Now to find Daichi.

A couple is making out in the hallway; you brush past them and knock quietly on the first door.  A voice answers quickly that the stall is occupied but it’s not Daichi’s voice.  You knock on two more doors before getting to the last one.  You suppose he could have gone into the multi-stall restroom but you’d seen the look on his face when he’d stood and you’d bet all the cash he’d given you so far that he wasn’t coming back here to take a piss.  You rap your knuckles on the last single-person stall.  You’re rewarded with his voice coming from the other side.

“There’s someone-ha-there’s someone in here!”  He can barely get the words out; you know what’s going on in that stall and you want to help.  You rub your thighs together, realizing you’re already getting wet.

“Daichi, it’s me.”  This is stupid.  Maybe he doesn’t even like you that much.  Maybe you’re just some stripper at a strip club.  There’s a heavy silence now, almost solid enough that you could cut it with a knife.  Another pause and you’re getting ready to leave, cursing your confidence for all that it’s getting you, but then you hear the click of the door unlocking.  He opens it but only just so.  Still, it’s an invitation and one you are eager to accept.  You open the door just wide enough to slip through to shield yourself from any potential wandering eyes in the hall.  The scene inside the stall nearly wrecks you.

Daichi has backed up against the wall, as far away from you as humanly possible.  It’s so obvious that he’s been jacking himself off. His hair is messy, his eyes wild like he was already on the brink. He’s desperately trying to cover his cock with his hands and even though they’re large, they can’t cover it completely. You meet his gaze, which he tries to avoid, his eyes fluttering left then right with shame, before finally settling on you. Something trips across your skin.

“Babe, let me help you with that,” you whisper as you direct your line of sight to his cock. It twitches as you move closer, slowly, as if you’re approaching a cornered animal. Daichi groans a little when you reach him, one hand steadying on his shoulder and the other reaching up to touch his face.

“This is—this is not what it looks like, I swear. I promise I’m not some creep, I just—” You put a single finger softly to his lips, making sure he’s got his eyes on you. They widen just a bit. In the brighter light of the bathroom, you can see how rich the color of his irises are, golden brown like sunlight streaming through an autumn wood, or espresso, or something corny like that. Fuck the rules.

“Daichi, can I kiss you?” The question is out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. His mouth drops open but his eyes rove from yours down to your lips, then your covered chest, and back up. Finally, he nods so you guide his face down to yours and kiss him. His lips are soft and warm and pliable. He makes a little sound in the back of his throat, so unlike the image he’d put out walking in this place with his fine, tailored suit and stack of cash. Your hand slips from his shoulder and moves down the ridge of his pectoral, then lower still to the hard planes of his stomach. You trail your fingers over the now wrinkled fabric, close to his undone belt and open pants. His cock jumps against your abdomen past his hands and he gasps. “Is this okay?” You ask the question, certain that Daichi just needs the chance to give in. He nods again so you smooth your hand lower until it wraps around his cock.

Daichi’s head thunks against the wall of the bathroom as another sharp breath explodes from his open mouth. “Oh, fuck,” he growls quietly. You move your hand experimentally, softly, swiping your thumb across the head, gathering the bit of precome at the tip and smearing it about. You can’t decide what you want to look at more: the red bleeding over Daichi’s skin from the neck up, his heaving chest, or how his cock looks in your hands. He’s so… responsive. Each turn of your wrist has him shuddering beneath you. More. You need more. You want to see him beg. And part of you also realizes that he needs this too. You drop to your knees and his eyes snap back open as he watches you. “What’re you doing?”

“Only what you want me to do, Daichi. Unless you don’t want me to?” You don’t even finish your sentence before he’s shaking his head. He wraps his hand around yours, enveloping it, and moves it once, twice, over himself. A thought occurs to you, one you’re denying even as you ask him “Daichi, have you ever come down anyone’s throat?” The answer is obvious but you still feel incredulous as he tells you no. The veins in his hands are bulging and he’s still, like the calm before the storm. You lean in, maintaining eye contact, as you blow a breath over his cock. “Do you want to?”

It’s like you flipped a switch. Daichi, slowly now so you have time to pull away if you want to, curls his fingers in your hair, stroking them along your scalp. “Yes, please.” He whispers it, certain this is a dream. This has to be a fucking dream. He’s had a blow job before but never has he ever asked to come in someone’s mouth. He’s a clean guy but he’s not clueless; he just assumed most people thought it was gross and never had a problem with the fact that no one wanted to do that. At least not anyone he had been with. But, oh, he’d thought about it, lots of times. Most of those times in one night.

His pupils are blown wide as you lick your lips and take just the tip, swirling your tongue over the head. His skin is smooth, molten hot. The way your eyes never leave his is something else entirely and when you hollow out your cheeks and relax your throat to take all of him, he thinks he might die. He’s trying to maintain some semblance of control but it is already dwindling to nothing. There’s a coil building in his abdomen. Not yet he thinks viciously. Not yet. You take a few more pulls before releasing him with a pop. Frantic, he feels frantic. Maybe you decided you didn’t want to do this and he’d have to be okay with that, he couldn’t blame you but god damn—

“Daichi, eyes on me.” The man’s Adam’s apple bobs as he locks in on you again. “Let go, babe. Show me how you want it. Pull my hair. Set the pace. And when you’re gonna come, you come down my throat. Nowhere else, you got it? I’ve got five more minutes. Think we can get you there, pretty boy?” He nearly blacks out when you say those words he needed to hear again. Oh, yes, yes he’s sure you can. His eyes search yours once more before fisting his hand in your hair, tightening experimentally. You smile around his cock, deep-throating him once more, but waiting expectantly. He’s not going to come back from this. You’ve ruined anyone else for him. And he’s accepted his fate.

The moment he lets go, the moment he breaks down whatever wall is holding him in place, you can sense it. You place your hands on his thighs as he pulls you nearly all the way off before shoving you back down. Your eyes water just a bit but you feel the slick gather between your thighs. Yes, the girl inside of you that wants to see him to the end hisses. He sets the pace, a strong and quick one, but somehow still gentle. If you said you needed to stop now, you somehow know he’d do so immediately. He twists a little more, angling your head just how he wants it. You set your teeth down ever so lightly just to see….

Daichi whimpers and gasps, the sound nearly a sob on his lips. You swirl your tongue again and suck. “Ha—shit. Just. Just like that,” he grits out as he grips tighter. It hurts a little, your hair and your knees, but the pain swirls with the pleasure in a delicious slide of skin against skin. Your nails dig into his thighs again before he takes one of your hands and closes it around the base of his cock. You grip, working your wrist along with your mouth. He bucks against you, a jerky movement. “I’m close, fuckfuckfuck I’m close. I’m gonna come.” His voice lies somewhere between a bark and a whine. He can’t decide if he wants you closer, or farther, to stop or keep going. His brain is short-circuiting. He tries to pull back just a little bit, but you won’t let him in the best way possible.

You quirk your wrist and tilt your head in just a certain way… Daichi cries out, long and broken, as he curls in over you, his orgasm washing over him in waves so intense his vision goes black. His entire body shudders with his release, his form towering over you as he spurts ropes of come all the way down your throat. You milk him for all he’s worth. Not a single drop is getting away from you, no way in hell. Next time, you want him to come in your pussy. Next time? God, you want there to be a next time. He’s still leaning over you when his breathing slows and steadies; his hands are bracing themselves on your back rubbing soothing circles there with his thumbs. He helps you to your legs and steadies you for a moment.

The silence stretches on as you look at each other, both a little shocked at what just conspired. Daichi slowly puts himself back into his pants and you help him buckle his belt. You’re both on the verge of saying something either extremely brave or extremely stupid with each moment that passes. You’re about to make the first move again when he reaches up and takes your jaw in his hand, running a thumb along the corner of your mouth to gently push the last of his spend into your mouth. You lean into the touch and welcome his finger, sucking it clean just like his dick. He thinks he might be in love with you.

A breathless giggle comes out of you as you back away just a fraction, trying to give yourself space from the startling sensation fluttering in your stomach like butterflies. Your boss is gonna kick your ass if you don’t get back out on the floor. “I would invite you to my place to continue this after I’m off but it’s a little crowded and the walls are thin,” you say, hoping against hope that he wants more just as much as you do. There’s no room for doubt when he leans in and kisses you, deep and slow, tasting himself in your mouth.

“That’s no problem, princess. If you’re still feeling this when you’re off, I’ve got a penthouse all to myself.” Oh, there it is—the swagger you expected him to have. Your eyes glitter as you smooth out your hair, knowing it still looks good enough to perform. If anything, the smell of sex and the appearance of your swollen lips will get you better money, as long as your boss doesn’t catch on. You don’t think he will. “I’ll find you at the end of the night.” You nod, suddenly the bashful one.

Somehow, everything that just transpired did so all in your ten-minute break. In fact, you have one minute to spare as you strut back to the runway, giving your boss a wink and blowing a kiss to the stupefied audience.

“Harder, Daichi, harder.” You can barely get the words out as he thrusts inside of your aching cunt. Your face is pushed into the pillows on Daichi’s king-sized bed, your ass in the air. The sound of skin slapping on skin in the quiet of his room is pornographic but you can’t waste any thoughts on being even remotely embarrassed. Tears stream down your face as he continually hits that spot inside of you that you’ve only been able to hit with a dildo and even then it never came close to this. Daichi’s a machine, the way he keeps going. After you sucked him off and he came so quickly earlier in the night, he was determined to make this one last longer. One of his hands is gripping tightly into the plush of where your hip meets your ass cheek, the other is splayed over your back, even now caressing the skin, alighting it with goosebumps. “Oh, fuuuuuck,” you whine as that same hand snakes around to your neck to pull you up.

His fingers and palm ghost over the skin as he thrusts up into you and it’s all you can do to hold to his thighs for dear life, your nails digging in so hard you’ll know they’ll leave a mark. “Are you close, princess?” He whispers it labored into your ear, his breath hot, his mouth even hotter as he leans in to nip at your pulse point from behind. You nod frantically, almost unable to answer. “Can I come inside, baby? Will you let me? Will you let me be a good boy for you?” His hand moves from your throat to your clit, stroking one slow circle over the oversensitive nub. Thank god for birth control.

“Yes, Daichi, yes, come in my pussy. Oh, god, yes be a good boy for me.” You squeal as he thrusts hard, once, twice, swiping his fingers over your clit again in a more concentrated pattern and you feel your first orgasm of the night sweep over you as Daichi finds his own release with a mangled, animalistic groan.  You think he’s done, especially when he pulls out leaving you feeling way too empty.  But you’re wrong, so, so wrong.  He proceeds to flip you over and push back in, a ring of white forming around where he’s begun thrusting inside of you again.  

“I thought about this all fucking night.”  He surges up over you, grabbing your wrists and pulling them above you.  “I thought about that pretty little cunt around my cock.  I thought about how pretty you’d look laying in my bed.”  One thrust, slow and teasing.  You roll your hips up to meet him, even though your thighs are weak and shaking.  “I’ve never–I’ve never fucked anyone like this before, it’s,” he leans in to suck on your pulse again, runs his tongue over the salty skin there, “magical.”  You whimper beneath him when you feel the familiar coil tightening once more in your belly.  

“Do you think I can make you come again, Daichi?  Can you come for me one more time?”  He groans, sealing his lips over yours as he releases your hands so that can pull him closer into you.  You scrape your nails from the nape of his neck into his hair, and grip, breathless, as his rhythm becomes choppy again.  God, you don’t know how he’s still going.  The two of you are so frenzied, the blood in your veins hotter than a blue flame.  “Look at me when you come, baby, look at me,” you whisper, bringing your hands to his cheeks.  His eyes are glazed, his face strained but still beautiful.  “I’m going to touch myself now, okay?”  His mouth pops open again as he nods, before watching as you wrap one arm around his shoulder and bring your other hand to your clit.  You swipe around his cock, collecting some of the mess you’ve both made there.  You know how to pleasure yourself and with Daichi’s expert stroke, it doesn’t take long before it snaps over you, the walls of your pussy squeezing around him forcing spend from him one more time.  It’s not as explosive as the first time but still enough that you can feel the wet leaking out onto his sheets.  “So good for me, Daichi, look how good you are for me,” you chant as you wring the last of the pleasure from each other.

When it’s over, he stills, pulling out of you and collapsing onto the bed beside you.  There’s a sheen of sweat covering you both.  The cool early morning air coming in Daichi’s open window creates the perfect juxtaposition of sensations.  He reaches over to trace patterns into your palm.  “Can I hold you?”  The question is so sweet, it makes you huff out a laugh.  The man just blew your back out and he asks if he can hold you.  But you are more than willing to oblige him so you roll into his open arm and lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.  You wait a moment before looking up at him, relishing the feeling of his fingers now tracing patterns into your arm and shoulder.

“Didn’t you mention something about handcuffs earlier?”  He looks down at you jerkily, a sheepish grin on his face.  You smile mischievously.  You’re going to ruin him.  He’s going to let you.  And he’s going to love it.

“Let me make you breakfast first, yeah?”  You nod and breathe in the smell of him, all sex and musk and expensive cologne.  Neither one of you knows where this is going to go but right now, it doesn’t matter.  You yawn and snuggle closer.

“Just so you know,” you intone sleepily, “I like French toast.”  He laughs softly, his own body relaxing into a lazy slumber.

“Hm, French toast?  I pinned you as a pancake kinda girl.  Good thing I also like French toast and always keep the supplies in to make it.”  His breathing is slow and shallow, matching the rhythm of yours.  The sun peeks over the cityscape around you as the two of you go under, cradled in each other’s arms.

This work and its digital elements (photo credit to photographer) are © Kait of @kaitsawamura 2024. Please do not alter or copy this work. Please do not repost this work to other platforms without my express permission.

[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 5

(Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

I did it. I made the masterlist and started my playlist as well. They'll be linked at the beginning of every chapter, I'll add them to the old ones as well.

Masterlist + Playlist

Word Count: 1.9k+

You knew that you were good at your job but hearing someone not only tell you that but how you made them feel… your heart was soaring. You studied Bradley’s handsome face. You loved everything you saw, his puppy dog brown eyes, faded scars on his cheek, and a perfectly groomed mustache.

“I don’t know if you quite understand how much that means to me,” You inhaled slowly, “I see a lot of people who don’t get better.”

He squeezed your hand gently, stroking his thumb along the back, “I cannot even imagine what it’s like.”

“I don’t…” You stuttered, “... nevermind. Whatever, it’s not important.”

Bradley sat up quickly, “It is important. What you have to say is important.”

You signed, “I’m just burnt out. I thought that travel nursing, having a change of scenery every contract and the larger paychecks, would help with the feelings of overwhelming exhaustion… from caring for people who will never get better. But it hasn’t.”

“How long is your contract here?” He asked.

“Four more weeks but I’ve already been asked if I want to extend, they’re so understaffed… And I really love San Diego,” You explained, “So I’ll probably do it. But… I just don’t know how much longer I can do it.”

He nodded, selfishly so pleased that she wanted to stay here. “What about another unit? Another kind of nursing?”

You smiled weakly, “I’ve thought about it, I’ve thought maybe now would be the time to pivot towards the kind of nursing I actually want to do.”

“Which is?” He asked, tugging a little at the hand that was still in his, just beckoning for you to scoot closer.

You obliged but couldn’t look him in the eyes, “I wanna deliver babies.”

Bradley’s eyes lit up, “You would be incredible.”

Usually when you told people about your aspirations to go into labor and delivery, they’d say something like, “Isn’t that too big of a 180 from what you’re used to doing?” or “Good luck getting into that specialty.” Nobody ever unquestionably validated your desires.

“Yeah but those jobs are so hard to come by,” You shrugged, “They’ll never hire me.”

“So you’re telling me… that you… the nurse who had me extubated and breathing on my own on the first day she met me, couldn’t get her dream job? Fucking nonsense.” He placed his hands on your shoulders and shook you gently.

You laughed nervously, mostly because you liked the feeling of having both his hands on you. “I mean…”

“Get up and get your laptop.” He demanded, “We’re looking for jobs.”

You blinked at him in disbelief.

He smirked, “It’s an order, Y/N.”

Bradley came back to your couch with another bottle of wine in hand, “Some liquid courage.”

You slid your glass across the coffee table towards him, “No applications are being sent under the influence, just looking.”

He sat down next to you, uncorking the bottle with ease and filled your glass, “Fine but I’m gonna be checking back in with you.”

“How?” You asked sassily, “You don’t even have my number, Bradshaw.”

“Well… I do know where you live but I’d rather be less of a fucking creep and just have you put your number in my phone.”

You held out your hand, “Cough it up, Chicken man.”

He rolled his eyes and handed you his phone, “It’s Rooster, Sassy pants.”

You started putting your information in his phone, “Should I put myself in as ‘Nurse Y/N?” 

Bradley laughed, “I mean you can, but I think we’re past the point of you just being my nurse.”

You raised your eyebrow, “Is that so?” 

“I mean… have you ever invited a patient into your apartment for a bottle of wine?” He asked. 

“I guess not,” you shifted in your seat and finished entering your info with just your name.

Bradley studied it when he took back his phone, “You might want to add a little heart in there… for good measure.” He handed the phone back and winked. Good god, he was so bold. It was so hot.

Your cheeks flushed but you did as you were told, adding a pink heart emoji next to your name.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“Bradley…” Y/N said softly after they had polished off their second bottle of wine.

“What’s got you worried?” Rooster asked, he could hear the concern in her voice.

“I…” she searched carefully for her words, “I’m not sure that you should drive home…”

He chuckled, “Trying to get me in bed already?”

Her cheeks flushed again, bright red. It was the cutest thing he’d ever seen in his life. “That’s not what I was getting at, Bradshaw! Get your mind outta the gutter!”

“Uh huh, sureeeeeeee!” He teased.

“If you have to know,” she explained, “I don’t think you should drive home because we’ve been drinking a lot. And the last thing I want is your ass back in my ICU.”

Bradley loved that she cared so much and was still a little silly about it, “I don’t drink and drive. I promise you that.”

She nodded, “Good because I’d respect you a hell of a lot less.”

“Let’s do this,” he proposed, “I’ll grab an Uber home, sleep off this wine, and then when I come to get my car in the morning, I’ll take you to brunch?”

A smile spread across her face, “I really like that idea.”

Rooster had never been so excited for a hungover Sunday morning in his life. He rarely drank wine, so he woke up with quite the headache but didn’t even care. Leaving Y/N’s apartment was uneventful, in all honesty. He didn't want to kiss her until she made it clear that she desperately wanted it. Yes, they were clearly into each other. But this wasn’t the type of girl he wanted to push too far too quickly, no matter how badly he wanted to taste her sweet lips. 

After showering off the hangover and making sure he smelled fresh, he changed into his usual civilian uniform. Jeans, a white undershirt, a Hawaiian shirt on top, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. Before leaving his bungalow, he checked himself in the mirror at least 15 times. Did he have anything in his teeth? Did his hair look stupid cuz it was still a little wet?

“Get it together, Bradshaw!” He muttered to himself.

He ordered his Uber and directs it right to the parking spot where he left his car in the back of your building. He quickly got in and headed towards the front. Deciding on music felt too time consuming, he just wanted to get to Y/N’s as soon as possible. When he pulled up to the front, he saw Y/N patiently waiting on a bench. Her legs were crossed, she intently stared at her phone, but looked up as soon as she heard the purr of Rooster’s car. A bright smile spread across her face as she stood up, Bradley’s mouth went dry seeing her in a floral sundress. Holy shit.

“Long time no see!” She chirped and tucked her phone into her purse.

Bradley climbed out of his car and met her at the passenger side door, opening it like the gentleman he is, “You look… wonderful.”

“Awww thanks, Bradshaw!” She buckled herself in, “Another Hawaiian shirt, I see.”

He jogged back around the car and hopped into the driver’s seat, “You’ve seen two of the many in my collection.”

When he turned the car on, Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chili Peppers started playing through the speakers.

“I love this song!” Y/N reached over and turned up the volume.

Despite having to drive, Rooster couldn’t help but intermittently look over and admire the woman sitting next to him, singing along quietly, with the wind whipping through her hair.

“Ugh!” She cried out over the music, “It’s so beautiful!”

Before he could stop himself from saying something so cheesy, he replied, “So are you.”

Y/N smiled sheepishly and didn’t know how to answer, so she started singing along with the Chili Peppers, “Blood loss in a bathroom stall, southern girl with a scarlet drawl…”

Rooster just smirked to himself and kept sneaking peeks at her, he loved leaving someone who always knew what to say speechless.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █ 

You nervously stirred your iced latte a little too intently in its very aesthetic mason jar, trying to figure out how to tell him your news.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?” He asked, resting his chin on his fists.

You smiled, “I sent in a couple job applications this morning.”

Bradley’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, “That’s amazing! Where abouts?”

“Naval Medical Center, obviously… UCSD, Scripps, Sharp…” You listed off the names.

“All in San Diego?” He asked.

You nodded, “I really really like it here, there’s nothing better than being able to walk to the beach on my day off.”

“I try to start most of my days off with a run on the beach, I don’t even need headphones sometimes… It’s nice to just listen to the waves.” He mused.

The cute server that took your drink orders popped back to your table asking about food orders.

Your eyes widened with embarrassment, you hadn’t even looked at the menu.

Bradley took one look at you and asked for the server to come back in a few minutes.

“I hadn’t even looked at the menu…” You giggled.

“It’s okay, I always get the same thing so I wasn’t looking either.” He said.

You looked down and scanned the menu, “How stereotypically California of me would it be if I ordered avocado toast?”

He chuckled, “Almost as stereotypically California as me, always ordering the breakfast burrito.”

“Are you from here?” You asked, since this was kind of a date, now would be a good time to ask these introductory questions.

“Kinda… My dad was a naval aviator too and he spent some time here before he died. But I grew up mostly in Virginia since that’s where my mom’s family is. But she died when I was sixteen. After college, I commissioned as an officer and haven’t really had a homebase since. I just go where the navy needs me” He explained.

You reached across the table and held out your hand, “I’m so sorry, Bradley. I can’t imagine that kind of loss.”

He sighed and placed his hand on top of yours, “Some days are easier than others, most days are, actually. I don’t remember much of my dad, I get upset with myself for it if I think about it too much.”

“How old were you when he died?” You asked.

At this point, Bradley was struggling to make eye contact with you. You could tell this was a really hard topic for him, “Four.”

“You were just a little guy… basically a toddler.” You tried to comfort him and stroke the back of his hand with your thumb, just like he did to you last night, “It’s not your fault that the memories are hazy.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I guess I never really realized just how young I was when he died.”

You desperately wanted to dig deeper and to learn more about the man in front of you and the people who raised him, but it didn’t feel like the right time. “This feels like a… sacred topic of conversation. Maybe we should put a pin in it and have it another time, maybe somewhere more quiet and private… when you’re ready.”

He squeezed your hand, “I would really, really love that, Y/N.”

Tag list:

@sarah-bear706318

@dizzybee03

@that-gay-person-27

@alwayshave-faith

Please message or comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

[polarislex]

id rather be crazy like you 𓂃۶ৎ

♡ live update thread ♡

 ♡ master post here ♡

AND THE PROLOGUE IS LIVE FOLKS! thanks to you, and getting this post to SEVEN likes, i went ahead and uploaded the prologue!

link here

Just to note really quick - updates for this may not be super quick. I am currently writing my chanbaek fic and i do want to bang out as much as of that as i can! with that being said though, if this gains traction and if i can get 10 kudos & 2 comments on the prologue, i will shift and get the first chapter completed and up! I want a goal that I think could be achievable but yet a bit pushing for a smaller writer like myself!

Also, to add a bit of a backstory to this idea (if anyone is curious): back in, i think, 2018/2019, this original idea was set in strictly aesthetics with BTS and EXO being the main 2 groups I was doing them for! ironically enough, this was more an idea i had while talking with old friends on tumblr back in the day of what themed aesthetics should i do next (i think i just finished some of the disney princess ones). there was, at the time, no correlation to descendants (though, obviously now, I can't say that. I've watched the movies, and some elements may be similar) I then tried my hand at a social media au with Jimin being the main focus, but i ended up putting it on hold to cancel the au all together. I didn't know how to move forward with where I was, so it sort of just crumbled and died ahaha

now, i think then around 2021/2022, i sort of revisted the idea on my own, but with the idea to make aesthetics solely for nct members. this never happened, but the idea did stick with me for years. it was always something i wanted to really, really, really, dabble back into but i was never sure how. Did i write little one shots looped together in one fic with conflicting timelines for that sense of confusion? did I revive the social media au? or do I try something completely different.

so, now in 2025 and getting that boost from the likes on tumblr, here we are. i decided to go with nct dream being the main focus, but exo members will also provide relevance through the story (along with mention of some bts members for the sake of the original plot)! you can always go to my tumblr and look through my masterlist to find the old aesthetics for bts and exo, but i hope within the next few weeks to have updated exo as i see fit AND have nct dream done! In the mean time, enjoy the playlist! drop a kudo, leave a comment / leave a like or comment here on tumblr too! or send me an ask!

till next time! xoxo lexie

02/08/2025

I think I may have gotten too ambitious so I’ve merely made it a 5 kudo goal! I’m going to keep it at 2 comments because I really really want to hear thoughts, but if I hit the kudo mark, I’ll update! I love seeing the traction it got on here too!

[superblysubpar]

We'll Call It Love masterlist | It Had To Be You masterlist

the song: Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall // It Had To Be You playlist

warnings: this story is a part of the series We’ll Call It Love, and much of it would be spoiled if you read this first. It’s linked above, and I hope you love it! | series warnings pertain | mentions of drugs | "illusions" to smut

3k words

Steve always thought he’d meet the love of his life, his soul mate, at a bar. 

Which sounds kind of lame now maybe? It’s just that the movies make it feel like this magical moment - you know, the couple sees each other, the music swells, the lights change - it’s undeniable. 

But that’s not happening for Steve Harrington it seems, definitely not tonight. 

Maybe not ever. 

So here he is, just breaking up with another girl in another random Chicago bar. 

His thumb pulls at the damp paper label, his brows furrowed over hazel eyes girls tend to like to look into deeply from time to time - or so he’s been told. 

“It’s just not working.”

The words taste more bitter than the beer on his tongue because for Steve, that’s quite the opposite of how he feels a relationship should be described. Your relationship shouldn’t feel like a job. It should be easy. It should feel right. It should just work for lack of a better term. 

When there’s no response from the other side of the table he finally glances up from the shredded label to find her typing on her phone, reaching for her wine glass and nodding. 

“Brenda?”

The blonde finally lifts her eyes from the device, smiling under vacant eyes. 

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Steve sighs deeply. He rubs at his temple as he nods. 

“Yeah, yeah I did. I don’t…I don’t think we should…do this anymore?”

Silence. 

She’s typing on her phone again. 

“Brenda?” He blinks at her incredulously before leaning across the table, closer, as he lowers his voice, “Brenda, I’m breaking up with you.”

She snaps her gum, slides her phone into her purse and starts to slide out of the booth. 

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Listen, I didn’t even know we were dating? We haven’t even slept together and I didn’t think we were, like, an inclusive thing, you know?”

“You mean exclusive?” 

She’s already walking out the door. As Steve watches her go with a disbelieving stare, he sees one of the TVs suspended over the bar has the Cubs game on now. 

Well at least tonight isn’t a total bust. 

“Hey man, ‘nother beer?” The bartender who brought him his first one asks from where he’s collecting empty dishes at a nearby table. 

“Um,” Steve runs a hand through his hair, squinting at the tabletop before he sighs. “Sure, thanks.”

The bartender leaves and Steve rests his chin on his fist, watching the game but not really seeing it. 

He’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore. Is it all just normal? To be this hopeless, to be this unhappy with life, to be this lonely. There has to be someone out there for him right? 

His phone buzzes loudly on the table, stealing him from his spiral only for the dread he was barely allowing himself to dip into, swallow him whole and drown him. 

The contact ‘Dad’ displays with no photo for what feels like forever until it finally stops and the screen goes dark. 

Steve is still staring down at it when a large basket of breadsticks slides under his nose and a cold beer right behind it. 

He glances up and the bartender is taking his empty bottle, smiling in a sort of laid back way that makes Steve envious of his clearly relaxed state and demeanor. 

“On the house. You look pretty down about that blonde.”

“Oh,” Steve sits up, clearing his throat. He feels the warmth under his cheeks as he shakes his head, “No, um, she’s…yeah, I’m not missing her. Just lost in thought I guess. Thank you…” Steve trails off, looking for a name tag.

“Argyle, man,” the bartender slaps his hand out and grabs Steve’s. 

Steve points to the ceiling, smiling. “Like the name of the bar?”

“One and the same my dude. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Steve keeps his eyes on the game until he can’t resist the scent of butter and cheese and he grabs one of the breadsticks. He practically moans when he takes the first bite, and his eyes flutter open when he hears a laugh float across the quiet room. 

He swallows around the way too hot to have taken that big of a bite of bread as he sees you. You’re the only girl at the bar, head thrown back in a laugh he swears sounds like a favorite song as Argyle pours more red wine in your glass. There’s pizza in your hand and you’re gesturing to the baseball game. 

He might already be in love with you. 

And that’s before he watches you devour more than one piece of the pizza you’re eating alone and watching the baseball game like you actually care about it. 

Steve clicks his phone unlocked, ignoring the text from his father, and types one to Robin instead. 

Steve: Do you believe in soul mates?

It takes less than a minute for her to respond. 

Robin: Steve, I’m sorry, but I cannot do this. Brenda is NOT your soul mate Steve: we just broke up Robin: oh thank god Robin: I mean, I am so sorry, what can I do? Ice cream? Steve: no, listen… Steve: there’s this girl here Robin: no Steve: I haven’t even told you the best part Robin: let me guess, you think you love her already? Steve: if you’re gonna be a brat about it, I will not tell you that she’s watching the Cubs game right now Robin: wow? Steve: Robs, she’s ACTUALLY watching it Robin: Yeah, and? Do you even know her name yet, Dingus? Have you spoken to her? Dude, I love you, but you can’t keep doing this Steve: what’s a good pick up line?

Steve takes a swig of his beer and chokes around it when Robin responds.

Robin: I might not be a pro player, but when it comes to you, I won't stop until I’ve reached all the bases Steve: absolutely not Robin: I think I glove you Robin: my dugout, or yours? Robin: I’m an umpire. Can I have your number so I can make the call? Steve: I hate you Robin: why don’t you just go with “Hi.” idiot Robin: also, why are there SO many baseball pick up lines on google? And what do they mean? Wtf is a pinch hitter?

Steve rolls his eyes at his screen, locking it closed as he slides out of the booth. He approaches the bar slowly, deciding that Robin is right, he should take it slow, he always does this. 

And maybe he’ll go with the umpire line. 

But when he’s right behind your shoulder, so close he can smell your perfume that makes him want to fall inside the bottle, he sees your pizza. 

And it has fucking olives on it. 

“Shit.”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he clearly did, and when you turn to face him, he sort of forgets how to breathe. 

You’re clearly taking him in just like he is you, and when he sees your mouth drop open a little as your eyes meet each other, he feels like someone is playing a prank on him. 

Because the bar lights dim and the lyrics of As Time Goes By plays loudly. 

And Steve knows, logically, that this is all because it’s the time of night where bars dim their lights and that the song is from the other TV playing Casablanca. He knows this. 

And yet…

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Steve kisses your temple as he leans around you and grabs a breadstick on the bar despite your protest. He groans around the bread as you turn to smile at him. 

“I swear, Argyle puts drugs in these.” 

He sighs, pushing more into his mouth as he blinks at you, nodding his agreement. Steve’s eyes roam over the little black dress you have on, stopping appreciatively on the lace neckline that dips nicely and not so innocently. His fist comes up over his mouth, clearing his throat around the bite he shoves into his cheek so he can talk. 

“You look nice.”

“What, this old thing?” You spin on the stool, shrugging your shoulders with a smile. 

“Did you have something going on at work today?” He asks, brows furrowing and at first you think he’s joking, but then he cocks his head, ripping at more of the breadstick.

“Um, no, I-”

“Hey,” Steve waves for Argyle’s attention before he turns to you, apologetic, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, do you care if we get the pizza to go? I’m beat from today, and I just need to get into something that isn’t this tie and eat that pizza and pass out.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” You smile, sure it’s not quite meeting your eyes, but Steve doesn’t notice because he’s already relaying the message to Argyle who looks at you curiously, then Steve, then you again before nodding. 

“Sure, man, I’ll box it up right now, it just got out of the oven.”

He walks away and Steve looks at you curiously, “That was weird, right?”

Except it wasn’t, because Argyle and you must see all the couples literally making out over their pizza, or snuggled up on the same side of booths and pressing their noses into cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into ears. Argyle and you must know that today is Valentine’s Day and Steve…doesn’t?

You quickly hop off the stool, grab your thick winter coat and shrug it on, pretending not to notice, “No? It’s busy, maybe he’s just overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Steve trails off, looking around until he lands back on you buttoning your coat, then down at your feet when he smiles. “Hey, you’re wearing the heels I bought you.”

A hum leaves your pursed lips as you roll your eyes. “Well, they’re really nice and they’re not doing anyone any good hanging out in my closet collecting dust on their red soles.”

Steve leans in and kisses you, quickly and subtly before he whispers, “It’s okay to admit you like the fancy things I buy you…speaking of…” He grabs his wallet from his back pocket.

He hands you his debit card, before he nods outside, “I’m gonna go run and pull the car up so you don’t have to walk in those all the way to where I finally found parking.”

“Steve, I can-” He’s already waving it off and kissing your cheek, disappearing out the door he barely just walked through. 

You slump against the bar and pull out your phone, looking around at the packed place with a sour feeling in your stomach. 

Normally, you hate this day. It’s overpriced consumerism at its finest. It's a sickening zoo of PDA everywhere you look, and places like here that normally are your peaceful, quiet spots, are packed. 

But you’d be lying if you didn’t say you were sort of looking forward to the day this year. Because, in all honesty, you’ve never really had someone you’ve wanted to celebrate with or someone who cared to do so until now.

Until Steve. 

Which is what leads you to pull out your phone, open a text to Robin, decide absolutely not because she’d just text him and then he’d feel awful and instead you call Eddie who answers on the first ring.

“What.”

You go to bite at your lower lip at the sound of his curt greeting and think better of it, what with the lipstick you put on for tonight and all. 

“Are you busy?”

Eddie sighs, dramatically, and you hear the distinct sound of a can crushing. “Yeah, I’m fucking the love of my life after we just had a candle lit dinner for two.”

As you look at the window, waiting to see Steve’s car, your eyes roll. Argyle hands you the pizza box with a smile and your voice lowers.

“Steve’s a…has he…does he like Valentine’s Day?”

Eddie snorts as he slurps a sip of a fresh beer into the receiver, “What kind of question is that. Of course Steve likes Valentine’s Day. It’s his shit. One year he took a girl out to like this whole big, fancy dinner and ice skating. Presents, flowers, the whole thing. He even gets Robin flowers and a card every year. He’s always been like that. Got everyone in middle school like the really nice candy and cards. Superheroes and name brand shit.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence on the other end for what feels like forever and you hear his sharp inhale as the car pulls up. 

“I gotta go,” you start to hang up but then think better of it and hiss into the phone, “Don’t say anything to him or Robin or Nancy or I will kill you.”

“But-” You click off the phone before he can say another word and head out the door where Steve is already jogging around the front of his car and opening your door for you. 

The glaring reality of your situation hits you as Steve closes the door.

Steve didn’t forget Valentine’s Day, he just doesn’t want to celebrate it with you. 

You try to shake off the mood, to smile and nod as he talks the whole way to his apartment about the new job, because you are really proud of him and you love hearing how excited he is for this new work he’s doing. And really, isn’t being alone with him, eating pizza, in comfy clothes, a perfect night with him because anything you do with him is perfect? 

It’s just hard to shake the fact that it’s a known fact he’s gone above and beyond for everyone else on this holiday, but not for you. 

Steve grows quiet as you walk inside the apartment building, thumb swiping over your knuckles back and forth gently until you untangle your fingers so he can unlock his door. 

The heels are kicked off and your coat hung as Steve slides the pizza onto the island, turning towards his bar. “I got that wine you really liked, do you want a glass of that with it, or…” he trails off waiting for you to respond.

You nod and head towards his room, but his arm snakes around your waist, tugging you to a stop so you can see his eyes when he ducks his head to catch your gaze. Steve speaks softly, worried, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you smile and he frowns and you kiss the corner of his lips, “Sorry, I just had a long day too, I guess. Lady things. Heels hurting, whatever-”

“The heels hurt?” He looks genuinely concerned, and goes to reach for his phone, “I’ll get you a different size, they shouldn’t hurt-”

“No, no, no, I meant like…” you kiss him again, feeling something in your chest ache. 

Steve is wonderful, wanting to buy you new shoes because your feet hurt and here you are sulking because what? He didn’t get you overpriced bad chocolates? 

He kisses you back, hand cupping your jaw until you’re sighing and pulling away. 

“The shoes don’t hurt my feet. I don’t know why I said that. They’re perfect and the wine sounds great. I’m gonna change quick, okay?”

He nods, but he’s still frowning as you turn into his bedroom. You literally shake out your arms as you enter his closet, like you’re trying to rid your body of the bratty feeling as you roll your head from side to side, the tense feeling in your neck making you feel nauseous and guilty. 

You pad over to the tall dresser, pulling at the top drawer that’s slowly becoming yours as your phone rings, loudly, in the other room. 

“Steve, can you grab that? It’s in my coat pocket. It’s probably just Eddie, I hung up on him earlier…” you trail off as you remember what else is in the coat pocket and you race back out to the kitchen, sweats and one of Steve’s shirts in your hands. 

Your tights covered feet skid to a stop in his kitchen at the sight of what Steve holds in his hand. 

His tie is gone, white dress shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal the white tank top underneath with a small glimpse of his chest hair peeking out the top of it. His hair is sticking every which way, like he ran both hands through it several times in less than the minute you’ve been a part. 

And in his fingers dangles a gold chain, his gold chain, with a little ‘S’ hanging from it.

“Steve, I-”

He looks up at you and his cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes look a little glassy and he clears his throat as he holds it up higher. The ‘S’ spins with the movement, catching the light and sparkling as his voice breaks a little when he asks, “What’s this?”

Your eyes close as you groan and drop the items. The heels of your palms into your eyes as you shake your head. The words tumble out of you, unable to be contained any longer.  

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I just…I thought…I figured you’re a guy who, like, would eat this holiday shit up, and I don’t know, your chain just…I don’t know. I stole it and I brought it to a jeweler and got the ‘S’ for it and I know it’s technically a gift for me, but I just thought you’d like it if I wore it but it’s fine, I can return it or we can just…I don’t know, I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts softly, now standing just in front of you. He tugs on your wrist, pulling your hand from your face before his fingers tuck under your jaw so you have to look at him. “You got me this for Valentine’s Day?” 

The words of the holiday must make your face aching to be nonchalant twitch or shift or something because Steve leans down and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I didn’t forget. I just assumed you were very much not the kind of girl who would eat this holiday shit up,” he laughs at the parrot of your words as your lips twitch. “I thought you’d hate the fancy dinners and the flowers and chocolate, and just want today to be…normal?”

Your shoulders shrug as you step closer, letting your hands tug at his shirt collar. “I do…normally.”

Steve’s nose traces up yours and back down as he hums, lips ghosting over yours as he speaks, “Yeah? What changed?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment Harrington?” You whisper, heart stuttering in your chest as his lips catch your bottom one and linger, his breath exhaling against your skin warm as he laughs. 

“I wouldn’t complain if I got one,” his lips skim up your jaw, kissing just below your ear before he asks, “Can I put it on you?”

Something inside of your stomach flutters as you nod and spin for him. Steve’s nose follows your ear, down your neck as his hands reach around with the necklace. The cold metal hits your skin, your toes curl and legs press together as his fingertips skate across your collarbones with the ends of the chain, until they’re clasping it closed. 

You spin slowly, bodies refusing to stop touching each other as Steve swallows loudly and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His eyes remain on the necklace as you tilt your head back to look up at him. 

Steve’s hand reaches up, fingertips gently brushing down the chain until they’re on the ‘S’ where he pauses, his adams apple bobbing as the apartment grows warmer from the heat of his stare. 

He leans forward, and before you can even naturally follow, he tugs, lightly, on the ‘S’, making your brain buzz and something spark up your spine as the distance between you closes. 

Steve makes a sort of choked noise from the back of his throat, pupils blown wide when he finally looks into your eyes. 

Your lips hover over his mouth, whispering around their smirk, “Pizza’s getting cold.”

Steve groans as you slip out of his arms, spinning towards the food only to be caught around the waist by his arms. He practically drags you to his bedroom, growling, “Fuck the pizza,” around your laughter. 

You’re not sure what you were hoping for, really, with the gift, for your first Valentine’s day together. 

But watching Steve Harrington’s eyes practically roll back in his head with you grinding on top of him, his hands pressed to the mattress with fingers entangled in yours, as the chain and little gold ‘S’ hits his chin is pretty fucking great. 

Oh, and him coming with no warning when you kiss the pair of freckles on his neck and whisper, “Happy Valentine’s Day baby” was pretty cool too.  

[oddsandends-dirt-to-dust]

The World Ender

Masterlist - (chapters, link to ao3 post, moodboard, and spotify playlist.)

I’m The World Ender, baby, and I’m comin’ for them

Word Count: 7k

Warnings (for part2): smut, depictions of mental illness, hallucinations

Warnings for smut: some degradation? kinda rough? idk

——————————

PART 2 - In The Waking Hours

“Your house has, like, ten layers of dust covering it. Is that your strategy to take down the intruders who’ll find your poorly-hidden key?” Ellie asked, eyes scrunching with her sardonic words. “Choke them to death?”

“Intruders? I thought Jackson was safe.” You mocked.  

Ellie looked back into your empty, neglected home.  

Her face found you again, tipped a little as her brows raised. 

“It is.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t need all that space.” You lied. “If you keep busting my balls, I won’t let you in.”  

She raised her palms and you stepped aside.  

She walked into your room, took it in for a moment before moving to your bed and sitting down. She kicked her loose canvas shoes off, watched as you shoved the bookshelf back in front of the door, righting any books that had fallen. 

“I forgot how cool your room is.” Her hushed voice murmured. You turned to find her gazing at your ceiling, chin tipped up and eyes darting over the decorations hanging there. 

Your solar systems and glistening silver stars. It was your favorite part too. 

You hummed. After the sickly past few hours, her gentle presence was comforting. Easy. The urge to reminisce your favorite moments broke into your brain. The urge to impress her, make sure she was enjoying your company just as much as you were hers. 

“I crashed in an observatory for a while, back in Montana. Always liked to visit them after that.” You moved over to your desk, toyed with some of the trinkets you kept there. “I was on my way there actually, when I found this place.” 

“Dude, no shit.” Ellie exclaimed. “Why have I never heard about this?”  

You smiled. 

“I was just waiting to make sure I could trust you with my prized memories.” 

The things you’d seen and learned, the things that rested beyond your earthly life – they were incomprehensible. Not in the suffocating way. It was almost godly, the vast expanse, the silent world above. The way it was all still up there, always had been and always would be, despite the endless endings that went on below. The way you could sit and watch for hours, until it felt like you were looking down. Until it felt like you could fall off the world. It calmed some writhing, erratic part of you.  

Ellie scoffed at your teasing words. 

“I didn’t think anyone else cared about that stuff anymore.” Ellie murmured. “Must’ve been nice to lose yourself up there for a while... what was it like?” 

You glanced up at her, her enthralled face, tried to ignore how her eyes sparkled like stars. 

 “I studied stars, planets, galaxies, comets. Got pretty obsessed for a while.” You said, fingers absentmindedly brushing the desk’s edge. “There was non-electronic telescopes and stuff. They were pretty dusty, but I could see cool shit through those.” 

Her lips curled into a grin. 

“No way. I've always wanted to see that stuff up close up.” She said, softly, her gaze drifting back to the silver stars glowing in the dim light. “Not just in books or drawings. The real thing.” 

Her words hung in the air, gentle and wistful, drawing a quiet hum from somewhere deep in your chest. 

“You know, they’ve got generators. If we found enough gas, I could probably get the real, high-tech stuff to work.” You hesitated, a twinge of uncertainty curling in your gut as your next words slipped from your tongue. “Maybe we should take a trip one day.” 

Her head snapped toward you, her eyes widening in delight. 

“Fuck yeah, are you kidding?” Ellie said, the pitch of her voice rising with excitement. Then she huffed, smirking. “You’re smarter than you look.” She added, leaning back and tossing you an exaggerated look of awe. 

“You’re not.” You shot back, settling casually against the desk. 

Ellie’s mouth popped open in mock offence. 

“Screw you. You know I study space stuff too. You’re not special.” 

“No?” You challenged gently, raising a brow, the trace of a smile tugging at your lips. 

She rolled her eyes but let the moment hang, her smile fading slightly as her gaze dropped to the floor. A quiet stillness settled over the room, her expression slipping into something hesitant, her fingers tapping idly against her thigh. 

When her eyes rose again, they landed on the wall beside you. 

“So, what’s the deal with those?” She asked, jerking her head towards your small rack of weaponry. The tension in her voice was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. 

Your weapons gleamed faintly under the glow of your lights, their surfaces crudely decorated with spirals, stars, little doodles. Your prized possessions, each one a testament to the battles you’d survived. 

“I thought Maria took all of them.” She added, her tone curious but cautious. 

You hummed. You weren’t supposed to have weapons, after your first – slightly less – violent incident in the town center. But that guy had deserved it too. 

“I don’t keep all my eggs in one basket.” You told her, smirking. “Maria thought she confiscated everything, but she doesn’t know me very well, does she?” 

Ellie tipped her head, quiet humor dancing on her face. 

You stepped forward and grabbed your girl – Jezebel. The weight of her in your hand was comforting, familiar, like an old friend. The gun that had been with you the longest, had seen you through many fights and sub-sequential wins. You spun on your heel, aiming the barrel at your friend. 

Ellie arched a brow, her body leaning back slightly, though she didn’t flinch. 

“This one's my favorite.” You explained, voice casual. 

“Okay, well, do you mind pointing it somewhere other than my head?” 

You clicked your tongue, lowering your arm. 

“Relax. I know my way around a gun. If I wanted to shoot you I would’ve done it already.” 

She tipped her head. 

“Yeah, I know. I've seen the proof with my own eyes, very recently, in fact.” 

Her words landed heavier than you were sure she meant them to. You placed Jezebel back on the rack, your smirk faltering. The blood still on your body suddenly felt far too vulgar. 

“Right. My bad.” You muttered. 

Ellie’s gaze lingered on the gun for a moment too long, a little too sharp and scrutinizing.  

“I agree with the sentiment; he shouldn’t have been allowed back out there.” She said, finally. “Although your choice of disposal method was a little...” She trailed off, her eyes flicked up to you, narrowing faintly as they met yours. 

“Crazy?” You finished for her. “I thought it was pretty humane, myself.” 

Her eyes flickered as she took you in, softer than how she’d regarded your gun, but with that same sharp glint. 

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” She spoke, voice low and rumbling. “I think you’re... real. Not like all the other fuckers in this town. They’re all pretending. With you,” she tipped her head. “You get what you see.” 

Her words struck something deep in you, a ripple beneath the surface. You licked your lips, unsure of how to respond. You wondered what she thought she saw, as you stood there in the middle of your barricaded room, surrounded by painted weaponry and drenched in dried blood. You felt anything but real. 

“Joel certainly doesn’t agree.” You said, deflecting. That smirk crept back onto your lips. “I’m surprised he even let you over here, considering how dangerous he deems me.” 

Ellie let out a small laugh, tight around the edges. 

“Actually, he thinks I’m sleeping.” She admitted. Her smile pressed her lips a little too thin to be deemed as amused. It almost looked like a grimace. 

“Wow, Els. You know I love a rebel.” You pushed off the desk behind you. 

“Shut up.” She muttered, her tone lacking bite. 

You sauntered over to the bed. 

“No seriously. He thinks you’re being a good girl, catching an early night. But really, you’re in here with me. Totally hot.” You stood over her, mocking smile on your lips. 

“You’re trying to dirty talk me with your victim's blood still all over you? Nice.” Ellie said, gazing up at you, heavy eyes not matching her nonchalant bravado. 

“Trying?” You pouted, leaning down, your voice dropping lower.  

You brought a hand up, trailed a finger along the side of her neck, light as a whisper. Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly, those eyes flickering. 

“I know my words affect you, Ellie. I know you’ve been thinking about what I said in the barn all day. I know that’s why you couldn’t sleep.” You cupped her chin. “That’s why you’re here – with a murderer, instead of safe in your bed.” You murmured, fingers brushing her jaw. 

She blinked, hands clasping onto the edge of your bed like she was unsure of what to do with them, but she didn’t pull away.  

“You’re not a murderer.” She said, voice soft but sure. Her eyes bore into yours, genuine, glazed. The moment pressed into you, filling the hollow spaces inside your chest with something raw. 

You knew her words affected you too. Made you feel things. She made you feel things. It was so different to the usual swimming numbness, roaring fires, howling nothing that ate you up inside. It felt good. 

You wanted her to make you feel good. 

Your lips fell onto hers.  

They met briefly, tentative at first, testing the waters. The moment hung in the air, suspended by her hesitation – a fleeting pause passed as your breaths mingled, warm and electric. Then, she gave in. Her lips molded to yours, soft, setting a rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. The heat coursing between you was palpable, a parching current sparking across every nerve.  

Her hands slid up the sides of your thighs, slow and deliberate, igniting a primal hunger deep in your core. You clutched at her hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you pressed harder into her, chasing her like an ocean wave crashing into the shore. Her grip tightened on your hips, dragging you down onto her frame, aligning your bodies so there was no space between you. The way your mouths moved together felt instinctual, your lips slipping and gliding over each other like silky coy in a crystal pond.  

Her legs were warm beneath you, arms wrapping around your back, and you melted into her, chest to chest. Fire engulfed your body and stole your breath – not like the wild, reckless heat of rage and adrenaline. It was steady, consuming, searing away every doubt, every thought.  

Ellie’s tongue grazed your top lip, velvety, but maddeningly firm. A shiver tore through you, your back arching, and your hand clutched at her jaw as you bit into her softly. She sighed, breath trembling out in an almost-whimper. She deepened the kiss; her teeth scraped your bottom lip in return before she pulled it between her own and suckled gently. 

Then, she slid her lips to your jaw, to the hollow beneath, leaving a trail of warmth. You dragged in a shallow breath as she sucked at your neck, the pull of her mouth sending a delicious ache straight to your core. Your blood pounded through you, thick and hot, and all you could smell was her, all you could taste was her.    

Her breath was uneven, shaky, the sound stoking the yearning pooling low in your abdomen. When her teeth sank into the sensitive flesh below your ear, your control splintered. A low moan tumbled from your mouth, as you ground your hips into hers, seeking any relief from the unbearable tension curling inside you. 

Ellie’s whispered your name thickly, such devotion in her tone that it may as well have been a prayer. Her voice alone unravelled something deep within you. She turned her face up, lips capturing yours again, enough bite in her kiss to set your heart thumping. The friction was driving you crazy, every swipe of your hips only growing your frustration at the muffled sensation. It wasn’t enough, you needed to feel her touch you. 

You pulled back, one hand still caging her face, your other tightening the grip in her hair. 

Ellie’s gazed fixed on you, panting softly, her plump lips reddened and black pupils eating up the green. You wanted her to consume you, spit you out something different, something whole. 

You released her just long enough to reach down and grab the hem of your shirt, dragging it over your head in one fluid motion. When you met her eyes again, her gaze wasn’t on your face. Her breathing faltered, chest rising and falling unevenly, her hands slackening on your hips. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she shifted below you. 

“Touch me.” You murmured, guiding her hands to your tits. “Here.” 

Ellie swallowed thickly, fingers tensing around you as they settled on your bare skin. She leaned in, lips brushing your collarbone in featherlight kisses. Your hand trailed up the back of her neck and into her silky hair again. She caressed the skin she found with her tongue, sucking hard enough to leave bruises, and squeezing the mounds in her hands. Her mouth moved higher, leaving damp trails up the low curve of your neck, her tongue teasing. She swiped a thumb over your nipple and you arched into her, body trembling like a live wire. Your stomach clenched, anticipation tingling through you. 

You felt alive. 

You reached up and caught her chin between your fingers, forcing her to look at you again. You couldn’t get enough of her hungry eyes, suffered expression. 

“Touch me here.” You murmured, dragging her tattooed arm downward. Her palm brushed your stomach, her fingertips skimming over the waistband of your shorts before you guided them lower. She sighed out, free hand clutching your hip in a crushing grip as you brought her palm to cup your throbbing cunt.  

“Are you sure?” Ellie asked, voice gravelly. 

“Please.” You breathed. 

The single word seemed to shatter any hesitation. Her fingers rubbed firmly against you through the fabric of your shorts, the pressure making you exhale sharply. She slanted her lips onto yours roughly, teeth clashing, all heat and desperation. You kissed messily, wide-mouthed, as her fingers pressed into the spot you needed her most.  

Your body crumpled, falling past her face, further into her as pleasure writhed through your abdomen.  

“You gonna take those off, pretty girl?” Ellie rasped, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

You could only moan in response, rocking into her fingers, chasing the friction. Lust captured your mind – you couldn’t think, your thoughts a tangle of need. 

She stopped, to your dismay, sliding her hands down to your thighs. She rolled you to the side, onto your back with ease. 

“I know what you want, you don’t need to tell me.” Ellie’s hands latched onto your waistband, snapped open the buttons there. “Besides, you don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to do to you.” She murmured, voice rumbling. 

The sound of rustling fabric filled the air as she slid your shorts down your legs. Her hands, strong and sure, gripped your hips – pushing you higher up the bed as she crawled over you. When her body settled against yours again, she kissed you, sucking your bottom lip into her warm mouth. Her hips rested between your open thighs. 

She broke away, tugging your lip between her teeth. You gasped for air, trembling and she’d barely even touched you yet. Her hand toyed with the hem of your panties. She stared down at you, and it felt different than when others did it. She didn’t look at you with disgust or terror. She wanted you. You could see it in her eyes. A stray lock of her hair tickled your cheek. You took her in, her thick brows, chiselled face, the freckle below her eye. She bit her lip, teasing fingers finally delving beneath your underwear and stilling. 

“You want it?” She breathed down at you. 

“Please.” You begged, eyes shuttering. You ached to feel her hands on you, in you, wrecking you until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. 

“Oh, so you do have manners.” She teased, fingers dipping into your folds, slow and unhurried. 

Your brows knitted together in frustration, and you scowled at her. 

“I’m kidding, don’t punch me.” She said, humor edging her tone. 

Her teasing fingers caressed your pussy everywhere but your needy clit, skating around the flushed flesh around it. Your breath caught in your throat as you swallowed down a moan, the mounting tension in your core unbearable. 

Her head nudged into your neck, warm lips sucking at the sensitive skin there while her fingers continued their agonizingly slow exploration. You felt like you were going to explode. You debated going back for your gun, making her touch you where you wanted. Your hands knotted into her hair, yanking her face back to yours. Your lips smashed together, teeth grazing hers in a hungry kiss. You pulled her closer, biting down on her plush top lip just hard enough to make her hiss. 

Ellie drew a finger up your slit, brushing over the throbbing bud at its apex. A tremor shot through you. Up and down, she dragged wetness up to your clit with light, slick strokes that made you writhe beneath her. 

“I just like hearing you beg.” She whispered, low and dangerous, smiling onto your mouth. 

“I’m about to beat your ass.” You ground out, clenching around nothing as her finger dipped to your entrance again. 

She chuckled softly before finally pressing her finger to your clit, drawing tight, slow circles. Relief surged through you, followed by a rush of white-hot pleasure. 

Your head tipped back, neck arching as fire burst through your stomach. Your hips lifted, chasing the feeling. Her mouth found yours again, swallowing the groans spilling from your lips. 

You couldn’t focus on her mouth. Couldn’t focus on anything but the rhythm of her fingers and the heat of her atop you. Your vision swam, breaths turning ragged. Her bicep flexed with her movements, and you snapped a hand onto it, nails digging into the firm muscle as waves of pleasure rippled through you. 

Ellie pressed harder, winding her fingertip, churning your insides.  

It felt better than you'd even imagined. To have someone on you – Ellie on you – touching you like this, so close you could barely tell where you ended and she began. You sank into the feeling, let your body react with instinct like it did when you were fighting, when you were running, when you weren't thinking – just living. When you didn't have to be a person.  

Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to remind yourself to breath. Moans burst from your chest, everything burned, throbbed, tingled with sparks that sent tears to your eyes. 

“Man, you look like you’re gonna come already.” She hummed huskily, edged with something dark and wanting. 

You panted, brain whirring like a record. You couldn’t get a word out between your moans and the jumbled soup of your mind. Just her, her warmth, her eyes, her smell, her hands. 

You groaned. 

“Gotta wait, baby. Want you to cum on my mouth.” Ellie slurred, hips pressing into you, into the hand at your sopping cunt. Her breath trembled. 

You sighed as her fingers left you, body freezing. She pulled back, gaze molten as she slid your panties down and off. Ellie dropped to her knees, pulling your trembling legs over her shoulders. Her hands trailed down your thighs, devouring the sight before her with starving green eyes. 

She didn’t tease you this time, just dove right in. Her mouth descended on you, licking up in broad strokes, sucking your pussy into her silken mouth. You gripped her head, pushing her face into you. She moaned, lips finding your swollen clit. Your breath hitched. 

She pursed her lips around it, kissing like she had done your mouth. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, stomach clamping down like she did around your clit. She sucked roughly, lifting her tongue to caress circles onto the bundle of nerves.  

You cried out, shifting to wrap your fingers onto the forearm that was twisting around your thigh in an effort to hold you down. She moaned against you again, the vibration igniting sparks that shot up your spine. The heat inside you blazed, coiling and coiling like a stone in the center of your abdomen. 

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to you, watching as she ruined you with her mouth. Your head wrenched back into the bed, and you couldn’t fill your lungs. The rhythmic flick of her tongue and her face pushing into you overtook everything but your heartbeat, thundering like a bird's wings. Your hips bucked into her, and her arm pressed down harder, caging you beneath her strong frame, her writhing tongue. 

Fingers teased at your entrance, brushing just enough to make you whimper. 

“This okay?” She asked, voice rough and breathless. 

You just nodded, your body arching into her touch. 

Her fingers plunged in, filled you up to her knuckles. You clenched around her, the feeling of her inside you heavenly. Ellie worked her fingers slowly at first, curling up to press against the spot that made you sob.  

She sucked on your clit, pulling back with a wet pop. 

“Bet the whole town can hear you crying for me.” She rasped, breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh before she fastened her mouth back onto your clit, her tongue flicking in rapid, maddening stokes. Her fingers pumped into you, the slick sound of it mingling with your ragged breathing and the groans spilling from your lips. 

You whimpered as the ball in your abdomen tightened, strained so taut it ached. Your head tingled, your vision sparkled behind your eyelids. 

“Ellie.” You chanted her name, the only word your mind could conjure, over and over. The coil snapped, and your body arched violently as the world dissolved into white-hot pleasure. Waves of ecstasy wracked your body, every muscle trembling, her mouth and fingers wringing every last tremor from you. Your legs locked around her head, and she didn’t stop, didn’t falter. She worked you through it, lapping up your juices, fingers wringing you dry. You couldn’t hold in the noises spewing from your open mouth as lightning shot through you, fogging up your mind, unrelenting until the pleasure became too much. 

When she finally pulled away, your body was still twitching, your breaths shallow and sharp. Ellie climbed back over you, chin glistening, cheeks flushed. 

“You good?” She murmured. 

You hummed weakly, looking up at her through bleary eyes. She was so beautiful. Everything felt warm and fuzzy, your mind quieter than it had been in years. You sighed. 

Ellie smiled, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips before rolling onto her side next to you. 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to do anything for me. I know you’re tired.” She spoke; tone tight with something unsaid. “Besides, your head’s covered in blood. It’s pretty gross.” 

You scoffed, your lips curling. 

“Don’t pretend like you’re not used to blood. And don’t pretend your pussy isn’t pounding in your panties.” Your voice dropped low, teasing, as you turned to her. “I bet you’re soaked.” 

Her cheeks blossomed pink. She diverted her gaze to the ceiling, lips thinning.  

“Shut up.” She mumbled, softly, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

You leaned in closer, your gaze sharp and unrelenting.  

“No?” 

“No.” Her sigh was soft but resolute, though the tension in her jaw gave her away. 

Your lips twitched at her stubbornness. You could see the cracks forming in her façade. 

You reached over, hand ghosting at her waistband. Before you could grab hold, her fingers wrapped around your wrist in a vice-like grip. Her eyes snapped to yours, finally. 

“Quit it.” 

You tilted your head, closing the distance between you until your face was inches from hers. You needed to know the source of her hesitance, why she seemed so bashful all of a sudden. 

“You really want me to stop?” You asked. 

Her fingers loosened fractionally. She stared at you, her guard faltering for just a moment, before her gaze dropped to your lips then back up. 

Ellie said nothing, the silence between you thick. You slotted your lips between hers, saved her from the intimacy of your stare. Her lips parted under yours, tentative yet eager. Her hand slid from your wrist, a silent signal of consent. You didn’t hesitate, slipping your fingers under her waistband, down until you found the drenched patch in her underwear. Lower until your fingers ghosted over the hot throbbing between her slick folds. 

She sighed, trembling into your mouth. 

You bit back your grin. You kissed her deeper, pushing her lips apart with your tongue, letting your finger trail up to her puffy clit. She jumped, breath huffing onto your chin. You pressed down harder, pinning the nub beneath your finger, and stilled. Her teeth grazed your lip. You could feel the blood beating to her clit. 

Ellie’s hand slid up your back, nails biting into your flesh hard enough to sting. 

“What? I don’t have to do anything right?”  

“Ugh, you’re such a bitch.” She mumbled, voice strained. 

“You were so confident earlier. Now look at you.” You smirked, nose brushing against hers. “So desperate.” 

Her hips rocked softly, grinding your finger into her cunt. She moaned. 

“I bet you went home, got in bed, and thought about fucking me.” You murmured into her mouth.  

Her eyelashes fluttered, hips rolling faster now, breath puffing out edged with whispered moans. 

“Always think about fucking you.” She choked out. 

You hummed in satisfaction. 

“And I bet you thought about my hands too. All over you, inside you. Right after you watched them end someone.” You began to rub at her clit, felt her tense beneath you. “You’re disgusting.” You whispered teasingly, turning your face to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. 

“Fuck.” She sighed out, brows knitting together. She bit her bruised bottom lip, whine building in her chest. You quickened your pace, whirling your fingers around her clit until that whine broke free, raw and needy. Her mouth opened wide, nails scraping down your back, leaving burning scratches in their wake. You wanted her to mark you, claim you, leave bruises and scrapes that wouldn’t heal for weeks. A reminder of the moment – the connection. 

“You did, didn’t you?” You pressed, smirking. “You thought about me and you touched yourself. That’s why your pussy was already so ruined. That’s why you didn’t want me to see.” 

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a tight huff. You slowed your movements, enough to make her squirm. 

“Do you ever get tired of being such a know-it-all?” She muttered weakly, frustration warring with the need written all over her face. 

You met her jade eyes, dilated and glassy. You pressed a kiss to her mouth. 

“Tell me.” You murmured, brushing your cheek against hers, your voice coaxing her toward confession. 

Her jaw flexed, teeth grinding together as she fought the words for a moment.  

Finally, she conceded, voice small. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

You smile was triumphant as you sped back up, your fingers rolling around her bud harshly until her body arched into you. The guttural sound that tore from her throat made your mind swim with arousal. Her eyes rolled back, hips jerking against your hand as she gasped your name, her voice breaking. The sound of her wetness filled the space between you, obscene and undeniable. It sent a pulse of heat straight through you, a visceral need to taste her building with every shaky breath she took. 

“Did it feel good?” You asked, voice low, the question laced with intent. 

Ellie nodded, stiffly.  

“Ah, fuck.” She breathed, hand snapping up onto your wrist as if to steady herself – or to keep you there. Her body rocked as she rode your fingers, moaning lowly. 

You tilted your head. 

“Did it feel as good as me?” 

Ellie’s breath caught, a faint tremor running through her as she shook her head. 

“No, no.” She whimpered. “Fuck, don’t stop, y/n.” 

You nibbled along her jaw, savoring the way her skin felt under your lips, the faint salt of her sweat mingling with the heat radiating from her. 

“But I want to taste you.” You murmured, head dipping to graze her pulse point. 

She groaned, a sound that rumbled from deep in her chest. 

“Don’t you want to feel my mouth all over your pussy?” You pressed, lips brushing her ear. 

She panted, eyes meeting yours again – dark and hazy. 

“Yeah.” She whispered. 

Something about the way she was looking at you made your stomach flutter. It was addictive, as dangerous as any intoxicant. It clawed at the edges of your mind, darkness seeping into the arousal encompassing you. No one had ever looked at you like that. Not just lust but something deeper, something you knew you shouldn’t crave but couldn’t resist. It sent warning lights flashing in your brain – dread and the small, skittering urge to flee.  

But not enough to make you stop.  

You slipped your hand from Ellie’s panties, the heat still buzzing on your fingertips. Without breaking your entwined gaze, you brought your glossy fingers to her lips, brushing her wetness over them. Her breath hitched, eyes growing heavy as her lips parted as if in reflex.  

Bending lower, you licked a slow, deliberate stripe across her lips, tasting her. Then you captured them in your own. Her hand gripped your ass, desperate and hungry, pulling you closer as her tongue slid against yours. Your fingers grasped her jaw, tilting her face to deepen the kiss. 

Your hand traced down her front, trembling slightly as it met the bottom edge of her shirt. You slid it up, the fabric rising to reveal her toned stomach. She arched her back in silent permission before leaning up, to help you tug the shirt over her head. She sunk back onto the bed, the movement sending a ripple through her chest – her soft, perky tits swaying. You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your belly.  

You lowered your head, worked her neck first, careful not to leave marks where people could see. You continued down to the fleshy mounds of heat over her heart. Her chest pushed into you with each breath, as you kissed down the center of her boobs. You turned to the one closest, pressed a kiss to the curve, drawing your mouth up. You fit your mouth over her nipple, tongue swirling, lips tightening to suck before you let your teeth graze the sensitive bud lightly. Her thighs clenched together, a soft whimper escaping her as her hands fumbled to pull you closer.  

You were growing impatient now, needed to hear more of those pretty sounds spilling from her again. You rose, hands finding the button of her jeans. A flick, a tug, and they slid down her legs, over her feet, bringing her panties with them. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, made your pulse thunder in your ears.  

Settling back down on the bed, you reached for her, gripping her waist and guiding her on top of you. Her thighs framed your hips, the heat between them resting on your abdomen. Ellie stared down at you, hands tangling with yours. 

“Sit on my face.” You breathed, low and ragged. 

Her brows lifted, a flicker of uncertainty. But the glint of starving desire in her green eyes was undeniable as they found your mouth. She licked her lips, slowly. 

“Yeah?” 

You quirked your face, stomach tingling at her playful hesitation. 

“Get up here.” You ordered, releasing her fingers to grip her hips firmly, and tugging.  

She shuffled forward on her knees and you slid your arms beneath her, thighs brushing against your shoulders before they settled on either side of your cheeks. 

“Know what you’re doing down there?” Ellie asked, her voice dipping back into that familiar, teasing lilt. 

You ignored her, didn’t rise to the bait. You had something to prove now, mind urging to drag her tone back into those begging whimpers. Your eyes wandered, dazed at the view of her above you. The soft, glistening pink of her pussy, flushed with arousal, framed by her strong thighs. Her toned stomach flexed as she steadied herself, and above that, her tits, rising and falling with gentle breaths. Your gaze lingered on her face, her teasing demeanor flickering just slightly as your teeth snagged your lip, your craving written across your features. 

Your hands smoothed up the back of her thighs, squeezing the soft flesh before sliding to her plump ass, tugging her down to your hungry mouth. 

Ellie lowered herself gently despite your urging fingers, pressed herself onto your lips. Her weight hesitant at first, testing, until your tongue swept out and slathered through her folds. Her breath hitched audibly, hips twitching in response. 

You found her clit, latched onto it, sucking hard – and her control cracked. 

A low hum escaped her, her eyelids fluttering closed as her hands came down to wrap into your hair. Her fingers tugged lightly, a silent plea. You flattened your tongue over your lip, working it in slow circles. 

Her first moan was soft, breathy. You quickened your movements, tongue gliding against her with perfect precision until her moans deepened, her hips rolling as she sank harder onto your mouth. 

You felt every shift of her body, her thighs quivering against your cheeks, the weight of her becoming less cautious, more desperate. The tangy taste of her filled your mouth, your senses consumed entirely by her. You could do this forever, you realized. 

“Mmmh, fuck.” Ellie groaned, low and husky. Her brows drew together, her lips parting as she bit down onto the inside of her cheek.  

You landed a soft smack to her ass, a silent warning not to muffle the noises you earned. She sucked in a gasp, the soft sound cutting through the room. Your other hand tightened on her thigh, pulling her down even closer, burying yourself between her legs. The pressure of her against you was intoxicating. 

You suctioned onto her clit again, rolling the bud between your lips, darting your tongue up to flick at it. Her fingers tore at your hair now, growing louder, rawer as her hips jerked. 

“Oh, god, y/n.” Ellie moaned out, voice littered with silent surprise, the taunting leeched from her features – replaced with the deep etchings of roiling bliss. 

You couldn’t help but grin against her flesh as she whimpered, her resolve breaking entirely. Her head tipped back, chest arching, the muscles in her stomach flexing, clenching down. 

You lifted your fingers to her cunt, drove them inside, curling them deep and massaging. To your delight – her response was immediate. Her mouth gaped, eyes rolling back as she doubled over slightly, a ragged, unfiltered moan tearing from her throat. She planted a hand above your head on the bed, struggling to keep herself up, the other still tugging at your hair. 

Ellie’s movements grew frantic, her hips stuttering against your mouth as she ground herself deeper onto you. Every noise she made – every moan, every gasp, every whimper – spurred you on. They crawled higher and higher, as you breathed in her scent, let her taste invade you. Your arms burned from the effort, your jaw ached, but you refused to stop. 

You kept up your brisk pace, her thighs clenching around your head, twitching violently. Her face twisted in a perfect blend of pleasure and euphoria, her features scrunching up as her body trembled above you. She grew dangerously heavy atop you with each crashing wave of her climax, like she couldn’t hold herself up any longer. The raw intensity of her surrender sent a thrill coursing through you, electrifying every nerve as you soaked in the sight, the sounds, the feel of her unraveling for you completely. Her voice broke as she choked out your name again, so loud, tangled in between curses and mewled moans.  

You held her through it, your fingers and tongue coaxing her gently as the tension drained from her body, shuddering out of her with tight breaths before she finally sagged above you.   

Ellie eased herself off you with shaking limbs, collapsing onto the bed beside you. She lay sprawled on her back, chest heaving, sweat glistening over her naked form. 

“Holy shit.” She muttered between breaths, voice thick and hoarse. “That’s... definitely one way to shut you up.” 

You flicked your eyes to her, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, a lazy smile growing on your face. Rolling onto your side, you draped an arm over her waist. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Ellie turned her head, her eyes meeting yours. 

“Yeah, that was way better than masturbating.” 

You scoffed a laugh. 

And then, there was nothing but the weight of the room, the quiet, tangled mess of your aching bodies and thoughts. You rested your head on her chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of her heartbeat as it slowed – mighty in only the daring it took to keep on beating in a world like this. Because hearts weren’t strong at all. They were weak, and easily snuffed. And the feelings they leached made you weak too. 

The world around you snapped back into focus, and with it the freezing chill of reality. The painted walls, and hanging stars, and trinkets you’d picked up on your travels through beastly cities and beastly people. You sniffed, shifting, trying to clear the bitter haze. 

Your rack of secret weapons drew your gaze. Dark and heavy, sizzling in the air.  

“The only thing real in here. Stars and colors paint pretty pictures. Comics and collections and records are easy to hide inside. Are you where you’re supposed to be, my girl?” 

The voice flittered around the room. You stiffened. His voice... his voice... 

Came to you in important moments. A noose or a stinging scratch... a whispered warning. Reminders. In moments too thick, to palpable, to sharp – important moments, things to take note of. 

You sat up.  

 “Don’t fall asleep. Jesse’s gonna come and get you for patrol tomorrow and you won’t be in your room.” You muttered to the slackening girl beneath you. 

She groaned; a sound laced with exhaustion now. 

“Are you gonna make me climb out the window?” 

The amusement her words roused in you made your chest pang. Life felt almost... easy with her. Normal. 

You wished you could be normal. Wished you could be someone who woke up untethered, not bridled to the blistering truths you knew, the blistering truths you had to uphold. 

“No.” You replied, quietly. 

You got up, found your discarded clothes scattered around the floor. All dark, for blending with shadows. All tight, to reduce the risk of snagging, of catching. All stained. All smelling rusty and cracking with the dried promise of the end – the dried promise of no tomorrows. 

“Did you tell Jesse where my barn was?” The question fell out – casual despite the heft you felt beneath.  

“Uh, no. Just that you had a barn. He probably looked in a couple before he found us.” Ellie explained, tugging her jeans back on. 

Your eyes roamed over your weapons again.  

The thought of Maria’s ‘next steps’ made your stomach tighten.  

There was no way she wouldn’t kick you for the hills. The woman was too passive – gave too many chances, left her town too scantily guarded. But there was no way she couldn’t see you. 

Inside the body of the young girl you inhabited – a helpful guise. She hadn’t noticed you beneath the surface at first, thinking of you as you’d trained her to. Traumatized, alone, in need of saving. In need of a warm bed and a supportive community. 

No, you had only been in need of a reprieve. You’d found it. But things slipped through the cracks, you could only soften yourself for so long. The you beneath was hungry and unsettled. The things outside the walls were waiting, calling – needed you to return to them. You needed it too. That man was a reminder. 

That man, who had stolen food and weapons one too many times. And the too-passive woman had sent his ass for the gates.  

She could see you now, you knew. You had popped someone in front of the whole town. And she had spied your reflection in his pooling blood. She’d found his ghost in your eyes; she’d found your burning in that bullet.  

“Are you gonna have to move your safe house now?” Ellie’s low voice reached you, cutting through the darkening haze of your mind.  

You blinked at her. The sinking feeling in your gut turning into something cold and solid.  

“I don’t know.” You said.  

The day was snapping together behind you, each moment falling into place like an ugly, jagged puzzle. The truth was starting to surface and you were beginning to realize something.  

You had long overstayed your welcome in this town. You weren’t built for places like this. You weren’t made for it.  

Your fingers traced the edge of your bookshelf absently, tapping the wood. You swallowed, tightened your fingers on its battered side. You pulled it from the door, the sound of it scraping the wooden floor a grating rumble. You reached for the freezing handle of the door it revealed, pulled it open. The abyss behind the door beckoned, swirled, waited. 

Ellie came up behind you, her soft fingers brushing against yours as she caught your hand. 

“You okay?” She asked softly, the hum of concern in her voice digging under your skin. 

Your eyes breezed over her awaiting face, her swollen lips, the mess of her short, tawny hair. She was perfect in her simplicity. You wondered what she saw as she looked at you, standing in the middle of the thing disguised as your room, after a night of consuming disguised as connection. You wondered what she thought you looked like.  

“I’m… I don’t know how long I’ll be here, Ellie.” You tried – a creeping warning. A foreboding reminder.  

“What?” Her brows furrowed – but not in confusion.  

Maybe she couldn’t see you yet. But still, she knew too, you knew she knew – your actions couldn’t be excused by the people of this town.  

“Maria doesn’t want me to stay here.” You lied, like a coward. 

She paused, her gaze steady on your face. 

“What did she say?” Ellie asked, voice hard. 

“It doesn’t matter. You saw what happened today-” 

She cut you off with a loud sigh, her frustration barely masked by the soft shake of her head.  

“I’ll talk to her. She’s not just gonna kick you back out there.” 

“Why not?” You shot back, too sharp.  

Ellie’s face flickered, before settling. She smoothed her hand over your shoulder, the touch gentle, sending a warmth through you.  

“Just get some sleep, it’ll be fine.”  

You allowed yourself to look at her one last time. The assured set of her face. She was a determined thing.  

You couldn’t imagine why she had taken to you. Why she, out of everyone, enjoyed the instability of your presence. Why she was so blinded by you. 

You didn’t doubt she was the driving force behind your too-many-chances. But she’d be hard-pressed to convince Maria of your innocence in this one.  

You just nodded.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ellie said, dropping your fingers.  

She walked from your room, disappeared down the hall, and for a second you thought she might have been one of those sickly, half-there things that scattered around the dark in your world. The things you found in shadows and old buildings and the corners of your mind.  

But as you closed the door, fit the bookshelf back in its spot, and turned to the rumpled bed... as those scratches and marks heated your back - the only things keeping you warm now - you realized that Ellie was not the sickly, half-there thing.  

You were.  

You sank onto the bed as the night swirled around you. As people slept and dreamed and awaited a new day.  

You watched the floor even as bangs broke into the silent air around. Even as things howled and that worn bookshelf rattled angrily. Crashes sounded in the home below you - the home that had never been yours.  

this town can’t have you. you’re a sickness, a liar. you’ll ruin her. she’s dead already  

You stood, walked toward your desk. You flicked your record player on, let the sound of your songs whir into the air. The only noise that didn’t taste like dust and rot. 

You turned to your wall of weapons. As your fingers traced over Jezebel, something dark and bitter gnawed at you. Seeped into the pits of you, swirled around your head. Something like guilt. 

Yes, it must have been guilt. For letting yourself hide in this town for so long.

[bad268]

Plot Twist

Breaking News (Part 5/Final)

(Max Verstappen X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Nope (I had an idea, Mr. Krabs)

Warnings: cheating mentioned, toxic parents, overall hella fluffy (HERE is a link to the full playlist if you want to hear them all in a row otherwise each individual song is linked later in the story.)

Pronouns: They/them

W.C. 1655

Chapter Summary: The much-anticipated album drop of 'Plot Twist' by Y/n L/n leads to an unexpected plot twist in the end.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

(^Came from 2 pics on Pinterest)

<- Previous Part

July 24, 2024

~

It is release day, October 16. Plot Twist dropped at midnight, and so far, it’s been received very well! Neither of my previous albums had this much attention, so it was honestly shocking seeing my name and album trending on Twitter. 

I was busy in the kitchen, eating some lunch, and avoiding looking at the feedback. I knew that I would waste the entire day reading every little critique the fans had. My publicist knew that I would try that, so they were holding my phone hostage as they worked on planning a live stream. It was a tradition at this point; day of release, I would livestream listening to every song and telling the story or answering questions between them.

I was just finishing up my food when I felt one arm around my waist as another stole one of my crisps. “Hey! That’s mine.”

“It’s one, you’ll live,” Max whispered, leaning onto my back to place a kiss on my cheek after he at the chip. “It’s not like you’ll starve.”

“I’ll tell your nutritionist that you ate a pack of crisps,” I joked. 

“It was one!” He complained, turning my head to connect our lips in a few small kisses. When we separated, he whispered, “I’ll buy you more if you’re that concerned.”

“Alright lovebirds, I need to steal the singer,” my manager interrupted the moment.

“I’ll be right over,” Max joked.

“Ha ha, Max,” my manager replied sarcastically. “Are you going to be beside them or behind the camera?”

“I’ll stay back,” he answered, already pulling a chair to sit behind the camera that was pointed at the couch. “It’s your moment.”

“Thanks, liefde (love),” I said, taking my spot on the couch. “Let me know when you start it.”

“If you’re ready, I can start it now?” My manager asked, receiving a thumbs up from me as I fixed my appearance one last time. They pointed to me, signaling that I was live, so I smiled and switched on my stage persona. 

“Hello everybody!”  I greeted, scanning through the messages flying on the screen. “It’s everyone’s favorite day; release day! I’m going to play my new album, Plot Twist, which is available now on all platforms, and answer your questions about each song. Let’s get started with the first single.”

Track 1-Ava

“Everyone knows this backstory, but something you might not know is that Max helped me with the melody on this one too,” I laughed as Max groaned in the background.

“I helped on basically every song. I should get royalties.”

“I think you’ll live, Mr. Third-Most-Paid-Sportsman-Under-25,” I mocked.

“Oh fuck off,” He laughed, moving to play the next song.

Track 2-Seven

“Again, another very popular single, “I chuckled, “Not gonna lie, was almost titled ‘Fling’ or ‘Freak Out’, but Max thought 'Seven' was more ominous.”

“I did not! Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Denial doesn't look good on you, schat (darling).”

“I’m not in denial,” He opposed. “I just said ‘Seven’ sounded better than ‘Fling’ or ‘Freak Out’.”

Track 3-Bigger Person

“Think we all know who this is directed at,” I sighed with a look directly at the camera, “But actually, it was a combination of the breakup and my personal problems with my family, and this is one of my most vulnerable songs. I’ve been working on it for a long time, and it is one of my favorites on the album. I think I did the idea justice, and I hope some of my fans find comfort in this song.”

Track 4-Flowers

“Flowers is another very close-to-home song. I used to have a huge fear of commitment, and with my ex, the very first thing he did was introduce me to his family by saying he would marry me,” I admitted, remembering the details of the night I met the Leclercs. Now, I have no contact with Charles, but his brothers and Maman still text me every so often. Arthur actually called me to tell me how much he loved the album earlier today. I smiled at the memories before continuing. “That actually didn’t drive me away as it normally would have, so I felt safe and comfortable with him right away. Maybe that’s why I put up with everything for so long. And anytime there was a big fight between us, instead of talking it out and resolving it, he would get me red roses. It was always an apology, and I can’t look at red roses the same anymore.”

“For everyone always asks why I get them carnations, daisies, or dahlias, this is why,” Max spoke up. “I’m the man that treats you right.”

“Yes, yes you do, Maxie,” I laughed, looking over at him. “I love you. Now, next song!”

Track 5-Somebody to You (Acoustic)

“When I realized that I loved Max, I couldn’t get him off my mind at all. I knew I wanted to be someone important to him, but I didn’t want to be overbearing and make him think it was a rebound,” I explained quickly. “However, even as a kid, I knew I would be with him because we were just always close like that.”

“They came to me whenever they needed support, and same for me with them,” Max elaborated, “We were just always close like that.”

Track 6-18

“It started when I told Max that I loved him for the first time at the Austin Grand Prix last year. He responded immediately saying he loved me since we were 18 before either of us actually understood love. It all just flowed from that moment. Max was actually able to help me on some of the lyrics for this song, but I promised I wouldn’t say what verses he wrote apart from the obvious.”

“Apart from the obvious? Really?” He laughed.

“Y’know, if you’re going to be so vocal during the stream, why don’t you just come on camera?” I challenged, knowing he didn’t want to be on the stream, but he was acting too involved for someone who didn’t want to be here.

“I’m fine here, thank you. Onto the next one.”

Track 7-That Part

“This is our story in a song,” I sighed as I made eye contact with Max, him winking at me, causing me to smile and drop my head. “ I jokingly told my friends and family that I would date Max at some point when we were like 8, so the end was kind of a ‘haha told you so’ to everyone who said I was lying. It was actually a surprise to Max, and he didn’t know I was writing this. When I played this for him the first time, he cried, but he loved it. I hear him singing it every so often, sometimes it’s in English and sometimes in Dutch, but either way, it makes me happy that he loves it. It means I did our love story justice.”

Track 8-Eternally Yours

“Max and I wrote this together. We wanted a song for our wedding, so we poured everything we had into this song. I also pulled in my friends, Chris and Ricky, to write with us. Chris and Ricky are masterminds when it comes to writing beautiful melodies with strong meanings, so I knew they would be the perfect people to collaborate with. If you know their band, you’d know that their more heartfelt songs like Fatal and Sinematic were written by these two,” I said, going onto a short tangent about my friends and co-writers. Then I remembered that many of my listeners don’t listen to them so I said, “Shameless plug here, check out their band, Motionless in White if Eternally Yours is your favorite from the album! They’ve got new music coming soon, but you didn’t hear that from me. They’re actually covering this on that album but with a metal twist.”

As soon as I saw the chat explode, I knew I messed up somewhere. I looked at the messages and found one that said, “WEDDING?!” I knew I just outed that we were engaged by accident. “Well, cat’s out of the bag everyone. Max proposed when he heard ‘That Part’ for the first time.”

My manager let out a loud laugh as they read one of the comments. I looked at them skeptically, so they said, “Chat wants Max to reenact his proposal.”

“Say less,” Max joked to himself as he walked from the other side of the camera to kneel in front of me.

“What are you doing? I thought you didn’t want to be on camera,” I laughed, moving my hands to mess with his hair. He started shaking his head to get my hands away from the strands as he pulled out a box. 

“I planned this to be a little more romantic than you jokingly messing up my hair,” He chuckled, using his other hand to fix it. “Can’t really back out now with hundreds of thousands of fans watching, now can I?” He reached out to grab my left hand as my free hand to hide my red face. “I think there’s only one thing left to say, wil je mij voor eeuwig de jouwe laten zijn (Well you let me be eternally yours)?”

“Altijd schat (Always darling),” I whispered as I pulled him in for a kiss as he pulled the ring out to place it onto my left ring finger. “That was pretty close to the first time.”

“Minus you messing with my hair, and you cried a lot more the first time,” He chuckled, sitting next to me for the end of the stream.

“At least now I can wear my ring in public,” I said before leaning in to kiss him one last time. I pulled away as my manager announced their presence again, causing us both to laugh. “Ok guys, that’s the stream. We will see you at the next album stream! Bye!”

~

October 16, 2024

~~~

Fin <3 (unless y’all got ideas for more. I’m open)

~~~~~

© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[baisemains]

I know what you tell your friends

sydney adamu x gn!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: drinking, smoking weed, cursing, angst, jealousy, syd being mean to reader

description: your night out with syd takes a turn for the worst / pt. 2 to ‘is it casual now?’

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous | next // sydney adamu masterlist

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You and Sydney take the train instead of driving in case you decide to drink, which at this point, is a guaranteed, you don’t think you can handle the rest of the night around her sober. The stolen glances and arm grazes among light conversation on the ride there have you counting down the seconds until you arrive.

When you arrive at the venue, you bypass the line and go straight to security, giving the tall man at the door a hug. Syd stands to the side, a bit awkward since you never actually informed her how you’d be getting in. She had assumed you got tickets the old fashioned way, but that apparently wasn’t the case as she watched the unnamed man lift you into a bear hug.

A few moments later, you’re finally put down and you turn to face her, laughing and fixing your coat. “Syd, this is Johnny, one of my closest friends from college, and the best baker you’ll ever meet,” you clap your hand on his massive bicep and Syd is sure she felt a small earthquake. As you turn to him to introduce Sydney, he’s already sticking his hand out in her direction, a shit eating grin on his face. “So we finally meet.”

Sydney raises an eyebrow at that and sends you a questioning look, shaking his hand nonetheless. Johnny pulls her into a similar hug, minus lifting her off the ground, and Syd lets out a surprised squeak. You feel heat start to creep up your neck, of course she figured you talked to your friends about her, she did the same, but not to the degree that they’d react that friendly.

He lets her go soon after and ushers you guys inside, but not before you tell him you’ll talk to him after the show.

“So…what did he mean by ‘finally meet?’” You pretend not to hear her, using the noise of the crowd to your advantage. What are you supposed to say, “Yeah I talk to my friends about how I’ve been catching feelings for you for months, even though you said if that ever happened, our situation would end and I think I’d rather die than do that so I’ve been keeping my mouth shut!” You could only imagine, your pride would never recover.

The bar finally comes into view and you send a little thank you upstairs as you turn to ask Syd if she wants anything. She’s closer than you expect, the throng of people pushing you towards each other, so much so that your noses nearly touch and you jump back a little.

Your eyes meet and you see her chest rise and fall in your peripheral vision. Shaking the dangerous thoughts threatening to form in your head, you lean in to do what you originally came here for. “I’m gonna get a drink, you want anything?”

Sydney has to really focus on your words, your proximity to her body throwing her off in a way that hasn’t happened in a while. She wonders if she even should, drinking always relaxes her and right now, she feels like she should be on high alert. But with the way your breath feels against her neck, turning you down is the last thing on her mind. That, and the fact that she really needs to keep her hands busy before they get her in trouble.

You get the bartender’s attention after a few minutes and order your drinks, doubles for both of you, agreeing that the line is way too long to come back for another later. Clinking your glasses together and taking a sip, the delicious burn makes its way from your throat to your stomach, much like the feeling Sydney has been giving you all night. It’s only then that you realize you’ve barely eaten today and that you’d better babysit your drink so you don’t feel it so quickly.

Seeing how the floor near the stage is filling in, you tell Sydney you should start heading over so you get a good spot, wanting to be able to see your friend perform. “Grab onto me so we don’t get separated, okay?” You assume she’ll grab onto the back of your coat so when you feel her graze your hand and latch onto your sleeve, you almost stumble. You’re suddenly grateful for the low lighting and the fact that she’s walking behind you because you’re starting to sweat, making a beeline for the side stage.

The two of you reach your spots and settle in, taking sips of your drinks as the lights go down and the show starts. Syd actually enjoys herself, your friend’s band is as good as you said they were, their music was relaxing and intricate all at once, and as the show ends, she finds herself grateful to you for inviting her, she really needed this. It also helped that she’d finished her drink and was definitely feeling the buzz.

Throughout the show, you two had exchanged content glances, nodding to the music and just enjoying each other’s company, all while never speaking a word. You wait for the crowd to disperse a little before starting to head out yourselves when Johnny comes over and throws his arms over both of you. “Don’t tell me you guys are leaving before the after party?”

You push him off with a laugh, not wanting him to get too comfortable around Sydney and blow your cover, what little was left of it anyway. “What, you mean everyone going to Jen’s and drinking there?” Your friend in the band had told you that there was a plan to head to another friend’s place after the show to catch up, as they hadn’t performed in Chicago in a while. You look at Syd to gauge her reaction but she’s stoic as ever and you scratch your neck, suddenly nervous.

The lines are so blurred at this point, you’re not even sure how to go about the situation. You’re not really friends because you guys don’t spend time together outside of a bed but you’re definitely not strangers, far too familiar with each other’s bodies. Is it weird to ask her if she wants to go? The fact that she even agreed to come to the concert was mind blowing, but now you’re not sure when to stop pushing your luck. Fuck it, we ball, you think to yourself as you look to Syd and ask, “What do you feel like doing?”

She makes eye contact with you, and not until she answers do you let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “Why the hell not, sure.” You freeze for a moment, not realizing Syd said yes, and Johnny claps a hand on each of your shoulders, easing the tension in the air. You try to stifle a grin but she sees it anyways and matches it with her own.

The three of you make your way backstage, you and Johnny goofing off and Syd walking a couple of paces behind you two, amused at your childlike antics. When you walk into the green room, everyone has a beer in hand and are talking among the music playing from someone’s broken speaker.

Someone from the band, Syd assumes, spots you come in and cheers. More heads turn in your direction and she feels awkward standing off to the side as you make your rounds saying hi to everyone. You make your way back to her and point to all the people in the room one by one as you introduce them to her.

Syd doesn’t catch anyone’s name until you say Jen, and for some reason, her stomach twists a little. She had noticed you two being especially friendly when you said hi, but now that Syd could see how pretty she was, standing there smiling with her freshly dyed red hair and perfectly fitting baby tee, a small pit makes itself at home in her gut. What the fuck, she thought to herself, since when does she care about you being friendly with other people. Syd shakes off the thought and waves in everyone’s general direction as they all start packing their stuff to head out.

Apparently Jen’s apartment is within walking distance of the venue so off you go, like a field trip full of school kids. You notice Syd’s mood changed after meeting everyone so you check in to make sure she’s still up for going.

“Hey…you okay? We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, the train station is also in this direction.” You didn’t think to mention that you and Jen had a fling a few years ago, the leftover tension still tangible, apparently. Now you’re worried that you ruined any kind of progress between you and Syd and the thought makes you uneasy. Syd catches herself and realizes she’s basically been sulking since you left the venue and quickly corrects herself.

“What? No, yeah, I’m fine, it’s just colder out here than it was earlier.” She forces a smile and you don’t really believe her but decide not to push it any further.

When you arrive, there’s already mood lighting and soft music playing through a better quality speaker than there was in the green room. Everyone spreads out through the living room and kitchen, and you take off your coat before turning to Syd and reaching for hers. She lets you take it, but not without a twitch in her eyebrow, this being more domestic than you’re used to. You hang them up and lead her to the couch, there being just enough room for the two of you to sit down.

After a couple minutes of small talk with your friends, you look at Syd expectantly. “I’m gonna grab a drink from the kitchen, you want anything?” You echo your words from earlier and though there’s much more space between you two this time, she still feels her breath quicken.

“Yeah, I’ll have whatever you’re having, thanks.” She doesn’t even care what it is at this point, she just wants to relax. Leaning further into the couch, she looks around at everyone, gauging the vibe of the room when she feels the seat next to her dip. She turns, opening her mouth to ask you how you got done so quick when she sees Johnny, a knowing smile on his face. “Expecting someone else?”

Syd’s eyebrows quirk as she replies. “Sort of, unless you’re the delivery man.” She laughs, trying not to let him see her slight disappointment. He seemed like a nice guy, she just didn’t know him well enough to strike up a a conversation. That didn’t stop him from trying, though.

“So…,” he drums his hands on his knees, “I’m surprised you decided to come out tonight.”

That catches Syd off guard, how the hell did he know her well enough to know what she would or wouldn’t do? She felt a bit of attitude slip through when she replied, “And why is that?”

He immediately catches your vibe and throws his hands up, trying to show you he means no harm. “No reason, just that you-know-who says you don’t go out much. But it’s good that you came, shows initiative.”

Now Syd is getting straight up annoyed, what she does or doesn't do is none of anyone else’s business. Johnny senses that he fucked up and excuses himself elsewhere, apologizing as he leaves. She watches him walk away and sees that you’re still in the kitchen, now chatting up Jen apparently. You lean in to say something to her and when she pushes your shoulder, laughing, Syd feels her skin prickle, and she has to look away before she starts rolling her eyes.

You come back over to Syd a few minutes later, two drinks in hand, and sit down next to her when you feel the tension rolling off of her. Unsure of how to proceed, she was fine when you left, you simply stretch your hand out and hand her what’s now become a sort of peace offering. “Here’s your drink?”

Syd takes it without a word and takes a big gulp as you just stare at her, wide eyed. She realizes how she reacted and gruffly responds, “Thanks.”

“So…some of the guys were gonna go outside and smoke, you wanna come? If not, I’ll stay in here with you, I’m fine either way.” Looking between her eyes, you look for any hint to how she’s feeling but you come up with nothing. You brought her here with the intention of her getting to know your friends better, if she was open to it, but now you’re not sure what’s gonna happen.

To your surprise, Syd finishes the rest of her drink, stands up and gives you an expectant look. “You coming or what?” You’re a bit in awe, you've never seen her be this…out of character, for lack of a better phrase. You follow her outside into the brisk night air, grabbing your coats on the way.

Everyone’s already started by the time you two arrive, so you just slot yourselves in where you fit. Truth be told, you didn’t even know if Syd smoked when you asked her, but the way she reacted made it seem like it was an all the time thing for her, so you didn’t question it.

You don’t notice until the joint is passed to you that Jen is stood on your right, and Syd is on your left, which puts you in the middle of a very tense (and hot) sandwich. You take a long drag and look up at the night sky, trying to collect your bearings, as you close your eyes and let the smoke settle in your lungs. Letting it out through your nose and taking another, smaller drag as you pass it to Syd, the weed taking effect almost instantly.

The joint makes its way around a few more times, most everyone having gone back inside now, until it’s Jen’s turn to pass it to you again and you’re waiting when you feel her grab your chin and press the joint to your lips. Your reaction is delayed, eyes widening slightly as you taste Jen’s cherry lipgloss, she must have just reapplied it, you think. She laughs and takes her hand back, and you can feel a pair of deep brown eyes burning into the back of your skull. You’re quick to move away from her and lean back against the railing, inhaling and staring down at the ground, not wanting to look anywhere in Syd’s direction.

Passing the joint to Syd without looking at her, she takes it and you think you’re in the clear for a few moments until your face is grabbed again, but in the opposite direction, and you feel surprisingly warm lips cover your own. Your brain starts shutting down all coherent thought as you realize that Syd’s not technically kissing you, she’s shotgunning, but you don’t really care about the difference at the moment. You go along with it, mostly because you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to, and faintly in the background, you hear Johnny coughing and Jen giggling.

The two of you pull apart and you exhale all the smoke now in your lungs, your entire body heating up despite the chill in the air. The shock on your face is evident as Syd takes another drag, smirking the entire time. Your heart is racing a mile a minute and your brain has turned to mush but you can’t decide between saying something or leaving so you just stand there with your mouth agape, your feet rooted to the ground.

Soon after that, the four of you finish up and head back inside, Syd grabbing some water for you both as you catch Johnny’s eye across the room, basically saying what the fuck was that. Syd yawns next to you a little while later and you remember that she has to go in early the next morning so you start making your rounds and say goodbye to your friends. When you reach Jen, she whispers something in your ear that throws you for a major loop. “You’re welcome, now go get your girl.” Syd sees the interaction between you two but isn’t able to make out what Jen says so her irritation flares right back up, leaving you to practically chase her down the street.

When you finally catch up to her, she feels worlds away, but your mind hasn’t stopped thinking about her little stunt earlier and you were trying to think about how to broach the subject. She clearly is not going to do it first, you know how she shuts down when she’s upset, but you can’t let her brush it off this time like she always does.

Once you’re both on the train, you realize it’s completely empty, leaving the two of you sitting in an uncomfortable silence, the occasional sigh leaving Syd’s lips. She knows she crossed a line doing that in front of your friends, but when she saw Jen get that close to you, it’s like a fuse blew and she had to take back control. Control of what, she wasn’t entirely sure yet; her emotions, the situation, you, it was all a toss up at this point.

Now she’s left with a swarm of feelings, none of which she wants to deal with at the moment, especially not around you. Her leg is frantically bouncing, and all she can think is what the hell did I do…

The rest of the train ride is awkward as the tension that has been building all night continues to hang in the air. You sit in silence, both deep in thought, neither sure how to start the conversation. Syd fidgets, alternating between adjusting her hair and staring out the window, avoiding looking at you. You can sense her nervous energy, and it only makes the situation worse.

Finally, once you reach your apartment, you can't stand the silence anymore. You turn to her and ask, "Can we talk?" She looks up at you, surprised. "Yeah, sure."

You lead her inside and upstairs, both of you taking off your coats and shoes in complete silence. Usually this part of your routine is comforting, almost domestic, but at the moment, it’s suffocating, and you need to do something about it.

Finally, you both reach the living room and sit on the couch face to face, neither of you knowing where to start. The distance between you feels insurmountable, and you need to bridge the gap somehow.

“So…what was that tonight?” You’re mostly referencing the moment outside with your friends, but her behavior tonight was all over the place. Syd looks at you and sighs in irritation, her eyes dropping to her lap as she starts fiddling with her fingers. She knows she doesn’t have the right to be mad, but the only way she knows how to protect her feelings is to deflect or shut down, and she chooses the latter.

After a few more seconds of silence, you realize that this is her defense mechanism, a way to shield herself from being vulnerable. You feel a pang of frustration, wishing she would just be honest and open up. You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking again.

“Syd, I’m just trying to understand. You were fine at the beginning of the night, you seemed to have a good time at the show, then when we got the party, you did a 180 on me and shut down, but then the whole thing outside…”, you didn’t even know what to call it. “What happened?”

Where do I even start, she thought. Inviting her out with your friends, then dragging her to another party, all while dangling some girl in your face? This is exactly why she has rules, so the lines don’t blur like this, she should’ve never agreed to go out. She stands up and begins pacing the floor as your eyes follow her, bracing yourself for the incoming storm.

“We’re not dating! I don’t even know why you wanted me to come hang out with you in the first damn place, you know the rules of our situation.” Her chest is heaving at this point, she knows she’s in the wrong but she needs someone to be upset at, and it’s not gonna be herself.

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you refuse to let her deflect responsibility for her actions. Now you stand up and take a step toward her, your eyes locking with hers.

"First of all, I didn't drag you to anything. You are a grown ass woman, and you're more than capable of making your own decisions. You chose to come with me tonight, no one forced you."

You pause, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. Your frustration is evident, but underneath it all, there's a streak of pain.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "Second of all, what I want is for us to be honest with each other. We have an arrangement, yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be open and communicative."

She stands there, arms crossed and her face set in a frown, now avoiding your gaze. You feel your frustration mounting higher and higher, but you know that you have to find a way to get through to her, somehow.

"Syd, I’m so tired of this. I'm tired of us avoiding talking about anything serious just because you’re afraid to get hurt." That finally sets her off, you see the blaze in her eyes and you know you’re really in for it now. With clenched fists, she finally meets your gaze again, her expression fierce and defensive.

"Don't act like you know me, like you know what I’m feeling," she practically spits out. "You don’t know anything about me, about what I’ve been through.”

Her words are sharp and biting, but you can tell that beneath her anger, there's a hint of pain, a vulnerability that she’s desperately trying to hide.

“You’re right Syd! I don’t know what you’ve been through, because you won’t fucking tell me!” Your hands clutch your hair, you feel like you’re going round and round in circles with this girl. “That’s my whole point, that’s been my point this entire goddamn time!” You’re talking to a brick wall at this point, but you can’t stop yourself, you’ve kept a lid on your feelings all these months and they’ve finally boiled over.

Like pouring gasoline on a fire, you can almost see the steam coming from her ears. “You can’t fucking force someone to be vulnerable! That has to come on their own time, on my own time. All the fucking coffee drop offs and pizza nights in the world are not permission for you to come try and force me to open up to you, who the hell do you think you are?”

You feel the start of a lump forming in your throat, those coffee drop offs and pizza nights were many of the bright spots in your life lately, and the way she’s brushing them off as nothing is more painful than you expected it to be. At this point, you can tell the conversation is heading towards the point of no return, and you’re grasping at straws to get her to listen to you.

"I'm just trying to understand, Syd! I'm trying to break down these damn walls you've put up around yourself. I don't want to force you, but I can't keep going on like this. We've been doing this damn dance for months now, and I can't keep pretending it's not tearing me apart.” You know you don’t have the right to say that, but you’re hoping something will get through to her at this point.

She sneers at that. “Yeah, well no one asked you to do that, did they? You took that upon yourself, with your fucking savior complex, so don’t stand there and try and make me feel guilty for your choices. I’m not some stray off the street you can nurse back to health and make yourself feel good about, try fucking fixing yourself first before you come for me.”

As soon as the words leave Syd’s mouth, she regrets them but her pride holds her back from apologizing. She’s always had to be the one to guard her heart and that’s not gonna change for anyone, not even you.

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, the fact that she thinks you’re trying to fix her, but more so the realization that she thinks so low of you. Your disappointment is palpable, shoulders hunching over as you accept the futility of the situation. You look at her, the woman you care for so deeply, and you feel your heart shattering.

"Maybe you’re right," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I did this to myself. Maybe I was a fool to think that I could help you, or make you feel something more."

You shake your head, the bitter taste of regret in your mouth.

She starts to feel a pang of guilt, her heart clenching at the sight of your slumped shoulders and defeated expression but her pride and fear keep her lips sealed shut. She has to stay on defense, it's all she knows.

You stand there, a swarm of thoughts running through your head, when she finally speaks. “I think it’s time we end this.”

Her words are like a blade to your heart, cutting through the last fragile threads of hope you'd been holding onto. You can feel the tears stinging your eyes, but you try to hold them back, refusing to let her see you break.

"You're probably right," you say quietly, not trusting your voice if you speak any louder. "This isn't working. We're not working."

You can feel the pain of loss already seeping into your soul, but you swallow it down, determined to hold onto what little dignity you have left.

You turn on your heel to walk towards your bedroom, and as you reach the doorway, you call over your shoulder. “Stay here tonight because it’s so late, but I think you should leave first thing in the morning.” You don’t wait for an answer as you step into your room and close the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding unusually loud in the quiet of the night. As you slide down against the door, the sobs you’ve been holding in all night finally break free, the pain and heartache you’d been holding onto for so long coming out in wave after wave of tears.

You try to muffle the sound by bringing the sleeves of your shirt up to your face, but the grief is loud and all-consuming. The thought of what could have been, and what would never be, feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

okay! that was way longer and somehow angstier than I intended but I’m so proud of it 😆 I may go back and edit part 1 just so the overall vibes match a little better cause I feel like this one took a hard left turn but I did set out to write a heart wrenching piece so! feel like I did that lol anyways, comments are always welcome, good, bad, otherwise, as long as they’re constructive! lemme know if you want a part 3 cause honestly, leaving it here would be kinda fun 🫣

[desire-mona]

so, i want to get into nickel creek, where do i start?

a comprehensive guide / masterlist by desire mona :-)

so ive gotten like. probably 3 or so asks about this + i need a pinned post for the nickel creek community so im making this. keep in mind that i am still a relatively new fan so i definitely dont have the seasoned advice that someone who's been listening for a while would have.

more info under cut!

lets start with the basics -

who is nickel creek?

nickel creek is a 3 piece bluegrass band from california made up of chris thile on mandolin, sara watkins on fiddle, and sean watkins on guitar. all 3 members are vocalists and sing lead vocals on various songs, but youll most likely hear chris on main vocals in a majority of their songs. though they are categorised as bluegrass / folk, their music delves into sounds from a variety of different genres, so a general acoustic label would probably be more fitting. they were originally known as "the nickel creek band" starting in 1989, but they dropped the "the" and "band" in uhhhhhhhh... some time before 2000.

what should i listen to first?

thats honestly up to you, i think anywhere is a good place to start since literally everything they make is good, but i can give u some kick off points so u can know whether or not u like them the quickest i suppose. i was introduced to them at a pretty young age, and the 2 songs that i remembered after years of not hearing them were the lighthouse's tale and this side.

lighthouse's tale - youtube, spotify, apple music

this side - youtube, spotify, apple music

after deciding that i should fully commit to the creek, i started with the tiny desk. i was BLOWN away by how kickass their live vocals were. i went thru and i listened to their albums one by one after that, but i'll have a list of all the albums later on.

"ummmm mona that's too many fucking buttons!!"

ok FINE here's two much easier ways but i think the way i did it was best. whatever.

both my father and my fellow creeker coworker discovered them from their best of album released just after they began their hiatus from 2007-2014. that was a good starting point to go through and listen to the rest, but beware that there are two (very good) albums that came out after this was released.

reasons why: the very best - youtube, spotify, apple music

OR i'll be extra nice and make a spotify playlist for you that i'll eventually make a youtube playlist as well (but not apple music im not paying for that shit <3)

(DO NOT LISTEN ON SHUFFLE - IT IS IN INTENDED ORDER)

every nickel creek album (even the baby ones)

*im doing my best to link physical copies from their official merch site, but some vinyls havent been reissued. if theyre not sold then ive linked the amazon page, but if theyre just sold out then ive linked the merch page anyway. physical copies linked are cds and vinyls respectively, sorry tape users.

little cowpoke (1993) - internet archive, cd

here to there (1997) - youtube and theres a cd but its over $100 so

nickel creek (2000) - youtube, spotify, apple music, physical copies (cd on official merch site is sold out as of 10/2/24)

this side (2002) - youtube, spotify, apple music, physical copies

why should the fire die? (2005) - youtube, spotify, apple music, physical copies

a dotted line (2014) - youtube, spotify, apple music, physical copies (no dotted line physical copies on the merch site, sorry!!)

celebrants (2023) - youtube, spotify, apple music, physical copies

ok fine i like these guys, what can i watch?

OH IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED!! here are my favs, you can do some exploring on your own as well!

their music videos

celebrants music videos (these are live performances)

2002 live @ aol sessions

2000 acoustic innovators documentary

toxic cover

studio session @ the current + interview

cmt's on the verge

new haven 2024 concert

kill bill cover w/ kacey musgraves

ok but what else have they done?

well all 3 members have their own solo careers, as well as separate bands and projects that theyve done. i wont be linking anything for this section, so you're just gonna have to do some digging for yourself.

chris thile:

solo career

unbelievable amounts of collaborations, too many to list

punch brothers

mutual admiration society

live from here

probably other shit, chris is kinda everywhere

sara watkins:

solo career

watkins family hour

im with her

mutual admiration society

sean watkins:

solo career

watkins family hour

fiction family

works progress administration

mutual admiration society

in conclusion + notes

listen to nickel creek or i will kill you with hammers. if you have any more resources youd like me to add to this post, let me know and i absolutely will!! i do plan on making some fandom-y stuff, such as blinkies and dividers. if youd like to check out all of *my* nickel creek posts, you can visit my #certified creeker tag, or if youd like to see all my posts about chris thile, you can visit my #dangly mandolin boy you will be mine tag. i apologise about the name i just. i like him.

thank u for reading!! feel free to send to anyone you want to annoy the shit out of <3