#They are right but wrong at the same time

[okaylikeschaewon]

We Are Aespo

~7k words, smut, male reader, inspired by Karina's "Aespo" slip up

Concerts, jets, explosions, these are some of the first thoughts that probably come to mind when one thinks about the word ‘loud’. However, there is nothing in the world louder than the sound of a glass shattering during a party. At least, that’s how it felt right now, and the DJ deciding to pause the music at the very same moment didn’t help either.

“Oops,” Karina stares blankly at the shards of glass decorating the marble floor as if she wasn’t the reason they were there.

“Alright,” you grab her arm. “It’s time to go.”

“B-But… I… look…” Karina cranes her neck to look over her shoulder at the mess, fighting your pull.

“They’ll take care of it, let’s go,” you give her another tug, ignoring her distress.

“Where go?” Karina asks cheerily, already forgetting about the glass.

“Away from stuff you can break.”

Karina stops moving and frowns. “It was an accident.”

The sigh barely escapes your lips before Karina’s face lights up and she runs right past you.

“Winter!” Karina shouts, forgetting about you entirely, and rushes toward the girl. She grabs Winter by the face and plants a kiss directly on her lips.

“Karina…” you groan, internally laughing at Winter’s wide-eyed expression. You grab Karina’s hand and pull her away. “Come on.”

“Where are we going now?” she whines, fighting your grip again. “I want Winter.”

“And I want you to drink some water.”

“More champagne?” Karina asks with those round puppy dog eyes. Your weakness that you always struggled to deny; She’s cuter than ever in this moment, rushing to keep up with you, latching onto your arm tightly.

“Maybe after the water.”

“Oh! Alright, but what–” she begins before suddenly squealing and crumpling to the floor.

“Karina!” you gasp, quickly kneeling down next to her. “You alright?”

“It… it…” her lip quivers and she brings her knees up to her chest, slowly tears pool up in her pretty eyes. “It hurts.”

“Aww baby,” you pull her into a hug and rub her back. “What am I ever going to do with you?”

“Karina!” Winter catches up, joining the two of you on the floor. “What is wrong with you?”

“I think I rolled my ankle,” she sniffles as you let go of her.

“Does this hurt?” you start gently flexing her ankle before Karina inhales sharply.

“Owie…” she pouts, quietly, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry baby,” you reach forward and tenderly wipe her eyes, trying your best to avoid smudging her eyeliner.

Trying to be as careful as possible, you place her foot in your lap and begin massaging her ankle. Around you, the crowd pretends to ignore what’s happening, but envious glances occasionally catch your attention. You know very well they would do anything to trade positions with you, but all they can do is watch.

Meanwhile, Karina’s staring at you and her beauty has never hit harder. You feel your entire body burn warm under her gaze as she holds steady, letting your fingers work the joint. She’s in pain, a lot of it, but it’s quickly fading away. For just a moment, the hectic rambles of the event are wiped from your minds, leaving you in a comfort that you’d easily pick over everyone else in this room combined. The crowd no longer matters.

It probably helps that they’re all here to impress you, and not a single one of the millionaires attending would dare say anything but praise – at least not in public. They know better than that. Not that Karina cares what others think, in fact she couldn’t care less about the dull droning coming out of their mouths, the incessant forced-flattery whenever anyone would find the courage to talk to you. She knows they’re fake.

That’s probably why she decided to get so drunk tonight – an attempt to actually enjoy the evening. It doesn’t happen often, but you always have fun when it happens; Her silly, dorky behavior carries a charm that took barely more than one interaction for you to fall in love with. At this point, you’re far more entertained by her antics than the thought of listening to another wave of the gilded gibberish you’ve been enduring all evening. It was time for you to actually enjoy the six figures you spent on this party, and for you, that meant being with your girl.

“God, you look so beautiful right now,” you whisper while gently massaging your fingers into her ankle. “Can you walk, or should I carry you?”

“Or I could carry you,” Winter adds cheekily.

“That’s what I want, I want Winter to carry me,” Karina giggles as you help her to her feet. She frowns and looks down, testing her ankle. “I think I can walk, but I need…”

“I’m here,” you smile, slipping your arm around Karina’s waist and holding her up. “Winter, sweetheart, could you ask one of the staff to bring water and another bottle of champagne up to our room? And then please join us as well if you’d like a break from…” you gesture broadly at the swath of designer suits and dresses filling the room.

She nods.

“More champagne?” Karina’s voice jumps with excitement at the sound of more alcohol.

“Not for you,” Winter sings before scurrying off.

“You said that’s what you wanted, didn’t you?” you open the door and walk Karina to the grand staircase. “How can I say no to my princess?”

Karina leans over and kisses you on the cheek. “Do you love your princess?” her voice sweetens like syrup.

“More than anything,” you answer.

“More than your cars?

“More.”

“More than your house?”

“More than all of my houses.”

“More than your business?”

“Are you kidding me? I just ditched my business back there so that I could spend some time with the love of my life,” you point out. “Now, enough silly questions,” you add, leaning in and kissing her.

She giggles before squealing as you sweep her off her legs and into your arms.

“What?” you smile down at her and start climbing the stairs. “I’m not having you hop up these.”

Karina stares up warmly at you, her face brimming with emotion. She holds on tight as you walk her up the steps, smiling but also a bit on edge. She’s thinking about something, and she’s thinking hard.

“Yes?” you encourage her. “Think any harder and I’ll start seeing steam come out of your ears.”

“I think…” she begins softly, “the last time you carried me up these stairs was after our wedding.”

“Has it been that long?”

“Yeah,” she smiles up at you, the subtle, rosy alcohol-glow making her face shine more adorable than ever, as if that was even possible. “Do you remember that night?”

“Of course,” you open the door to your bedroom and gently lay Karina down. “Do you remember what happened after?”

“How could I forget?” she whispers with a smile, reaching her arms out towards you. “We had to cancel brunch the next morning because I literally couldn’t walk.”

“Whatever, we needed the sleep anyway,” you laugh before slowly climbing onto the bed with her, sliding your hand gently up her leg as you push her onto her back and carefully lay on top of her. You gently crash your lips against hers, bringing both hands up to her hips.

She kisses back, sliding her arms around your shoulders, running one hand through the hair on the back of your head. Her dress rides up her body as she wraps her legs around your hips, pulling you closer into her embrace, breathing heavily into your mouth.

The kiss turns aggressive. Like a fight, forceful and hostile. Her tongue intertwines with yours, she’s keeping you on your toes, figuratively speaking. Your heart races, trying to keep up with Karina’s passion – she’s unrelenting.

It’s primal instinct at this point. Karina’s warmth and love is all you crave in this world. You slip the straps of her dress off her shoulders before reaching lower and squeezing in her thighs, tightening the grip her legs have on your body. You want her close, as close as physically possible.

Her flowery scent engulfs your mind, numbing it briefly, alongside the subtle citrus taste of champagne on her lips. It would be addiction either way, anything Karina does is addiction for you. She doesn’t even know it, but she has full control of your every thought. She’s what you want, perfect in every way.

“Ahem,” a voice calls from behind.

Neither of you cares, still kissing as if your lives depended on it. Intoxicated and obsessed with the other’s taste, addicted and engrossed in the other’s body. She’s–

“Stop kissing!” Winter slams the door shut, glaring at the two of you with a bottle of water in one hand and champagne in the other.

“Don’t be jealous,” you ease away from Karina with a smile. “You had your turn earlier.”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Winter walks over and places the bottles down. “What the fuck Karina.”

“What?” Karina giggles, sitting up in the bed, her dress a disheveled mess. “It’s not our first time kissing.”

“Yeah but in public?” Winter whines. “Everyone saw.”

“And they probably fucking loved it,” you laughed, giving the champagne bottle a shake. “Come on Winter, live a little.”

“Live a little? This was supposed to be a professional event. The entire company is present.”

“Oh please,” Karina scoffs, crossing her arms. “It was so boring.”

“Maybe for you it doesn’t matter, you’re already married to the damn king,” Winter retaliates. “No one cares what you do. I actually have to worry about my reputation. People talk, you know.”

“And you suck the king’s cock every morning,” Karina laughs. “I think your reputation is beyond saving here.”

“W-What are…” Winter stammers and her cheeks burn pink. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How else would I say it?” Karina teases. “Half of them already know your job is to empty his balls.”

“No they don’t!” Winter whines. She’s upset, but the problem is how cute she is even when she’s upset. “And that’s not my job!”

“Oh sorry I forgot,” a smirk flashes across Karina’s face. “Sometimes if you’re a good girl, he bends you over your desk.”

“Karina!” Winter complains.

“Relax Winter,” you uncork the champagne and give it a few shakes.

“Are you…” Winter begins backing away. “Don’t you dare.”

“Too late,” you smirk before moving your thumb aside and begin spraying Winter with champagne.

“My dress!” Winter cries out as she runs away, ducking her head into her arms.

The room erupts as you chase her down, fueled by Karina’s laughs and Winter’s cries. Winter runs around the bed, jumping on it and grabbing Karina for cover. Mouth wide open in shock, Karina shields her face, turning to the side and screaming as you spray her as well, laughing hysterically as you cover her in champagne.

“Babe!” Karina laugh-shouts in disbelief as she looks down at her soaked dress.

“Oh no,” you chuckle before walking over to the table and filling a glass. “Winter, do her a favor and help her out of that dress, it’s all soiled.”

“What about my dress?” Winter whines before unzipping Karina from behind.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of yours too,” you smile, holding the glass out for Karina to take.

Karina smiles up at you, her tits on full display, barely covered by the lacy bra she had hiding under her satin gown. She accepts the glass, downing it in one go before handing it back to you.

“Your turn,” you refill the glass and hold it out for Winter.

“I don’t need that, there’s plenty right here,” Winter waves away the glass before crawling in front of Karina. “You drink it, and then drink another one for me,” Winter adds over her shoulder before devoting all of her attention to Karina.

She yanks down Karina’s bra, freeing her tits in all their glory, and shoves her face deep between them, licking up the champagne directly from Karina’s body. You can’t help but smile as you sip, enjoying the view of Winter as she slides her tongue all over Karina’s tits, lapping up anything she can reach – you’re reminded of how fucking lucky you are as you pour another glass of champagne.

Winter squeezes Karina’s tits together, creating a little ravine for her tongue to play in. She makes little circles, pushing her tits in all directions. Meanwhile, Karina’s loving it, eyes closed breathing through an open mouth, soft moans escaping her from time to time, especially whenever Winter’s fingers give her nipples little pinches. It’s hard to say who’s having more fun.

“My God, Winter,” you put the glass down and flip up her dress.

You laugh as she doesn’t even react, not even when you slip your fingers down the back of her underwear. Slowly, you ease your fingers down to Winter’s pussy, playing with her wetness while enjoying the show. “You’re so fucking wet,” you tease, daring a couple of fingers into her entrance.

“Am I?” Winter finally looks back over her shoulder at you, arching her back. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you yank down Winter’s underwear and give her ass a smack. “Right, babe? Wanna see?”

Karina excitedly sits back up and steps off the bed, stands next to you and also slaps Winter’s cheeks.

“Wow,” Karina licks her lips as she frees herself from her champagne-covered dress. “You look so fucking scrumptious.”

Winter laughs, reaching back and giving her own ass a slap. “Are you two just going to keep staring, or is someone going to fucking eat me out?”

“Go on,” Karina whispers as she steps behind you and snakes her arms around your hips. She presses her tits into your back, pushing you forward as her fingers unbuckle your pants. “I know you want her.”

She presses your face into Winter’s cheeks before you can even come up with a response, and your brain immediately turns to mush. You suck on Winter’s folds as hard as you can, trapping her pussy between your lips and flicking your tongue back and forth.

“Oh fuck,” Winter moans out, her knees nearly giving out.

“Get that pussy ready,” Karina calls out to Winter as she yanks down your pants and grips your cock. “Your night is just starting.”

Winter can’t make sense of Karina’s words, or anything for that matter, as she flexes her back, overwhelmed by your mouth. You keep sucking her pussy, using both your hands to spread her soft cheeks as far as they can go, getting your mouth as deep as you can. With your mouth buried in Winter’s pussy, you feel Karina’s fingers gently jerk your cock to life. It doesn’t take long, you’re already rock-hard.

“Oh fuck that, I changed my mind,” Karina gasps before grabbing you by your hair and pulling you out of Winter’s pussy. She tosses you onto the bed and you land on your back right next to Winter who’s still on all fours. “I need this cock so fucking bad.”

“Baby it’s yours, it’s always yours,” you laugh, grabbing your base and holding it straight up, waiting for Karina.

“What the fuck!” Winter whines. “I guess I’ll just go fuck myself.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Karina rolls her eyes before giving Winter the hardest slap of the night on her ass. “And take this shit off,” she tugs at Winter’s dress. “You’re too fucking cute to be covering up.”

Winter obliges, tossing her dress to the side.

Karina shoves her hand between Winter’s legs. “You’re really so fucking wet,” Karina moans as she shoves two fingers up Winter’s pussy.

“Don’t… Don’t fucking tease,” Winter crumbles to the bed.

“Winter, come here,” you reach over and grab her hand. “I need Karina to ride my cock already, you’re distracting her.”

“Me?” Winter retaliates as you pull her over. She places one knee right next to your ear and lifts her other leg up, following your lead. “I didn’t do nothing.”

“I don’t really care anymore,” you lick your lips at the sight of Winter’s pussy right above you. “Fucking hell, look at you.”

“Oh you like this?” Winter lowers herself just slightly out of reach as you crane your neck up.

She giggles as you give her ass another slap.

“Winter,” Karina scolds, joining the two of you on the bed as she straddles your body. “Turn around first.”

“Oh,” Winter quickly drops her pussy onto your face for just a moment before lifting herself up and flipping around so that she’s facing Karina. “Like this?”

“You’re killing him you fucking tease,” Karina laughs as she takes your cock in her hand and pokes at the precum leaking from your tip.

“Seriously, I’m going to remember this,” you moan, reaching up with both hands to spank Winter’s cheeks.

She giggles again before lowering her pussy down onto your face. Her thighs squeeze against your sides, and her pussy begins painting your face with her wetness. Her playful giggles almost immediately turn into moans, and you can just imagine Karina’s smile as she watches Winter sitting on your face.

It’s exactly what you want, almost sweet, a bit of tang, and unbelievably soft. Her folds press against your mouth hard, twisting and contorting to the shape of your face. You’re suffocating in her pussy and you love it. Just when you start thinking about how this is as good as it gets, your world gets flipped upside down.

Karina moans out, loud enough for you to hear even with your ears squished against Winter’s thighs. She’s lowering herself onto your throbbing cock, and that first bounce nearly makes you erupt on the spot. Karina’s pussy consumes your cock and your entire world. You might be starting to feel the alcohol.

You’re almost scared by how quickly you felt yourself about to bust. You try to hold back, desperately – and of course now Winter decides to start grinding her hips back and forth. Breathing becomes difficult, your body is struggling to hold on, it’s too much. You’re definitely feeling the alcohol.

It’s a battle with your body that you know you’re going to lose, but you still fight on as hard as you can. You start thrusting your hips up, slamming into Karina’s pussy as hard as you can. She starts moaning – perfect. Her pussy tightens, squeezing your cock, it’s almost painful how good it feels now. Her cries muffle, as do Winter’s, and you just know the two of them are glued by the mouths.

The view of Karina and Winter kissing engulfs your thoughts. You’re drooling, still suffocating on Winter’s pussy, and your cock is burning up. The pressure is building, it’s becoming too intense, overwhelming. You hold on, fighting on, trying to make the moment last, gasping into Winter’s pussy as you try to push your hips up.

Then, Winter slips forward just a bit too much, sliding her pussy across your chin. Instinctually, your face follows, and before you know it your tongue is pressing against her tight asshole. You push forward, indifferent, trying to get as deep as possible, using the last remaining ounce of strength in your body as you feel your breaking point approach.

Her asshole feels just as nice against your tongue as her pussy, if not better. Not as wet, but you can feel the tightness. You can feel her reservation, a timidness that fades almost instantly as you press your tongue into her asshole. She eases up, letting your tongue prod and explore her asshole – but it only lasts for a brief, fleeting moment.

Your head drops back, slamming into the bed, and your hips fly up towards the roof. You nearly launch Karina off your cock with how hard you thrust – the final thrust before you blow. Warm and with purpose, your cock shoots deep into Karina’s pussy as you fight desperately for air.

Holding herself just a few inches above you, Winter’s fingering herself, letting her pussy spray across your face with no regard as you gasp it all up, choking through an attempt to catch your breath. She dips her body down every few seconds, bouncing her wet pussy against your face again and again.

But you’re spent. All you can do is lay there, accepting the barrage of attacks, while still internally melting at Karina’s touch. She’s still riding your cock, even as you stop pumping her full, she’s making these little circles with her hips, driving you fucking insane. It’s too much, she’s too good.

Moments pass and Winter collapses next to you, her hand held tightly between her legs, trembling and quivering just enough to notice. Your attention, however, never wavers from Karina. She’s staring down at you, cupping her tits as she grinds up and down your shaft.

She wears this smirk, so confident in her ability. She knows the power she holds over your body, and she fucking loves it, wears it proudly. While from time to time she seeks reassurance with a glance in your direction. The truth is she doesn’t need it, there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s your everything – she owns you.

Karina lifts herself up, your thick white cum threatens to spill from her pussy. She steps off the bed and you almost want to reach out and stop her, but you can’t show how desperate she knows you are. So you let her go, wherever she’s going, and turn your attention to the girl balled up facing away from you on the bed.

You pull your hand back before slamming across Winter’s ass, sending her cheeks recoiling.

“Ah!” she shrieks, instantly turning towards you and covering her behind with her hands. “What was that for?”

“Nothing, just felt like it,” you laugh.

“Idiot…” Winter mutters as she scoots to the edge of the bed. “Is there any champagne left?”

“Yeah,” you sit up next to her and grab your cock. “I think there’s some right here.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” she rolls her eyes before giving you a quick couple of playful tugs. “God, why are you such a mess?”

“Me?” you wrap your arm around Winter’s waist and shove your fingers between her legs. You force her thighs apart as she turns into a giggling mess trying to fight you off. “I’m the mess?”

“Stop!” she’s gasping as you finger-fuck her, pulling away and trying to escape. “Please! I… I can’t breathe!”

She’s laying flat on her back now, chest heaving up and down after you let go of her pussy. 

Winter props herself up on her elbows and smirks at you. “I can’t believe you ate my ass.”

“I saw how hard you just came, don’t try pretending like you didn’t like it,” you turn away, leaning over the edge of the bed as the room sways side to side – the hangover is going to be brutal tomorrow,

She lifts herself up and sits on the edge of the bed right next to you again. Winter stares at you until you finally look back. She’s truly adorable, and her voice is just as cute when she speaks up. “I never said I didn’t like it,” she adds quietly, tilting her head and smiling at you.

“I’m glad,” you smile. “It was definitely unexpected.”

“Can we… do you think we could…”

“Already horny for more?” you tease when suddenly Winter frowns and her shoulders drop. “Winter–”

“Do people know?” she asks.

“What?”

She looks up at you, a small pout on her lips, eyes tender and delicate. “What Karina said earlier, do people from the company know about…” she adds quietly.

“No one outside of the three of us knows,” you reassure her as you wrap an arm around her shoulders. “She was just teasing you.”

“Promise?”

“Uh, I mean, I didn’t tell anyone,” you smile. “Did you?”

“No! I’d never–”

“Then I promise,” you interject.

Winter’s expression relaxes slightly and she starts to smile. She inches forward just a touch closer to you and her hand moves to your lap.

“Winter…” you breathe softly.

“Don’t think,” she whispers, leaning in for a kiss. “You’re the boss, just enjoy the moment.”

Her lips are soft and warm, and they wear the same subtle taste of champagne as Karina’s. It’s like she can read your mind, and she gives your cock a final stroke with her fingertips, sliding up your length before getting up and reaching for the bottle.

“I think I need to slow down,” you comment as she brings the bottle directly to her lips.

She holds the bottle out for you to take, using the back of her other hand to wipe her mouth. “Don’t be a bitch, drink.”

“Winter–”

“Shut up and drink,” she glares. “And then you owe me.”

“I owe you?” you accept the bottle with a laugh and take a sip.

“That’s right, you were supposed to fuck me earlier, remember? Before Karina stole you.”

“Oh yeah, where is she by the way?” you glance towards the door.

“Focus!” Winter whines as she grabs the champagne. She holds the bottle over your head and waits for you to open your mouth – even though you know it’s a bad idea to drink more – and she pours the liquid directly down your throat. “Good boy,” she smiles, emptying the rest of the bottle.

“You’re so fucking cute,” you mumble, trying to steady yourself on the bed, immediately feeling the alcohol from earlier hitting you. “But where’s–”

“She’s on the balcony,” Winter snaps before turning around, sticking her ass out and looking back at you. “Now can you fucking pay attention to me?”

“You’re just…” you pause to reach forward and slap Winter’s ass hard, “a stupid slut.”

“Alright dickface,” Winter rolls her eyes before stepping backwards until her ass is right in front of you. She has her legs just slightly bent, hands on her knees, and back arched just a bit. “Go on then, you know what to do.”

You lean forward, nearly falling forward off the bed, catching yourself against Winter’s ass. She buckles for a moment before steadying herself again, and you feel her hand reaching back to push your face into her. But it’s unnecessary, you don’t need any extra encouragement, the view of Winter’s tight little asshole staring at you was all you needed.

A gentle moan escapes your lips as you spread her cheeks wide. She gives her ass a little shake, right before you lunge forward, shoving your mouth into her ass. You push your tongue forward as hard as possible, entering inside her, licking and poking at her hole.

“Oh fuck,” Winter cries out, bringing her fingers between her legs. “That’s so fucking good.”

It’s addicting. You slide your tongue up and down between Winter’s cheeks before pressing forward again. You push into her asshole, moving your hands from her ass to her hips, holding her steady. Her ass is tight and your tongue struggles, but you try nonetheless, using as much strength as you can to spread her wide. The room is spinning, but you try your best to steady yourself, holding onto Winter’s ass for support.

She lets out a shriek and falls forward onto her knees, holding herself bent over in front of you, her fingers moving quickly between her legs. She’s trembling and writhing on the soft carpeted floor, moaning loudly as she fingers herself.

You let yourself slip off the bed as well and get right behind her. That tight little asshole, glistening with your saliva, is staring right at you. As badly as you want to shove your cock into her, it’s impossible – she’s squirming too much, and you know you’re too drunk to make this work right now.

Instead, you settle with a finger. You shove your middle finger down to the knuckle into Winter’s ass and she screams louder than ever. As you move back and forth, you can feel her fingers also moving in her pussy, so you try to alternate and match her. At the same time, you use your other hand to slap her ass hard, over and over.

She’s screaming and moaning, body twitching. It only takes a few more moments before she collapses to the floor, flat on her stomach, entire body quivering as her fingers slip out of her pussy. She lets out a long, drawn-out moan as you pull your finger out of her.

“Are you alive?” you chuckle, giving her ass a few squeezes.

“No,” she moans.

“Well, that’s an issue.”

“You… you need to fuck… me…”

“I think maybe you just need to rest up a bit.”

“No!” she replies forcefully despite still having no energy. “On bed, from behind.”

“Winter–”

“Now.”

You sigh before laughing and shaking your head. Then, you bend down and pick her limp body up from her armpits and place her stomach down against the edge of the bed. Her legs dangle off the edge lifelessly.

“Now fuck me,” she mutters.

“Winter,” you laugh again, tracing the red markings you left on her cheeks from earlier. “This isn’t happening.”

“Okay,” she sighs quietly, and within seconds she’s out, snoring softly.

You give her ass a little pat before putting on a robe and stumbling to the balcony. Outside, you find Karina leaning against the railing, holding an empty glass in her hand, her dress thrown on messily.

“Think you’ve had enough yet?” you take the glass from her hand and place it down before wrapping an arm around her waist, leaning against the railing with her.

“That’s why I’m out here,” she smiles at you for a second before turning to the view again. “Needed the fresh air.”

“You and me both.”

“How’s Winter? I heard her screaming.”

“Turns out she likes getting her ass eaten, who woulda known.”

Karina laughs. “Alcohol does things to that girl.”

“She also got kinda sensitive about people knowing.”

“What?” Karina cocks an eyebrow. “She knows I was joking, right?”

“Yeah, I told her that,” you gently rub Karina’s hip. “I guess it’s a soft spot for her.”

“She’s a really sweet girl, I hope she doesn’t downplay her success,” Karina frowns. “I really like that one, a lot more than your last assistant.”

“I know, I’d keep her around even if I wasn’t fucking her,” you reply. “She really makes my life a lot easier.”

“Yeah, and she sucks you off,” Karina nudges you in the ribs.

“That part matters less to me,” you turn Karina so that she’s facing you. “I’m more than satisfied with what I’m looking at right now.”

“Is that so?” Karina’s eyes glow in the moonlight.

“Absolutely,” you smile at her. “Although, you’d probably have to start showing up at the offices with me.”

“And have all your employees gawk at me all day?” Karina snorts. “No thanks. They fucking suck at hiding it. If I had a dollar for every time I caught one of them staring tonight, I’d be richer than you.”

“Can you really blame them, have you seen yourself?” you laughed. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

There’s a soft pause, Karina smiles at you, her cheeks still rose-tinted from the champagne.

“I really love you,” Karina whispers.

“And I love you.”

“No, really,” Karina frowns as if she’s being misunderstood. She wraps her hands around your lower back and steps closer. “I really, really love you, so much. So much…”

She stumbles, holding onto your body for support.

“Careful,” you grab her. “Should we sit?”

“No, just hold me,” she replies, squeezing you. “I love you.”

“You’re everything to me,” you kiss the top of her head and gently sway back and forth with her. It’s cold on the balcony, but your body is still warm – probably the alcohol.

Karina lets go of you and takes a step back, leaning against the railing.

“I know you just fucked Winter, but I’m still in the mood.”

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“Oh?” Karina raises an eyebrow. “You ate her ass and she didn’t even let you fuck?”

“The girl passed out,” you chuckle. “I wasn’t going to wake her.”

“What about you? Any juice left in there?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

She smirks and pulls her dress down again until her tits are out. “Who do you think is asking?” she pulls on the string of your robe.

“For you, always,” you step forward and press your lips to hers. “But I am a little drunk.”

“I can see that,” Karina giggles as she turns around and leans over the railing, lifting her dress up. “Hold onto something.”

“You know,” you step right behind Karina and place your hand on her waist, “if anyone was to step outside right now, they’d see your tits.”

“Who gives a fuck, let them watch,” she giggles, bending over deeper.

“Did you know I love you?” you grab your cock and slide it up against her pussy.

“So I’ve heard,” she lets out a sharp gasp as you enter her pussy. “Oh! Slowly, please.”

“Anything for you,” you whisper into her ear, leaning closer, holding her tightly as you start moving your hips back and forth.

Her breath catches each time you ease your cock into her. It’s not an act, it’s genuine. In the cool breeze of the evening, you were her warmth, and her pussy yours. There’s no need to rush it, you just have to move your hips slowly against her body, anything you did right now worked, driving her insane without being too much.

Soon, the cold air vanishes, and Karina is consumed by warmth. Her pussy burns up, squeezing your cock gently with each thrust. Her body is obsessed, riding the edge, begging for more without being demanding. Even her moans, louder now, are careful and full of love.

And you can feel it all. Every emotion and sensation, you can feel it through her body. She’s squirming, leaning over more, holding the railing harder. Just a bit more, and it takes all the self-control in your body to keep going like this, part of you wants to grab her, take her, use her.

Just not now, because right now is Karina’s moment. It’s her turn to feel good, to feel loved. You aren’t going to take that away from her.

Her pussy warms up some more and you feel her legs buckle. She cries out, and you grab her for support, making sure she knows you have her. A rush of wetness spills out of her, down her leg, past your cock. She’s struggling now, and you’re basically the only thing holding her up – you can’t even thrust anymore, you’re just holding her as her pussy squeezes down on your cock.

“I love you,” you whisper into her ear before kissing her on the cheek.

She moans a response, still high off her orgasm. It takes her a few moments, a few moments of warmth where you simply hold your cock deep inside her. Finally, she regains enough strength to hold herself up, and she looks back at you over her shoulder.

“C-Can we go inside?” her teeth chatter.

You take her hand and walk her back to your room, closing the balcony door behind you. On your bed, Winter is still laying there with her legs hanging off the edge and her ass up, exactly where you left her earlier. Her cheeks are crimson red, enticing you to walk over and bring your palm down on them yet again, but you hold back.

“Let her sleep,” Karina thinks the same and takes your hand, walking you across the room to one of your armchairs.

She sits you down before dropping to her knees in front of you, staring up at you, gaze as sensual as imaginable. She’s dripping sex appeal from every cell in her body, just by existing, and she knows it, she knows how special she is to you.

“Just relax,” she whispers, delicately stroking your shaft, slowly without pressing. “Let me take care of you.”

Karina leans over and kisses your inner thigh. Just a short peck at first, pausing to gaze up at you before pressing her mouth against your skin again. She kisses deep, sucking and twisting against your skin, leaving a mark before moving her lips back.

Then she presses her tongue to the mark and slides it up your thigh until her lips meet the base of your shaft. She wraps her mouth around the side of your cock and slides her head up and down, as if playing the harmonica.

She’s slow, calculated, deliberate. There’s no need to rush, she knows she has you for as long as she wants – and that’s still not enough. Her lips graze your tip, blessing it with a quick kiss before sliding back down your length and resting against your balls.

Her fingers start to make little circles around your tip and she prods at your entrance lightly with her thumb as her tongue explores your balls. She pushes them around like they’re her toys – which they basically are. Up down left right, wherever she wants, until she opens her lips wide and lets them fall into her mouth.

Karina hollows her cheeks, sucking hard on your balls, coating them in her saliva while sliding her tongue between them. She lets one slip out, squeezing harder against the other until it also escapes. Her thumb is moving a bit faster now, little circles around your tip.

A sharp inhale slides through her teeth before she opens her mouth wide and shoves her face into your taint.

It feels fucking divine, so much better than you were prepared for, you nearly jump out of the armchair. The moan you let out is stifled, your brain doesn’t understand how to react, it’s too much pleasure, an avalanche of dopamine.

At the same time, Karina wraps her fingers around your shaft and starts stroking. She’s no longer slow and delicate, she’s fast. Her lips press hard into your skin, kissing deep, and her fingers give your entire length quick strokes, pausing every few times to make a little circle around your tip with her palm before going right back to your shaft.

“That’s so fucking good,” you moan softly, gripping the armrests until your knuckles turn white. “I fucking love you so much, oh my fucking God.”

She answers with another sharp breath as she backs up just slightly. With her hand still stroking rapidly, she reaches her mouth up and gives your balls a quick peck before pressing her mouth down again, pushing at your taint hard.

Your cock is throbbing, Karina can sense it. She works your length for a few more strokes, giving your skin a few final licks before lifting herself up. Her lips part, she stares at you until you lock eye contact, and then she lowers her mouth onto your cock, replacing her fingers as she moves down.

Inch by inch she goes until her nose presses softly against your crotch before quickly pulling back. Only then does she close her eyes and place her hands on your thighs. She starts bobbing up and down, sucking your cock with everything she has.

It’s inevitable, you’re about to bust. You can’t remember the last time you had a blowjob this fucking phenomal, it’s absolutely perfect to each detail. You can feel her lips squeezing hard against your shaft, her tongue prodding at your tip, the little pressure every time her mouth comes up.

She’s moving steadily, and you’re on the edge. You can’t, no, it’s impossible, but you try desperately to hold on, to make the moment last, begging your body to hold onto the moment for just a bit longer.

You can’t.

The room starts spinning, this time without any credit going to the alcohol. Your cock explodes inside her mouth, gushing cum all over. Instantly, some of it spills from her lips – impossible to contain. But she tries, she tightens her mouth some more, cheeks hollowed once more.

Her eyes flutter open, searching for your gaze, meeting it with more emotion than you can fathom. She’s perfect. Seriously, perfection is all you can think about when you stare down at her, your white mess spilling from her lips despite how hard she sucks against your shaft.

She’s patient, coaxing you to keep going without rushing you. Her tongue pokes and prods gently at your tip, easing out more of your cum until you’re entirely emptied. Everything, she gave you everything, and in return she got everything back, there was nothing left.

Karina sits up, letting your cock leave her lips, ignoring the gush of cum that spills out of her lips and onto her chest. She stares at you, gaze deep and intimidating, focused only on you.

“I love you,” she whispers.

You take her face in your hands, holding her, emotions brimming through your body. Your body is beyond relaxed, blood flowing. You pull her close and press your lips to her forehead, holding for a moment, kissing her gently.

“What did I ever do to deserve someone as amazing as you are?” you whisper softly as you lean back and gaze back into her eyes.

She giggles, then smiles, tilting her head to the side. For a moment, she just stares at you, lovingly and full of emotion. Then, she climbs onto the armchair and wraps her arms around you, holding her warmth against yours, becoming one with you.

She says the line again, you say it right back, and the two of you refuse to let go of the other. Ultimately there’s only one option left – you stay in each other’s embrace until you both peacefully fall asleep, comforted by undying love you share.

---

A/N:

This is a super quick fic. I spent about two evenings on it, purely spontaneous, inspired by my headcannon of them being drunk at that award show. I just love these two girls honestly. I still tried to read through it a few times to make sure there aren't too many mistakes, but sorry if you find some, I also went with present tense instead of past tense with this one so give me some leeway!

I am honestly struggling so hard with some of my other fics (looking at you Dating Seraphs). I know what I want to write, I have it literally planned out, but it's just so tough. Regardless, I appreciate everyone's patience and support. This blog has grown so much more than I could have ever imagined, I just hope I can keep releasing stuff you guys enjoy!

[bronzealchemy]

part 1, part 2, part 3

⋆. 𐙚˚ you’re keeping your distance from gideon … but he’s not having it

after the anniversary of calebs death, you kept your distance from gideon. the image of those petals on the bed were too present in your mind. there was no logical explanation for this. suddenly, a „what if“ awoke in your mind. what if … no, you couldn’t even finish the thought. instead, you fully focused on your work. you investigated wanderers, fought fight after fight until every bone in your body ached. and for the first time since the explosion, you accepted the invitation of your colleagues from the association and went to a bar with them. taras smile shone in the flickering lights, nero had surprisingly good dance moves, and simone urged you to take shots with her. tara pulled you on the dance floor and you let loose. you twirled around, again and again, and then … there it was again. 

the shadowy figure.

right there, across the bar. 

you stopped in your tracks, in the middle of the dance floor. 

someone walked in front of the dark figure and when that person crossed … the shadowy figure was gone.

„no!“, you exclaimed. you stalked across the bar, right to the spot where that person just had stood. then you took a right, in direction of the emergency exit. you were almost at the door when someone grabbed your arm. you inhaled sharply, as you lifted your gaze and saw directly into … gideons dark eyes.

„what the hell are you doing?“ his deep voice was laced with something you were too familiar with: unimaginable pain. 

„I’m spending time with my friends.“

he furrowed his brows. „I mean what are you doing with me? you’re ignoring me.“ 

you took a shaky breath. „we can’t keep doing this, gideon. it’s not fair.“

„to whom?“ he took a step towards you. then another, while you walked back and your back hit the wall. he propped his arm next to your face. „is this about caleb?“

hearing his name still hurt. especially now, that your guilty conscience was eating away at your insides. but gideon deserved the truth, so you whispered: „yes.“

he scoffed. „I know you miss him. I do, too. but us keeping the distance won’t bring him back, okay? so don’t shut me out.“

you shook your head. „what about the petals?“

he blinked. „the what?“

„the petals on your bed. after our last night together.“ you immediately left after you saw them, so scared all of a sudden that fight or flight kicked in. 

„I have no idea what you’re talking about.“ 

your pulse quickened. „there were petals on your bed and all over the floor. the same petals of the bouquet we left at calebs grave.“ 

gideons brows furrowed even further. he took a deep breath. then he came closer. „baby, we’re both going through a horrible time, yeah? I know that. and sometimes … I still see things. I see caleb playing basketball on the field when I’m playing with our friends. I can sometimes feel his presence when I’m working. but my mind keeps playing tricks on me. and I think grief is making you see things too.“ 

you inhaled deeply, pondering on his words. maybe … you were imagining things. because you missed caleb so desperately that your mind was making things up that awoke hope in you that the explosion only was a nightmare. 

„I don’t know what’s happening to me, gideon“, you whispered and leaned forward, until your forehead was leaning against his chest. his arms closed around you, embracing you in his warmth. 

„nothing’s wrong with you, baby. that’s just part of grief. spending time with you helped me. I found solace in you. metaphorically and physically, if you catch my drift.“ 

that made you snort. you hit his shoulder half heartedly. „you‘re stupid.“

he grinned. „I’m just being honest. also, I miss you in my bed.“ he pushed a strand of hair out of your face. 

„I miss you too“, you admitted. he got closer, pinning you against the wall, and something flipped in your stomach.

„I missed you. you missed me.“ his mouth wandered over your jaw, down to your neck. he pressed his lips right where your pulse thrummed. „does this mean you’ll come back to my place tonight?“

you shook your head. 

„no? that’s okay.“ he backed away slowly, but you grabbed him and tugged him into the nearest restroom. after you closed the door behind the two of you, you stared at him, suddenly almost shy. 

„if you want me, you’ll have to beg me, baby“, he murmured, leaning against the doorframe. „I won’t start anything until you do that.“ 

heat flushed your cheeks. „I want you.“

„you left me alone. and now you want me back?“ 

„I do.“ 

you reached for him, but he shook his head, smirking. „say it again.“

„I want you, gideon.“ he closed his eyes when you said his name. „please. please let me forget.“ 

„not this time.“ he made a step towards you, grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling ever so slightly, until you looked up to him. the insides of your mouth felt dry, when he came so close to you you could feel his breath. „I won’t make you forget. you’ll remember every fucking second of me making you scream.“ that was the last thing he said, before he crushed his mouth to yours. 

the two of you were colliding. suddenly your back was pressed against the little cabin door, as gideon was pulling your underwear down, while you were freeing his hard length from his pants, stroking him. he got on his knees after a short moment, pushing your skirt up, pressing his mouth down on your clit, sucking hard. 

„fuck“, you exclaimed, as he was licking you like a man starved. it didn’t take long for you to pant, the passion rising higher and higher, but then … he stopped. just for him to turn you around and entering you in one swift motion. you let out a loud gasp, feeling all of him inside you.

„I need you to realize“, he said, accentuating every single word with a hard thrust, „that this is inevitable.“ he grabbed your hair again, pulling your head back so you had to look into his dark eyes. his other hand came around your body to find your aching soft spot once more. you moaned, as he fucked you faster. every single inch of your body belonged to him in that moment. 

„do you understand, baby?“, he murmured into your ear. „do you feel this?“

„yes!“, you exclaimed. „yes, fuck, gideon. deeper. please deeper.“

he fulfilled your wish, going so deep it was on the brink of pain. and he was right. this felt inevitable. like both of you belonged right here, together. the climax washed over you so fiercely it almost brought you to your knees. gideon was the one holding you upright, pumping slowly inside you, savoring every second of this, while you closed your eyes and only felt bliss.

that was until you smelled it. 

the pungent smell of smoke. 

[bluukive]

- ᡣ𐭩 Home is Where the Heart is

summary - What's more endearing than your affectionate husband? Your drunk, affectionate husband.

warnings - none, minus Satoru being a little snotty whilst crying. First proper attempt at a short fluff fic !! Kinda proofread (n idk how being drunk works lolol)

wc - 1044

It’s been exactly 23 minutes since your bumbling oaf of a husband came back home from a night out. After all, even the strongest needed some time to unwind. 

The front door slammed shut and a loud crash followed. It was most likely his gangling body colliding with the coat rack. Again. 

A groan. “W-who put thaaaat there?” he whined, long legs dragging all the way up the stairs. Too many of them, Satoru thought. He should probably hollow purple them all later. But only later, because right now? His lower lip was wobbling and there was a dull pain in his arm from crashing into the bedroom door. It swung open once he had a good grip on the handle, and alas, the tears started to fall. 

Satoru trudged over to the king-sized bed, not bothering to kick his shoes off. 

“I miss my b-bitchass wife,” Satoru sniffled, drunken words muffled by the increasingly sodden pillow that he had buried his face into. His heart ached terribly. How did anyone expect him to live without the love of his life beside him?

Satoru honestly thought he’d die without hearing your voice, so he fumbled about for his phone in one of the pockets of his tweed jacket once he was able to prop himself up on an elbow (trust your boyfriend to make the most questionable fashion choices). The intoxicated look in his eyes and the rosy cheeks would have been adorable if not for the fact that his nose was running from all of the dramatics, but Satoru couldn’t bring himself to care. With a quick wipe of his sleeve, his long, sluggish fingers went to work. 

Ring. Ring.

“Heeeeey gorgeous-”

“This isn’t your wife, Satoru. Wrong number.”

Click. 

Somewhere in the city, a tired sorcerer was exhaling out of his nose and clenching his jaw. How awkward.

Again, Satoru scrolled through his contact list with bleary eyes. Fuck, where were you?

Suguru? Not it. 

Shoko? Nah.

Mei Mei? Fuck no. He’d rather deepthroat a cactus than be associated with her, as he so loved to remind you frequently. 

But finally! ‘Wifey’, the contact name read. Satoru sniffed and tried pulling himself together before pressing ‘ring’, a giddy look in his twinkling blue eyes. The eager pants that left his lungs fell in sync with the rapid thuds of his heart.

Oh, he got to hear his beloved again! Joy to the world!

And what was even better was the fact that you answered on the first ring. “Yoohoo? What is my awfully drunk husband doing calling me at this hour?” you tittered, eyes crinkling further shut the wider your smile grew. 

Satoru swooned. God, what a dreamboat you were. His eyes fluttered shut as he rolled over onto his back, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Hmm? ‘M all fiiiiine and sober, I promise! I just m-miss you, that’s all…”

“No more lying, Mr. Cottonmouth. You are sooo drunk.”

A sniffle left Satoru. Your playful demeanour was getting to him good and proper. How did he get so blessed with a wife like you?

“...Toru? Don’t cry on me now, baby. Talk to me,” your voice called out, softening once the first telltale sign of your husband’s vulnerability came out. But whilst you were growing tender with Satoru, that same smile was still on your lips. 

“Well-” he tried to say, but his voice cracked. Satoru cleared his throat and began speaking once more. “I love you so goddamn much.”

And honestly, it warmed your heart to hear how he didn’t stammer through his declaration of adoration for you, even if no other words came as naturally to him.

“L-like, I think I’d die without you.” One pause.

“I just wanna crawl under your skin ‘n live there.” Another pause and a slight shudder.

“I want you to hold my heart in your hand ‘n feel it b-beat for you,” Satoru croaked out, shoving his face into his pillow once more. He felt so miserable that you weren’t there with him. 

But you should have been. You should have been laying there, head on his chest and one leg thrown over his hip as you both dreamt of each other. The fact that you weren’t doing that made Satoru’s heart clench so painfully.

And then he began wailing. Long, dramatic wails accompanied by hiccuping sobs that had you pulling away your phone from your ear with a wince. On and on the sobs went, and a deadpan expression slowly began appearing on your face. The game had gone on for long enough, and you missed your husband snoring like a baby beside you.

“Satoru. I’m quite literally beside you.”

Yes. Your husband, in his drunken haze, hadn’t noticed you in your shared bed. You were sitting up against the headboard, staring down at your pitifully hammered spouse. 

Click!

You both hung up your phones in silence, your shoulders bobbing as you concealed a fit of laughter. Satoru sat up slowly, clearly not amused.

His face was flushed nicely now, and not just because of the alcohol. His eyes remained blurry and unfocused, but indeed! You were sitting there with the biggest grin on your stupidly gorgeous face. 

“So y-you were just watchin’ me whilst I was pouring my heart out like a widow?”

You shrugged, shuffling over with a hand reaching out to tug your sulking husband closer. “It was cute. I like this side of you. Minus the wailing.”

“T-traitor. You’re such a traitor,” he groaned, the prank you had pulled sobering him up slightly. The embarrassment coursed through him as he lay down next to you, glassy eyes burning a hole through the ceiling. But hey! At least you were with him, right?

“...I feel stupid. Can you kiss me?”

“Wipe your nose first, you man-child,” your nose scrunched as you tossed a wad of tissues his way. 

In record time, Satoru had scrubbed his entire face dry and raw, then flopped onto you. He didn’t care that your fists were thumping at his chest. He didn’t care that he was slobbering all over your face and pecking you like an eager puppy. What mattered now was the fact that he was finally where his heart was.

With you.

divider by @cafekitsune

[adelliet]

Bob Reynolds x f!reader

DREAMY VACATION

Summary: You've been sent on vacation to take a break from saving the world, but there's no hiding from your emotions that will eventually take over.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, alcohol consumption, body insecurity, Sentry awakening (just for a second), erection, breast play, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hickeys

A/n: Hii! So uhm this is LONG AS FUCK, like a literal novel so I am warning you. Anyways I wanted to thank you for 1k followers?! How?! You have no idea how much this means to me. I am grateful for each and every one of you and I will try my best to improve my writing. Hopefully you will like my future projects as much as you've liked the ones I have done so far. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts had been deployed to Spain on what was supposed to be a critical mission. The briefing was vague but urgent, something about a potential global threat developing near the coast.

On the plane to Alicante, you sat down next to Bob. He looked tense. Really tense. He was gripping the armrest like it might fly off on its own. His face was pale, and his shoulders stiff as stone.

“Hey,” you said gently, nudging him with your elbow as you got settled. “You okay?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He blinked, clearly trying not to throw up, and then murmured, “Um… do you maybe wanna sit by the window instead?” He didn’t look at you, just stared straight ahead like a man facing death.

Without missing a beat, you nodded. “Sure. Come on.”

You stood up and let him shuffle over into your seat. The second he sat down, he let out a deep belch, followed by a hoarse, “Oh God…”

You were already leaning closer, scanning his face with concern. “You good?”

Your hand found his knee, giving it a comforting rub. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands now gripping the tray table for dear life.

He nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “I’m okay. Just… hate flying.”

You offered a soft smile and stayed close. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay? Just breathe.”

He nodded again, and despite how miserable he looked, his posture softened slightly, just enough to tell you that your presence was doing what your words couldn’t.

“I’ll go get some water and a bag, just in case,” you told him gently, already sliding out of your seat. Bob gave a tiny nod, eyes still shut, lips tight as if even opening them would invite disaster. You made your way down the aisle, stopping a flight attendant with a polite smile and a quick explanation.

She gave you a knowing look. “Nervous flyer?”

“Something like that,” you chuckled.

A minute later, you returned to your row, holding a small bottle of water and one of those crinkly, shame-colored paper bags. Bob looked slightly less pale than before—his hands weren’t as white-knuckled on the armrests, and his breathing had calmed a little. But he still had that I-might-hurl-any-second look going on.

“Here,” you said, sitting back down and offering both the water and the bag. “Just in case. Don’t worry, it’s only a few hours.”

The moment the word “hours” left your mouth, Bob visibly tensed. He choked on his own spit and shot you a wide-eyed stare like you’d just told him he’d have to wrestle an alligator.

You raised your hands defensively. “Okay, wrong choice of words—ignore me.”

Before either of you could say more, the engines began to roar and the plane started rolling forward. Bob immediately slumped into his seat like a melting popsicle, shut his mouth and eyes, and gripped the tray table as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this dimension.

You couldn’t help a soft smile. He looked a bit ridiculous and miserable at the same time.

“This is the worst part,” you said soothingly, glancing out the window as the runway sped beneath you. “It gets better after takeoff.”

As the plane began to lift from the ground, your heart fluttered with excitement. A new mission in Europe. A whole new landscape, new memories. Even if you weren’t saving the world, part of you loved the thrill of the unknown.

You inhaled deeply, a soft smile on your lips… until you felt a touch.

You turned your head just in time to see Bob—eyes still closed, jaw clenched—reach out blindly and grab your hand in his. He didn’t say a word, didn’t look at you. He just held on. Tightly.

You looked down at your interlaced fingers. He was basically crushing your hand, but you didn’t pull away. If this helped him even a little, you weren’t going anywhere.

Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in quiet reassurance. You didn’t say anything. He didn’t either. But something in the weight of his grip, the vulnerability of that small action, felt more genuine than a thousand words.

Sure, your hand might be useless for the next few hours, but somehow that didn’t matter. It was Bob. That’s what made it okay.

The flight dragged on peacefully, and at some point, exhaustion won.

By the time the pilot announced the descent, both you and Bob were fast asleep. The flight attendant’s gentle voice over the intercom was what stirred you.

“Excuse me—we’ll be landing shortly.”

You blinked groggily, and as your senses slowly returned, you realized that you and Bob were still holding hands. The entire flight. Neither of you had let go, not even in your sleep.

You turned your head at the same time he did, both of you blinking at each other in a dazed, half-dream state. Then you both released your grips at once, slowly, carefully.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. Bob straightened his seat and adjusted his hoodie like he could hide in it.

“…Feeling better?” you asked softly, keeping your voice low enough so only he could hear. He nodded, and for the first time that day, smiled at you—not the nervous, half-broken kind, but something real.

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.” His voice was quiet, but sincere.

You smiled back before you even realized it, heart tugging in that dangerous, stupid way it did whenever he looked at you like that.

Sometimes you wondered if Bob Reynolds was even real. Maybe he was a highly advanced hologram, or worse, a social experiment where you were the test subject. Because if he was a trap, a trick, or an illusion… well, you’d already fallen in pretty deep.

The moment you landed at the airport in a sunny seaside city called Alicante, your adrenaline was high, ready to face whatever was waiting for you.

But instead of military vehicles or local agents waiting on the tarmac, there was a giant banner reading “SURPRISE!” flapping in the Mediterranean breeze. An agent, smiling way too much for someone who usually briefed on extinction-level events, greeted you all with the bombshell: “There is no mission. You’re here on vacation for one full week. Fully paid. Mandatory.”

Everyone had a different reaction. Some of the team burst out laughing. A few gave each other looks of disbelief. Alexei screamed, “HELL YES, BEACH TIME!” and fist-pumped the air. Yelena already had sunglasses on. But not everyone was thrilled.

Bucky Barnes, for one, looked like someone had just kicked his dog. Twice. He crossed his arms and muttered, “This is ridiculous. I don’t do beaches.”

“Well, now you do,” said Ava with a smirk. “Welcome to bonding camp, grumpy.”

You were all told this wasn’t just a vacation, it was a “team-building retreat.” You were going to be forced to relax together, apparently to grow stronger as a unit. And no one was allowed to bail.

Despite the chaos of your missions and all the tension in the beginning, over the past few months of cohabitating in Stark Tower, you’d all grown… closer. There were still arguments, sure—someone was always stealing snacks, using someone else’s mug, or playing music too loud at 3AM—but you knew each other now. Knew who liked what, who needed quiet mornings, who hogged the bathroom, and who cried during certain movie scenes (spoiler: it’s more of them than you expected).

But the bond between you and Bob Reynolds stood out most.

Everyone saw it. From the moment you helped rescue him, you’d never left his side. You were the first to check if he was injured, the first to speak to him like a human being and not a walking nuclear reactor. You made sure he was okay. Like some stray dog the world had tossed aside—and you just quietly decided he was yours now.

And the team followed your lead. Despite what he’d done, despite nearly destroying the world and ripping open old wounds in everyone’s psyche, they welcomed him with open arms. Because you did.

“Vacation?” Bob raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused.

“Yup,” John said with a grin, giving him a playful nudge. “That’s when you don’t do anything and it’s totally fine. You should try it sometime.”

Bob didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked suspicious of the concept. His whole life had been built around duty, damage control, and trying not to explode. The idea of just… existing with no expectations felt foreign. Maybe even dangerous.

“Alright folks, let’s move out,” Yelena called, hoisting her bag over her shoulder with that bossy tone everyone obeyed without question. She might’ve shared the leadership role with Bucky, but she had the charisma of someone who got things done.

Like a herd of reluctant high schoolers on a mandatory field trip, the team followed—grumbling, joking, dragging their feet, but moving.

The drive wasn’t long.

A sleek black limousine pulled up to your destination within the hour. A row of elegant, private beach cottages spread out before you, nestled in a secluded cove just outside Alicante.

The sand was pale gold, soft as powdered sugar, stretching out toward the turquoise horizon. The sea shimmered beneath the sunlight, waves gentle and lazy. Palm trees lined the perimeter, their leaves rustling with every breeze, casting just enough shade to make the heat feel like a pleasant hug instead of a punishment.

The place felt untouched. Quiet.

Not exactly deserted—but exclusive. You could see why no ordinary tourists were lounging here. It wasn’t just the off-hour, it was the price. This was the kind of luxury reserved for diplomats and billionaires. For people who’d seen too much, done too much, and needed the world to shut up for five minutes.

For the first time, you felt the weight of silence around the team. Not the awkward kind—just a collective breath being held, like everyone was realizing at once how damn beautiful it was here.

The agent who’d escorted you out of the airport handed over two keycards with a charming smile. “One cabin for four men, and one for three ladies,” he said, giving them to Bucky and Yelena respectively.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

And just like that, he was gone, limousine and all, leaving you standing under the cloudless sky, surrounded by the scent of salt and coconut sunscreen.

You glanced around, soaking it all in. Then your gaze shifted to Bob. He was already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he flinched and immediately turned his head, pretending to be very interested in a nearby bush.

You snorted quietly to yourself, lips twitching with amusement.

“This one’s ours, I guess,” Yelena said, pointing toward the cottage just a few steps away. Even from a distance, the place looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Creamy-white walls, light wooden trim, huge windows, and a little porch with hanging hammocks swaying lazily in the breeze. A dream come true.

You, Yelena and Ava made your way over with your bags. Yelena slid the keycard, and the door clicked open. The inside was even more stunning.

It was like stepping into a Pinterest board. The walls were painted in soft seafoam greens and sun-washed whites. Rattan furniture, pastel cushions, and airy curtains gave the space a coastal, boho vibe. There was a faint scent of lavender and driftwood in the air—relaxing, expensive, comforting.

Sunlight poured through the huge windows, illuminating a common area with plush couches, a breakfast bar stocked with fruits and snacks, and wide glass doors that opened directly onto the beach. You could hear the waves as if the ocean was whispering, You’re safe here.

“Holy shit,” Ava breathed out, spinning in a slow circle like she couldn’t believe this wasn’t CGI. “This is nicer than my actual apartment.”

Yelena dropped her bag on the nearest bed with a satisfied smirk. “This is acceptable.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A real, easy smile, the kind that felt rare lately. Everything about this place felt… right and peaceful.

And as you peeked out the back window and saw the boys dragging their bags toward their own cottage, you knew this week was going to be something different. Maybe even healing.

A few hours had passed since you arrived. You’d unpacked, showered, explored the fridge, which was magically stocked with mouthwatering, chef-level food, and finally settled into that post-travel stillness.

The late afternoon sun blanketed everything in golden light as you lounged on the front veranda of your cottage. Yelena had claimed the hammock and was swinging gently, sunglasses on, arms behind her head, looking like a war-hardened goddess pretending to be chill.

You and Ava had claimed two of the hanging lounge chairs, gently swaying as you soaked in the sun. Both of you had sunglasses perched on your noses, and the soft breeze kept the heat from being overwhelming.

“What are we even supposed to do here?” Ava asked, not bothering to open her eyes. Her voice was lazy, relaxed, a perfect match for the quiet waves in the distance.

It was a simple question. One you should’ve been able to answer. But you paused. Because… you honestly didn’t know.

Before you could respond with something vague, Yelena chimed in with a deadpan comment that made both you and Ava snort with laughter. It was something about team bonding meaning “not-murdering each other in close quarters,” and that this counted.

Then you added, perfectly flat, “I didn’t even bring a swimsuit.”

Ava blinked, then looked over at you. “Wait, me neither.”

“Didn’t expect this,” you muttered. “Was packing for death, not tanning.”

Yelena groaned. “Okay great. Let’s go buy swimsuits now. Or we’ll end up stuck here melting like idiots on a porch for the rest of the week.”

She was right, so without much debate, the three of you grabbed your canvas totes, wallets, and phones. None of you were wearing anything particularly beach-shopping-appropriate, but it didn’t matter. The streets near the coast would be casual, laid-back—just like the air already felt.

Of course, this wasn’t just a swimsuit run.

You were three women, unsupervised, in a beach town, surrounded by potential sales racks, accessory stands, cafés, and tourist traps. There was no way you were only coming back with swimwear.

As you walked past the guys’ cabin, Yelena suddenly veered off toward the door.

“I’m gonna see if any of the boys want to come with us,” she said casually.

You and Ava paused, hanging back by the path and watching her disappear into the house. After a beat of silence, Ava tilted her head toward you, voice sly behind her shades.

“So… are you two dating?”

You frowned, confused. “What?”

She shifted her sunglasses down her nose just enough to raise her brows. “You and Bob.”

Your eyes went wide. Your mouth dropped into a dramatic, perfect “O.”

“What— no, pffft, no! We’re just… friends. Like you and me.”

Ava laughed softly, but her gaze stayed locked on you, way too perceptive for your comfort.

“Then why don’t you look at me the way you look at him?”

The question hit harder than expected. You froze. Your heart did that thing where it picked up speed, like it was trying to run away before your brain could even catch up.

You opened your mouth to respond—but didn’t get the chance. Yelena reappeared, walking toward you like she owned the world, flanked by Johnny and Alexei, who looked far too amused to be joining a swimsuit shopping trip.

“They’re coming,” she said with a smirk. “Apparently the boys need suits too. And they want to pick out something ridiculous for Bucky.” That got a laugh out of all of you.

You glanced past them, half-hoping Bob would be in the group.

He wasn’t.

A tiny sting settled in your chest—nothing sharp, just that quiet flicker of disappointment. Maybe he needed rest. Maybe he didn’t feel like going out. Maybe… you were overthinking again.

You shook the thought away and caught up with the group, quickly weaving yourself into the casual chatter about the town, the ocean, and just how absurdly gorgeous these beach houses were.

Still… you couldn’t help but glance back, just once, at the boys’ cabin. Maybe he was watching. Maybe he wasn’t. But part of you hoped he’d noticed you were gone.

The shop you found wasn’t some cheap tourist trap. It was small, chic, and clearly catered to high-end beachgoers with taste. White walls, light wood floors, soft acoustic music playing in the background, and racks of curated swimsuits arranged by style, not size. It even smelled nice, like sunscreen and coconuts and fresh linen.

You, Yelena, and Ava wandered through the racks like hunters in the wild, each with your own goal. Ava leaned toward white or black prints. Yelena made a beeline for anything tactical-looking or black. You? You didn’t know what you were looking for, until you saw it.

A white two-piece bikini, delicate but bold.

The top had thin, adjustable straps and a soft triangle cut that showed just enough while still keeping you comfortable. The fabric was smooth, almost pearly under the light, and hugged your shape in a way that felt way too flattering. The bottoms were high-cut at the hips, elongating your legs, and dipped just enough in the front to make you feel sexy.

You held it up, biting your lip.

The fitting rooms were individual little cabins with thick curtains and full mirrors, and for a moment, you just stood inside yours, staring at yourself.

The bikini really did fit, almost suspiciously well. The white stood out against your skin like it was made for you. It hugged your waist, shaped your chest, gave just enough curve to make you hesitate. You adjusted the straps, turned sideways, checked again.

You weren’t sure if you felt powerful or exposed.

Still undecided, you pulled the curtain back and stepped out barefoot onto the cool wooden floor. Yelena was standing just outside, holding a one-piece camo-pattern swimsuit that looked like it belonged in some military-themed Sports Illustrated shoot.

When she turned to look at you, her face froze for a second. And then she blinked. Twice.

“Oh my god,” she said loudly. “Bob’s going to get an erection so hard he’s gonna pass out.”

You stared at her, completely stunned. “Yelena!”

She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What? It’s true. That bikini is illegal. You look like someone who knows how hot she is.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. That loud, shocked kind of laugh that felt like it echoed off your ribs.

“I’m not getting it just because of Bob!” you protested.

“Sure. Of course,” Yelena said, already turning to hang her swimsuit back on a rack. “You’re getting it because of you. Which happens to be the same you that wants Bob to think about you every time he blinks.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because maybe she wasn’t totally wrong.

You looked back at yourself in the big mirror. Your fingers lightly touched the strap on your hip. Yeah, part of you wanted Bob to notice. And part of you was absolutely terrified he would.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll take it.”

The walk back from town was filled with laughter and light teasing. John and Alexei were leading the way, both proudly swinging shopping bags, one of which contained a ridiculous pair of swim trunks Alexei had picked for Bucky, covered in pineapples and flamingos, while Bob’s were thankfully simple and classic.

You held a bag in one hand and kept your eyes on your feet, but no matter what, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting.

What’s Bob gonna do when he sees you in this bikini?

You hadn’t meant to obsess over it. The idea had just settled in your mind. Naturally. Like it belonged there. And now it was stuck. Even as Ava was telling a story about how she accidentally bought three identical sarongs, your mind wandered right back to Bob.

The moment you and Ava set the bags down on the porch with a thud, Yelena clapped her hands like a general calling her troops.

“Alright, troops! Try on your swimsuits, we’re playing beach volleyball in ten!”

You exchanged an amused glance with Ava. You were all tired, even Yelena was complaining on the way back how well she'll be sleeping. Guess that thought was gone now.

Still, the energy in the air was contagious and none of you had the heart to say no, so Yelena texted the guys while the rest of you headed to change.

When you stepped outside, the sun was warm on your skin and the sound of the ocean made everything feel like a dream. Bucky and Alexei were already out there, stretching and tying up the net between two poles. John stood nearby, casually tossing the volleyball between his hands.

But Bob wasn’t there.

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could spiral, Ava appeared behind you and gave you a sharp slap on the butt.

“Relax, your loverboy probably just got distracted picking the perfect outfit,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes with a groan, but your heart was beating just a little faster. You walked over to the group, the sand soft under your feet.

Bucky noticed you first. His eyes lingered for a second longer than they probably should have, but he kept his expression locked down – soldier mode. Alexei, on the other hand, had zero filters.

“WOW, GIRL, LOOK AT YOU!” he shouted across the beach. “YOU LOOK LIKE A GODDESS! AND YOU TOO! AND YOU TOO!!”

He even stumbled into the net and collapsed dramatically, like your beauty had physically floored him. All of you burst out laughing. It was ridiculous, but sweet.

Walker stood back, saying nothing, just calmly observing like always, the ball still rotating between his palms.

“Let me help you with this,” you offered, moving to Bucky’s side and helping him secure the net to the post. You worked silently for a moment until he glanced at you and said, in his typical stern voice: “You look good.”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Then, behind you, you heard the soft click of the cabin door opening. Your head instantly turned.

Bob stepped out. He wore a plain green T-shirt and simple black swim shorts. His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and the second his eyes landed on you, he froze.

You gave him a small, friendly wave.

He just stood there. His brows twitched. His jaw tensed. Then, as if his legs had remembered how to move, he took a step forward and tripped a little in the sand. Your heart did a backflip.

“See?” Yelena appeared beside you, slapping your shoulder. “Told you he’d be wrecked when he saw you.”

You laughed, half in embarrassment, half in disbelief, and shook your head. “Shut up.”

“Alright, LET’S GOOO!” Alexei yelled, clapping loudly before peeling off his shirt in one dramatic motion. The dude was built like a Greek statue.

Then Bucky followed suit, revealing defined abs and a torso clearly sculpted through years of combat training. All of you fell into stunned silence for a moment.

Even Walker, who hadn’t said a word, took off his shirt and casually joined the group. His body was lean, defined, quiet strength. Bob arrived near the group, awkwardly raising a hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. All eyes slowly turned to him waiting. Expectant.

He looked around nervously. “What? Did I—?”

And then he realized. He looked down at his own shirt, then back up at the group.

“Oh! Uh… I think I’ll keep the shirt on. I’m kinda cold,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked. Cold? You didn’t believe him for a second, and you were pretty sure no one else did either. Still, no one pushed him. It was Bob. If he needed to keep his shirt on, he could.

Yelena turned to split the teams. “Alright, someone from the guys can join us, but anyone except Ale—”

“GOING WITH MY GORGEOUS LADIES!” Alexei yelled, cutting her off and dashing over to your side like a golden retriever on espresso.

Yelena let out the longest, most defeated sigh and rubbed her temples.

Teams were decided, and as fate would have it, you and Bob ended up on opposing sides. The game was lighthearted at first, filled with laughter and playful banter. But then John raised the stakes.

“How about this? Winning team gets treated to a round of rum by the losers!”

A collective cheer erupted, and the game intensified. The air buzzed with laughter, the sounds of sneakers shuffling and palms slapping against the volleyball echoing across the beach.

You were focused, at least, you were trying to be. But every time your eyes met Bob’s across the court, something fluttered in your chest. It wasn’t just the look he gave you, it was everything about him.

The way his green shirt clung to his chest, damp from sweat, outlining the gentle definition of his torso; the way his dark hair was slightly tousled, sticking to his forehead; the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

And he was looking.

Almost every single time you looked over at him, his eyes were already on you. And every single time, without fail, he’d catch himself and look away. Fast. Like a startled animal. His Adam’s apple would bob slightly as he swallowed hard, clearly rattled by something—by you, maybe.

But then came the moment he didn’t look away.

You looked across the net, searching for Bob again, and there he was, watching you. He didn’t flinch this time. He didn’t look down or pretend to scratch his face. He stared. And you, feeling just a little bold, gave him a playful wink.

That did it.

Even from across the sand, you saw the way his face lit up red. Not just a hint of blush, but full-on, ear-to-ear crimson. His lips curved upward in a tiny, embarrassed smile—so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching for it.

And of course you were watching. The next serve came. Fast. Too fast. You turned just a moment too late, the ball whizzing past your shoulder and hitting the sand behind you.

Point lost.

Your teammates groaned in playful frustration, and you raised your hand apologetically. “My bad,” you laughed, even though inside, your stomach was doing backflips. Bob was still watching. Except now, he looked like he was having a different kind of crisis.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt nervously. His jaw clenched. His chest was visibly rising and falling faster than it should. His arms were tense. His fingers curled into fist, his knuckles white. His eyes were definitely not on the ball.

They were on you.

Suddenly, he took a deep breath and bent slightly forward. “Uh—sorry! I just need a… quick break!” he blurted out, turning so fast he almost tripped on his own foot. Without another word, he jogged off the court and toward the cabins, his shirt bunched up slightly at the back and clinging tighter at the front than before.

Everyone kind of paused.

“Everything alright?” John called after him, spinning the ball on his finger.

“Yeah! Yeah, all good!” Bob replied quickly, too quickly, his voice cracking slightly as he disappeared around the corner.

The group exchanged glances, some shrugged, some laughed. Yelena rolled her eyes. “He probably has bad stamina.”

But your heart dropped just a bit. Something felt off. You didn’t even think, you tossed the ball aside, murmured a quick, “I’ll go check on him,” and broke into a quick jog, sand kicking up around your ankles as you made your way toward the cabins.

Bob barely made it into the room before slamming the door shut behind him, chest heaving, face flushed and mind spinning. He pressed his back to the wood as if trying to barricade himself from the outside world, from you. His breathing was erratic. He glanced down.

“Oh no no no…”

The situation in his swim trunks was unignorable. His erection was pushing painfully against the fabric, a direct result of the way you looked—sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing with your hair a mess, skin kissed by sunlight. The way your bikini hugged your curves. The way your chest rose and fell when you ran. The way you winked at him.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. This was not supposed to happen.

He tried to steady his breath and think about anything else, but it was useless. All he could think about was you. How close you’d gotten. How dangerous it felt to even have you in the same game, let alone within touching distance.

Then came the knock.

“Bob?” Your voice was gentle, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He froze. Your voice was the last thing he needed right now. It sent a fresh wave of heat through him. His hands curled into fists.

“Yeah! I’m—uh—I’m fine. Just a headache,” he called out quickly, praying you’d leave.

But you didn’t.

“I can come in, I’ll bring you water or—”

“NO!” he shouted. Too loud, too harsh. The silence that followed was gutting. You stood on the other side of the door, frozen in place. “…Bob?”

He could hear it. The confusion in your voice. The hesitation. He hated himself instantly.

“I just—I need to be alone, okay?” His voice was muffled now, pressed into the crook of his elbow as he paced the room. He could feel his heart pounding, his frustration mounting—not just with the situation, but with himself. “Just leave. Please.”

You didn’t speak. He imagined your face, how hurt you probably looked, how your brows might have creased, how your mouth might’ve opened to argue before you stopped yourself.

Then… footsteps. Soft. Fading. Gone.

He felt the loss immediately. Like something had been torn out of him. He let out a heavy breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, too late. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell.”

No answer.

“Please don’t be mad… I just—I didn’t know what to do, okay? You—you do things to me, and I panicked. Please, come back.” But the hallway was empty and the only response was silence.

As you stepped out of the cabin, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand, forcing a shaky breath through your nose.

“Hey, is Bob okay?” Ava asked, glancing toward the cabin you’d just exited.

You hesitated for a second, then nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “He just said he had a headache,” you replied, your voice carefully even.

You walked toward the volleyball net and joined the opposite team—the one now short a player with Bob gone. “Let’s keep playing,” you added cheerfully, hoping no one would question it further.

To your surprise, the game was good. Fast-paced. Fun.

Even with the ache in your chest, you gave it your all. Maybe even because of it. Every hit, every run across the sand, every cheer was your way of forcing yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

And in the end, your team won.

Yelena, Ava, and Alexei groaned in dramatic defeat while you, John, and Bucky raised your arms in victory. “Winners get the drinks!” Walker grinned.

“Fine,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “But we’re picking the place.”

The sun had dipped lower in the sky now, casting a soft golden glow over the beach. The heat lingered though, a warm comfort against your skin. Everyone decided to freshen up a bit before heading out, and you slipped into something light—a black fishnet-style dress over your swimsuit, barely-there but airy enough to keep cool.

The girls whistled playfully at you as you walked out, and you returned their teasing with a twirl and a wink. But your heart still felt heavy.

The bar you ended up in was cozy, loud with laughter, music humming low in the background. The lights were warm and soft, casting shadows across everyone’s faces. You weren’t drunk—just a little lightheaded from the rum, the kind that made your thoughts buzz and your limbs a bit too loose.

Yelena stuck by your side most of the evening. She laughed with you, poked fun at Walker, and even made a show of challenging Alexei to a drinking contest. But at one point, she leaned in, her gaze a little too knowing.

“You’re smiling,” she said gently, “but your eyes are somewhere else.” You blinked and looked away, sipping from your drink.

“I’m fine,” you murmured.

Yelena sighed and gave you a long look. “I’m gonna go talk to Ava for a bit, okay? You good here?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I need some time alone anyway.” She gave your hand a light squeeze, then disappeared into the crowd.

You sat in silence for a while, swirling your drink, the taste of sugar and burn lingering on your tongue. Your gaze drifted around the room, but you weren’t really seeing anyone. The voices blended together. The laughter felt far away. Until one voice didn’t.

“Hey…”

You froze. Slowly, your eyes shifted to the side.

Bob.

He stood just beside you, looking awkward, guilty, and entirely out of place. His hair was a little messy, his green shirt slightly wrinkled like he’d been sitting in one place too long before deciding to come. His voice was soft. Tentative.

“…Can I sit?”

You just nodded faintly and let out a small, wordless hum of agreement.

He took the seat next to you, cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he really had the right to be there. You could feel his nervous energy radiating off him. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. His leg bounced subtly beneath the bar. It was obvious he’d been overthinking every second since earlier.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice strained but sincere. “About before. I didn’t mean to—” He hesitated, sighed. “I panicked. That’s all. I didn’t want to shout at you like that. I don’t even know why I did. I just… freaked out.”

You were still leaning against the bar, your head tilted slightly sideways, cheek resting on your folded arm. With your other hand, you absently played with the rim of your empty glass, turning it slowly between your fingers. You didn’t look at him, but your shoulders rose in a small shrug. It wasn’t cold—it just said I hear you. But I’m still processing.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated with himself, then tried again.

“I really am sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Can I… can I buy you another drink? Something strong, maybe? Vodka?”

That finally got a soft sound out of you—a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. You sat up properly, brushing your hair back and meeting his eyes, just briefly.

“No thanks,” you murmured. “I don’t wanna get drunk.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands, embarrassed. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

The quiet between you stretched again, but it didn’t feel quite so heavy now. Just… tentative. Cautious. Slowly, your expression softened, even though the sadness still lingered. You could see how hard he was trying—how guilty he looked, how much he regretted that brief flash of temper. And even if it still hurt, you knew it hadn’t come from a place of cruelty. Just fear.

You sighed gently, then gave him a tiny nod. “It’s okay,” you said at last. “I get it.”

His eyes flicked up to you in relief, and he nodded eagerly. A beat passed before you tilted your head slightly. “Are you having anything?”

He blinked. “Uh… no. Acohol— I don’t really— It doesn’t go well with me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, a little shyly. “I’m not exactly the fun drunk type. More like the ‘embarrass myself and then cry about it later’ type.”

That finally earned a genuine smile from you. A small, honest one. “Alright,” you said.

“What if we uh…drink something sweet? Like juice?” Bob suggested cautiously and you nodded with a hum.

Bob grinned sheepishly and waved at the bartender, ordering two fruity, alcohol-free drinks. When he slid yours toward you and caught the way you looked at him, smile soft, eyes warm, his ears turned a little pink. You raised your glass and clinked it gently against his.

As the conversation carried on, whatever tension had existed between the two of you earlier slowly dissolved, like mist in the morning sun. You laughed together, genuine, unguarded laughter, and it felt easy again. Comfortable.

Before long, you completely forgot why you’d been upset in the first place. Bob was being his awkward, charming self, and it was disarming in the best way. He made a silly comment about the drink being too fruity for a “manly guy like him,” and you rolled your eyes so hard it made him laugh. You teased him back, and time began to slip by, unnoticed and unchecked.

Eventually, Bucky appeared at the entrance of the bar, a little sweaty, clearly ready to call it a night. “We’re heading out,” he called over the soft hum of music and clinking glasses. “You two coming?”

You glanced at Bob and then shook your head with a smile. “We’ll stay a little longer.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow knowingly, gave a short wave, and disappeared with the rest of the group. That “little longer” quickly became several hours. The sky outside deepened into full night, the noise of the bar gradually quieted as the crowd thinned out, and you and Bob were still there, talking and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the moment, gentle but firm. The bartender leaned over and said something in Spanish, “Cerramos.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out a soft gasp. “Oh! They're closing.” You jumped off the barstool with a flurry of movement, grabbing your things quickly and tossing an apologetic smile toward the bartender. You replied: “Lo siento!” then turned to Bob.

He was still sitting there, watching you with a puzzled look on his face. Then he glanced at the bartender, and back to you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You speak Spanish?” he asked, a bit of awe in his voice.

You laughed and shook your head. “Nooo,” you admitted, grinning. “But it’s not that hard to guess what he said.”

Bob smiled as the realization hit him. “Right… yeah. That makes sense.” He stood up, stretching a little, and pulled a few bills from his wallet to leave on the counter for the drinks. Together, the two of you stepped out into the warm night.

Outside, the air was rich with the scent of saltwater and distant blossoms. The sky was a canvas of stars, crisp and clear, glittering like tiny diamonds. The moon hung low, casting a soft silver glow over the beach. The waves rolled in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, their gentle crash against the shore creating a peaceful, natural soundtrack that filled the quiet spaces between your laughter.

You walked side by side along the sand, your bare feet leaving prints behind you that the tide would soon claim. Every so often you’d bump shoulders slightly, accidentally-on-purpose, and Bob would smile that sweet, crooked smile of his. Conversation flowed as effortlessly as the breeze around you.

Then, your tone shifted—just a little softer, more curious. “Can I ask you something?”

Bob glanced over at you and gave a small nod, already bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Why didn’t you take off your shirt?” you asked gently. “Back when we played volleyball?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, then scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncomfortable. His fingers tugged slightly at the fabric of his shirt. When he finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, and he avoided your gaze.

“I guess I’m just… not that confident. About my body, I mean.”

He let out a soft, nervous snort through his lips, something between a sigh and the sound horses make when they’re annoyed, and looked down at the sand as if it had the answers.

He paused, then looked up at you, his eyes full of something vulnerable, raw, and honest. “But I’ll get there. One day.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just… not yet.”

You nodded slowly, not saying anything at first. You looked down, watching the way your feet pressed into the sand, how your steps left soft imprints that trailed behind. You understood. Completely. And more importantly, you respected it.

Your silence wasn’t judgment, it was empathy. And as the two of you walked on, bathed in moonlight and ocean air, it was clear that even unspoken things had a way of being heard between you.

Bob walked you back to your cabin, the two of you moving a little slower than before, as if neither of you truly wanted the night to end. When you reached the steps, there was that moment, an awkward little giggle shared between you as your eyes both dropped to the ground, trying to avoid the tension hanging in the air. But it was there, unspoken and electric. You felt it in your chest, and judging by the way Bob was fiddling with his fingers and nervously rocking on his heels, he did too.

Maybe it was the rum still lingering in your system, or maybe it was the feeling of confidence bubbling up from the hours of honest conversation and gentle laughter. Either way, you found yourself standing a little taller, just bold enough to speak your mind.

“I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice soft but sure, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked at him. Bob lifted his gaze, eyes wide with something between surprise and fragile hope, like a puppy waiting to be told it’s a good boy.

“I think you have a beautiful body,” you added gently.

The moment the words landed, his eyes locked with yours, and the connection was intense. Warm. Heavy. It hung in the air between you like a string pulled tight.

You could see it in his face that he felt it too. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then his nervousness took over again. He let out a small, breathy laugh, looked to the side, and scratched the back of his head. His cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, and his voice came out unsure and stammered.

“You too… you have a nice body. Not like—in a creepy way or anything! Just, uh… like, you know…”

He was tangling himself in his own compliment, flailing to land it gracefully, and it made your heart melt just a little more. Smiling softly, you lifted both hands in a surrendering gesture, giving a single nod with a calming expression.

“I get it,” you assured him gently. “Thank you.”

Relief washed over his face, and both of you started to laugh again, this time more naturally, more connected. The night felt sweet, even a little magical. You didn’t want to go inside. You didn’t want this to be the part where he left, where things faded into goodnights and what-ifs.

Something in you, maybe the remnants of courage, maybe the warmth still blooming from that last drink, refused to let him go. So, you decided to take a risk. A brave one.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words came out direct, sincere, without apology or hesitation. They hit Bob like a thunderclap. His eyes went wide and fractured with shock. You could see his heart stop and start again just by the way his chest moved. Goosebumps appeared along his arms, his breath caught in his throat, and his entire face flushed deeper than ever before.

“I-I… I mean—I… um,” he stumbled, blinking rapidly, completely overwhelmed.

You didn’t push, but you did move closer, stepping into the space between you, your hands slowly, carefully, rising to his chest. You placed them there gently, barely a touch, more of a whisper than a grip, and you could feel his heartbeat fluttering beneath your fingertips, pounding like a wild drum. The moment you touched him, he froze. His whole body stiffened, eyes locked on you, his lips slightly parted in stunned silence.

You tilted your head up, catching his gaze with a bold, flirtatious glint in your eye. Then you bit your lip, slowly and deliberately, giving him that look—the kind that stripped away all doubt.

“May I?” you whispered again, your voice lower, breathier, your fingertips brushing against his shirt as your palms moved slightly over his chest.

He inhaled sharply, the sound trembling through his lips, and after a second that felt like forever, he nodded—quickly, wordlessly, his entire body trembling with anticipation.

A sly, satisfied smile crept onto your face at his permission. You rose onto your toes as he instinctively leaned down to meet you halfway. And when your lips finally met his, it was as though the world simply fell away.

The background noise, the wind, the waves, the sound of cicadas, melted into silence. There was only warmth, only him.

His lips were soft, tinged with sweetness from the drinks you’d shared, and you felt a wave of heat roll through your body.

At first, he kissed you carefully, cautiously, almost as if he wasn’t sure if this was real. But the moment you leaned in hungrily for another kiss, something shifted in him, he melted into you completely.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him in closer, anchoring him to you. He responded instinctively, his hands finding your waist with gentle hesitance, holding you like you were delicate and precious, like the wrong touch might break the spell. His fingers traced small circles against your back, sliding slightly higher as he began to kiss you deeper, more surely.

And then you started to sigh—soft, involuntary little sounds escaping your lips, muffled between kisses. That was it. That was all it took to make Bob shudder slightly against you, his grip tightening just a little as he buried himself more completely in the moment.

For a man so shy, so careful with his words, his body was now telling you everything you needed to know. Your lips danced together under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies.

The kiss between you and Bob deepened quickly, the heat building with every brush of lips, every inhale that seemed too sharp, too needy.

Bob began to let out these quiet, helpless little moans—soft, desperate sounds that made your heart stutter and your core clench with hunger. His breath was hot, uneven, as if he couldn’t quite keep up with what he was feeling.

But then, just when things began to slip into something hotter, more dangerous, you pulled away.

Your lips left his with a quiet, breathy pop, and Bob’s eyes fluttered open in confusion, his brows furrowing as you took a small step back. You reached into your bag, rummaging clumsily, fingers searching for your keys. His expression was adorably baffled—eyes wide, lips parted, his chest still rising and falling too fast.

He didn’t even get the chance to ask what you were doing. Before he could speak, you found the keys, turned, and unlocked the door with a soft grunt of effort. The handle resisted for a moment—just long enough to make you curse under your breath. But then it gave way, and without a word, you grabbed a handful of Bob’s shirt and yanked him inside with you.

The door slammed shut behind you.

And then you were on him again.

You pushed him up against the wall before he could even blink, your lips crashing onto his like you’d been starved of him for hours instead of minutes. He let out a muffled gasp, taken completely off guard, but your mouth, your touch, the fire burning through you, it overwhelmed him. It shut off whatever part of his brain had been trying to stay grounded.

He melted into you, hands clinging to your waist like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. But you weren’t slowing down.

You pressed your body hard against his, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart, pinning him to the wall with a surprising strength, despite your smaller frame. Your kiss was ravenous, unrelenting. Every time his breath hitched, it only drove you more.

But Bob still had some part of him trying to be responsible.

“Wait—wait, what about the others?” he asked, panting between kisses, his voice shaky, his lips still brushing yours. His hands remained at your hips, uncertain but not resisting.

“They’re asleep,” you breathed without hesitation, already leaning in again.

You kissed him hard, and he let out a startled noise in the back of his throat, half protest, half surrender. But just as your hands started trailing lower down his sides, he gently pulled back again, his eyes wide, his whole body trembling like he was barely holding on.

“I-I mean, I—” he stammered, clearly overwhelmed, caught in the tug-of-war between nerves and need.

But you were on fire. Every pulse in your body throbbed with want, and the heat between your thighs was unmistakable, impossible to ignore. You leaned in closer, placing a hand flat against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. Your eyes locked on his and your voice dropped into something sultry, something that made his breath hitch.

“Do you want me?” you whispered, your words low, teasing, soaked in longing.

Bob’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He was frozen, wide-eyed, staring at you like you were made of fire and he couldn’t decide whether to run or let himself burn.

So you stepped in closer. Your bodies were touching now, pressed chest to chest, and your mouth hovered barely a breath from his. You tilted your head, eyes fluttering half-shut, your voice dipping into a softer, flirtier murmur.

“Do you want me, Bob?”

This time he nodded. Hard. His breath caught in his throat, and a deep, shaky sound escaped him. His hands clutched tighter at your waist like he was afraid you might vanish.

Then you gave him the final push—the one that made everything else fall away.

“Do you want me… right now?”

His answer wasn’t words. It was a low, desperate sound from deep in his chest and another frantic nod, his eyes burning with need. That was all the answer you needed. All the answer he could give.

And then your lips were on his again, fiercer this time, hungry and hot, and whatever doubts had been in his head melted away with each breathless kiss.

But the kisses between you and Bob grew messier, deeper, more desperate. There was no longer any hesitation, only raw, breathless need. Soft, pleading moans slipped from both your lips between every frantic brush of your mouths, and each sound only made the other crave more.

Bob’s hands fumbled at your waist, your neck, your hips, trying to be everywhere at once but still so careful. His swim trunks were starting to grow tight again, and the heat in your own body was unbearable. Your swimsuit clung to you, soaked through with arousal, even tho all you had done was kiss.

Stumbling into your room was chaotic, clumsy. Bob bumped into the wall, you tripped on your own feet, giggles and gasps filling the space between frantic kisses. But somehow, with limbs tangled and hearts racing, you made it to your room. You barely managed to shut the door behind you before dragging both of you toward the bed.

With one firm but gentle push, you toppled Bob onto the mattress and let yourself fall with him. You landed on his chest with a bounce, both of you breathless and grinning, and then, before he could even process it, you rolled off and stood quickly. You turned back toward the door, locking it with a soft click. Then, you turned around again and froze for a beat.

Bob was sitting at the edge of your bed, completely still, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths. His hair was messy from your fingers, his lips red and swollen from your kisses and his eyes were glassy with lust, with longing. His pupils were huge. His face was flushed. And lower down, his erection was unmistakably visible.

You had never felt like this about any man before. Not like this.

You let your purse fall to the floor without a second thought, fingers slipping under the hem of your fishnet dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, you pulled it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor.

Now, standing there in only your swimsuit, you began to approach him. Slowly, like a predator circling prey. The hunger in your eyes was impossible to miss.

Bob didn’t move. He couldn’t. He watched you the entire time, mouth slightly open, hands resting on the bed like he needed the mattress to ground himself.

You stopped in front of him and brought your hands up to cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again—but this time it was slower. Gentler. A soft, intimate prelude.

His hands found your cheeks too, fingers stroking your skin, and he tried to pull you back down onto him. But you resisted. You pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“Can we… get rid of this?” you asked with a playful smile, tapping a finger against the center of his chest.

His eyes dropped to your finger, then flicked back up to your face. He swallowed hard, clearly nervous.

“We don’t have to,” you whispered, your tone low and teasing. “But how about a deal?”

You licked your lips slowly, letting your gaze drop to his mouth before lifting it back to his eyes.

“If we take this off,” you said, finger still resting on his chest, “then we also take this off…” Your hand drifted up, motioning briefly toward the top of your swimsuit.

That was all it took.

Whatever fear had still lingered in him melted away instantly. His fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and, without a single pause, he pulled it over his head in one swift, fluid movement and tossed it aside. No hesitation. No second-guessing. He wanted this. He wanted you. Badly enough to show you a part of himself he’d just admitted he was ashamed of.

But the moment your eyes dropped to his now bare torso… your jaw practically hit the floor.

He was stunning. Broad chest, strong shoulders, abs like something sculpted by a god, toned arms with just the right amount of muscle, exactly how you liked it. Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. Not from someone as shy and self-conscious as him.

You looked back up at him, wide-eyed with a mix of disbelief and awe. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Bob sat there, half-nervous, half-burning, unsure how you’d react—until he saw your expression. And even though your reaction was silent, it told him everything. The look on your face said it all.

You knelt down slowly, your eyes still locked onto his body as if mesmerized, and began showering him with a cascade of kisses. They rained down over his skin, his chest, his stomach, his sides, each kiss playful, some lingering, others accompanied by soft, teasing licks or the occasional gentle bite.

It tickled him a little, making him laugh under his breath, his abs tightening instinctively. He wanted to reach out, to touch your hair, cradle your face, pull you close—but he hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to break the moment or push too far. So he kept his hands behind him, gripping the mattress like an anchor.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured in between kisses, your lips brushing against his skin with every word. Your hands rested firmly on his thighs, fingers splayed out, grounding yourself as you explored him with both touch and mouth.

“So beautiful,” you repeated, almost breathless with admiration. You couldn’t get enough of him. You kissed every inch of skin you could reach, tasting the warmth of his sun-kissed body, losing yourself in the way he squirmed slightly beneath your lips.

Eventually, the hunger in you built beyond just kisses.

You looked up at Bob, meeting his eyes. He looked dazed, utterly blissed out, but beneath the surface, there was something else. He was waiting. For your part of the deal.

A mischievous smile curled on your lips.

Still on your knees, you slowly straightened up and reached behind your back, fingers deftly untying the knot of your bikini top. With a small motion, you let it slip off your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts to him.

Bob’s jaw literally dropped. His eyes widened and locked on you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands dug into the mattress, and through his swim trunks, you could see the very visible twitch of his hard-on as it reacted to the sight.

He wanted to touch you so badly. You could see it. The craving in his eyes. But he still held back, being a gentleman, respecting your pace, refusing to make a move without permission.

“Wanna touch?” you asked, tilting your head and giving him a knowing smirk.

His face lit up like you’d just handed him the keys to heaven. He nodded eagerly, licking his lips, his hands already twitching to move. He slowly reached out but paused again, eyes flicking to yours, searching for that last bit of reassurance.

You gave him a small nod.

And then he touched you.

Gently, reverently, like you were something sacred. His hands cupped your breasts with a mixture of awe and need, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. His touch was warm, tender—curious yet careful.

He didn’t grope. He explored. Played. Worshipped. One hand cradled the underside while the other traced slow circles around your nipple, sending delicious shivers down your spine. He was in heaven, and judging by the way his breath caught every time you so much as sighed, he wanted you to feel that same bliss too.

Bob looked up at you, his hands still cradling your breasts as if he were holding something fragile and precious. Then his gaze flicked to your face, a bit hesitant.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, voice low and tender.

You smiled, nodding, and that smile alone seemed to ease something in him. You weren’t just okay—you were glowing. It felt good, the way his fingers explored you with such care, and the look in his eyes made it all the more intense.

And it definitely did something to him. You could tell from the way his chest rose with every breath, how his eyes occasionally fluttered shut like he was overwhelmed. Still, after a moment, he pulled his hands away, clearly not wanting to get too carried away without your lead.

You leaned in again and kissed him.

It was slower, deeper. Your hands roamed his body, savoring the shape of him, the tension in his muscles, the way he melted under your touch. His hands were verywhere. Moving over your back, your hips, your sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body.

But you remained on your knees, just slightly lower than him, even as the kiss grew hotter.

Then one of your hands started to travel—leaving his neck, gliding down over his chest, his stomach, until it reached the waistband of his swim trunks. You paused there. Not moving or rushing. You stopped kissing him and looked up at his face.

Bob’s eyes followed your hand, then quickly returned to yours. There was a storm behind those eyes—desire, definitely, but also uncertainty.

You gave him a slow, sultry smile, tilting your head ever so slightly as if to say, It’s okay. I want this too. He exhaled shakily, his lips parting, and after a moment, he nodded.

With the same care he’d shown you earlier, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and began to pull them down. Painfully slow. Your eyes never left his face, watching his expression shift—excitement, nervousness, and that unmistakable tension of anticipation.

As the fabric slid down his thighs and hit the ground, your breath caught audibly. You gasped so loud that even Bob flinched a little, startled. You hadn’t expected… that.

There it was—thick, veined, heavy, and already so hard it twitched in the cool air. The way it stood against his toned stomach, pulsing gently, made your pulse echo right along with it.

You couldn’t help but whisper in disbelief, “And you’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

Bob let out an awkward little laugh, clearly flustered. His cheeks flushed deep red, not just from arousal, but from your stunned compliment. He looked away for a second, bashful, and mumbled something incoherent.

Carefully, you reached out and brushed your fingers against him. The moment your skin made contact, his body jolted, just a little, and he let out the softest whimper, almost a sigh.

You looked up again, eyes wide and a little wicked, and bit your bottom lip.

Slowly, your hand began to move, gentle at first, as though you were still getting to know this part of him. He trembled beneath your touch, trying to stay quiet, but his hips shifted involuntarily, betraying how sensitive he was.

His hand gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles pale. He was trying so hard not to make a sound—to keep still so he wouldn’t wake the girls in the next room—but you weren’t making that easy.

The pressure, the rhythm… it was enough to undo him. But then, before he could fully process what was happening, you leaned forward and kissed the tip. Bob let out a strangled sound and tensed, as if his whole body was about to short-circuit.

You looked up at him, holding eye contact the entire time. At first, you were teasing—pressing soft kisses to the sensitive head, letting your tongue glide around it lazily, deliberately. His thighs trembled. He bit down on his lip so hard it turned white.

Then you got more serious.

You took him in slowly, still holding his gaze. Bob’s lips parted, his eyes fluttering half-shut, and a shaky breath escaped him like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. His entire body tensed as if overwhelmed by the sensation.

He tried to stay quiet, tried to keep his hips still, but sometimes his body moved on its own, bucking up just slightly, and he immediately muttered a breathless apology every time it happened.

You didn’t rush. You let the anticipation burn slowly, letting him feel everything.

“God—” he whispered under his breath, hips twitching slightly, and then—“I’m sorry,” he added instantly, as if ashamed of reacting too strongly. You didn’t mind. In fact, it made your heart race.

The way he melted for you, how his body surrendered so easily, he wasn’t trying to be dominant or in control. He wasn’t trying to hide how much it affected him. And that vulnerability? It was intoxicating.

You could hear how much it meant to him in every breathy sound, every shaky exhale, every stifled moan. He whimpered again, high and desperate, and the sound echoed in your mind like a reward.

His fingers were digging into the mattress, every muscle tight with restraint. He whimpered again, soft and broken, and your innocent gaze stayed locked on his, only intensifying everything he felt.

Then slowly, deliberately, you reached up and took his hand—guiding it to your head. He hesitated at first, breath shaky, eyes wide with uncertainty. But you gave him a sweet calm look that said it’s okay. That you trusted him. That he could touch.

His hand accidentally tangled in your hair, gripping a bit too tight, and when he realized, he gasped and immediately loosened his fingers.

“Shit—I’m sorry—are you okay?” he stammered, guilt flashing in his eyes.

You looked up at him again, lips still wrapped around him, and gave the tiniest nod, reassuring him you were fine. More than fine. You loved seeing him like this. Raw, undone, his tough exterior peeling away one soft moan at a time.

And it hit you, too. That fluttering heat in your chest. That ache between your legs. The feeling of being wanted this much. Of making someone feel this good. His reactions lit a fire inside you. Every twitch of his thighs, every tremor in his voice—it all made you feel powerful and delicate at the same time.

Bob’s hands were restless now. One gripped the sheets, the other hovered near your head again, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch. You leaned into it, and he gently threaded his fingers through your hair, this time softer, more reverent. But his voice was breaking. Little, helpless gasps.

Whispers of your name.

And once or twice—a shaky, choked-off moan that sounded like he might cry if you kept going. But you didn’t stop. Not yet.

Because the way he trembled under you, the way his stomach clenched and his legs shifted, the way he sounded like he was falling apart, that was everything.

Bob was right on the edge, his whole body was trembling, his hands clenching the sheets like he was holding on for dear life. And when he finally came, gasping your name like a whispered prayer, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed with him. Took everything he gave you.

He let out a sound somewhere between a cry and a moan, overwhelmed beyond words, his hips twitching from overstimulation as you gently helped him through the last waves. You even cleaned the rest of him up with soft, careful kisses, and that alone nearly made him whimper again.

“Jesus…” he breathed out, barely able to speak, a hand running through his tousled hair as he looked down at you with wide, dazed eyes. “I– I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, surprised. “What for?”

His voice was small. Fragile. “For… everything? For that being too fast? For—” he swallowed, looking embarrassed, “—for not lasting longer. I didn’t mean to be so…”

You climbed up to him and silenced him with a kiss. Not hurried, not demanding, just soft. Tender. Full of comfort.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs stroking his flushed skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling good,” you whispered against his lips. “That was perfect.”

His eyes closed, his breath catching. He looked like he might cry for a whole different reason now.

You gently straddled his waist, not quite there yet, but close enough that the shift in energy was obvious. Your thighs pressing lightly against his sides, his hands flew instinctively to your hips. Not in a needy grip, but gentle, hesitant. Your body was warm and ready, and you were preparing to fully connect, but before you could guide him further, Bob stopped you.

“Wait,” he whispered, voice still hoarse.

You paused, blinking down at him, your brows gently furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes met yours, and something was different. The nervousness that had clouded his gaze earlier was gone. What replaced it was soft but firm, confidence built not from ego, but devotion.

“I want to take care of you now,” he said.

A small smile curved your lips, your heart skipping a beat at how genuine he sounded. “You don’t have to, really—”

But Bob shook his head. “No. I want to. I need to.”

There was something so deeply sincere in his voice it made your chest ache.

You gave him a soft nod, and he smiled, one of those rare, crooked, bashful smiles that melted you inside. Then, with gentle hands, he shifted you. Slowly, carefully, he rolled your body so you lay on your back in the center of the bed, like he was positioning you at the heart of a sacred space. His arms hovered around you, cradling your movement so you never felt dropped, never out of control.

He knelt between your legs, just watching you for a moment. You were laid out beneath him, chest rising and falling, hair fanned out across the pillow. He looked awestruck.

His hand came to your side. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, lips parted, your voice caught somewhere between breath and heartbeat. “Yes.”

His hand slid up along your ribcage, following the natural shape of you with reverence. He wasn’t just touching—he was memorizing. Like every inch of your skin mattered. Like you were art.

He kissed you again, slow, coaxing, warm. And as the kiss deepened, he murmured against your lips: “Can I take these off?”

His fingers were resting lightly at the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms.

You nodded. “Please.”

Bob peeled the fabric down slowly, as if every inch was a treasure to be revealed, not a secret to be rushed. His eyes never left your body, and his hands trembled just a little.

Once the swimsuit was off, he let his fingers trace lightly along your inner thighs, but never without looking up at you first.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his breath brushing over your bare skin.

You nodded again, heart pounding. “Yes.”

And then he lowered his mouth to you.

The moment his lips met your most sensitive spot, your whole body arched. But it wasn’t just the touch—it was the tenderness, the intention. Bob wasn’t careless or clumsy. He listened. He adjusted every motion based on how you sighed, how your breath caught, how your fingers curled in the sheets.

His movements were soft, exploring. He let his tongue move in long, unhurried strokes, drawing out your reactions—your sighs, your tiny gasps, the way your fingers curled into the sheets. You felt your body start to unravel under the attention, your hips shifting instinctively, needing more.

His hands held your thighs, steadying you but never trapping you. He let you move against him. Let you guide him with nothing more than the sound of your breath. His tongue moved slow, experimental, reverent. And as he began to read your body, he grew more confident.

Every flick, every gentle suck, was delivered with the knowledge that he was giving you pleasure, not taking it. He wasn’t doing this to prove something. He was doing it because he wanted to worship you.

“God, Bob…” you whispered, voice cracking as your fingers found his hair.

He hummed at the sound, and the vibration sent another shiver racing through you.

He learned quickly. How you liked it slower, how a certain flick of his tongue made your whole body twitch. How your voice caught every time he sucked softly at just the right spot.

“Yes… yes—so good,” you breathed, your hips moving almost without permission.

The way he reacted to your pleasure, how eager he was to see you fall apart, made everything more intense. He was moaning softly too, like just tasting you made him dizzy with need. He liked knowing you wanted him there. That you trusted him there. He never once looked away from you, not even when he grew bolder, more confident.

He explored every inch of you with his mouth like you were something to be adored, not conquered. And every sound you made, every shiver in your body, only spurred him on.

Your breath started to catch, your thighs tightening around his shoulders as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter. He felt it. Saw it. Knew it.

And he didn’t let up.

His hands squeezed your hips gently, anchoring you as he focused entirely on giving you what you needed. He stayed right there, lips and tongue working with delicious rhythm, sending shockwaves through you with every stroke.

You were close. So close it scared you.

“Bob,” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. He wanted this for you.

The wave crashed over you so suddenly, so completely, it stole the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you came—shaking, pulsing, everything unraveling under his touch.

Bob held you through it. Never pulling away, never letting you feel alone. Even as you trembled and gasped and whimpered his name, he stayed with you, riding the waves with the same quiet patience he always gave you.

And only when your body finally relaxed, chest heaving and limbs limp, did he slowly lift his head.

His mouth was glistening, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and shining. And when he saw you looking at him, completely undone and breathless, he smiled the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing along your thigh. You nodded, dazed and glowing, trying to catch your breath.

Bob slowly crawled back up your body, leaving a warm trail of kisses across your skin. He moved as if afraid to disturb the peace settling over you, like he was returning to you from a place of worship. When his face hovered above yours, he looked into your eyes for a long, quiet moment.

Then he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

His hand came up to your hair, brushing it back with slow fingers, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Your heart squeezed.

You reached up to cup his face and pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss—sweet at first, but quickly deepening. The electricity between you hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger now that there was nothing between you but skin and trust.

Still breathless, you moved, shifting your hips just enough to push him onto his back. He let out a surprised little laugh as you rolled with him, your bodies twisting together until you were on top of him, straddling his hips. The heat between you flared instantly.

He looked up at you with wide, reverent eyes, his hands resting gently on your waist as if asking silently for permission to hold you there.

You leaned down and kissed him again—slow, deep, melting into each other with every heartbeat. Your fingers ran along his chest, down his sides, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his body. You could feel him against you, hard and throbbing, and it sent shivers down your spine.

This was it. The moment you’d both been tiptoeing toward.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Are you ready?” you whispered.

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Only if you are.”

“I am,” you said softly, and meant every word.

Your hand found him again, guiding him with care, your breath hitching as the tip pressed against you. You moved slowly, lowering yourself with a careful rhythm, taking him in inch by inch. Both of you gasped—Bob’s hands gripped your hips tightly, trying not to buck up into you.

The stretch made your whole body burn, but it was a sweet, full ache, one that had been building from the first time he looked at you like you were the sun.

Once he was fully inside, you stilled, letting your body adjust, both of you panting softly. Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his jaw clenched, as if overwhelmed by how deep it all felt—emotionally and physically.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your hands braced against his chest, your body trembling slightly. “You feel… amazing.”

A shaky laugh left his throat. “So do you. God, so do you.”

You started to move—slow, steady, your bodies learning each other. Every thrust, every sigh, every soft gasp between kisses told its own story. It wasn’t just sex. It was connection. It was trust. It was two people baring everything, souls and skin, just to be close.

You moved together in perfect rhythm, hips rising and falling in sync, his hands mapping your body like he never wanted to forget a single inch. And with every moan, every whispered name, every breath you shared, love wrapped tighter and tighter around you both.

Your rhythm picked up—slow and deep giving way to something needier, hungrier. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, breaths turning to gasps, gasps to moans. The sounds of skin against skin, the creaking of the mattress beneath you, the soft rustle of sheets, it all blended into a symphony of desire that filled the space around you like firelight.

Bob’s hands roamed your back, your hips, your thighs—desperate to hold you, ground you, memorize you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were glowing. You were everything.

And then he sat up, his arms wrapping around you as you stayed straddled on his lap. Your chest pressed tightly against his, your lips meeting his in a fevered kiss. He held you there, anchored you to him like he was terrified of letting you go.

You clung to him just as tightly.

Your mouths moved together like you were breathing the same air. His tongue tangled with yours, his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you even closer. But then his grip on your waist tightened.

Hard.

You gasped softly at the pressure, your hips pausing. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead still resting against his, trying to catch your breath. And that’s when you saw it.

For a split second, just a flash, his eyes glowed. Golden. Not metaphorically, a actually glowing. And then it was gone. Blink, and you might’ve thought you imagined it. But you didn’t.

Bob froze. His arms loosened immediately, and panic flooded his face. “Shit—did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I just—”

“Hey,” you said gently, your hands coming to rest on either side of his face. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He was breathing fast, his brows drawn tight, clearly shaken by the moment. “I felt something… I didn’t mean to grip you that hard.”

You nodded slowly. “It's okay.”

He winced. “I- I'm sorry, I don’t want to scare you, or—God—I don’t want to lose control around you.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his again. “You didn’t scare me, Bob. You trusting me with that… it means more than I can say.”

His breath hitched and before he could say anything else, you kissed him again, before guiding his hands back to your waist. This time, his grip was steady. Gentle. Confident.

And then you moved again.

The pleasure hit like a wave crashing into shore, harder than before, deeper. His hands gripped you tighter, not in fear this time, but in raw need, in love, in reverence.

You kissed his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, whispering his name like a prayer.

You rocked against him, and he met every motion, your bodies tangled in something that went beyond skin and muscle, it was soul-deep. The sounds coming from him, breathy moans, quiet whimpers, your name, drove you wild.

And then it happened. You felt your climax building again, hot and fast and unstoppable.

“Bob,” you gasped, nails digging gently into his back.

He was right there with you, sweat beading at his brow, jaw tight, voice strained. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” you breathed.

You crashed into release together—messy, overwhelming. You held each other through it, limbs trembling, lips finding each other again and again, clinging to the moment like it was all you’d ever need.

You collapsed against his chest, your limbs heavy and warm, your cheek pressing into the sweat-slick skin of his shoulder. Both of you were still catching your breath, chests rising and falling rapidly in sync. His arms wrapped around you protectively, and you let yourself sink into him, feeling completely safe and full.

There was a moment of perfect silence, just the sound of breathing, soft and human and real.

Then you shifted slightly, curling up beside him and resting your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, still racing, but slowly calming beneath your ear.

You smiled lazily. “Okay… serious question.”

Bob tilted his head to look at you, already smiling like a complete goof. “Shoot.”

You looked up at him with narrowed, mock-suspicious eyes. “Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?”

Immediately, Bob’s face flushed. He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked. “I—uh—I watched a couple things.”

You squinted. “What kind of ‘things,’ Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “Just like—like, y’know. Tutorials.”

You pulled back, eyebrows rising. “You watched porn?!”

Bob’s entire face turned bright red. “No! I mean—it was educational! There were diagrams!”

You blinked. “There were diagrams in your porn?”

He let out a strangled sound and covered his face with his hands. “Okay, I regret everything.”

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet room. “Bob Reynolds, you little nerd.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, totally mortified but smiling. “I just wanted to be good at it. For you.”

You leaned in and kissed him sweetly. “You were.”

A comfortable silence settled over you again, warm and soft like a blanket. You traced idle shapes on his chest with your fingertips, still smiling, still glowing.

Then Bob’s voice broke the quiet, a little more cautious this time. “Hey… do you… remember the volleyball game? When I kinda bailed and told you not to come?”

You glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. “Well… I sorta… had a situation. In my swim trunks.” He exhaled, long and painful.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “You got a boner?!”

Bob winced, covering his face again. “I’m sorry! It just—happened! You were in that swimsuit and laughing and I don’t know, my brain just… betrayed me!”

You were quiet for a moment. Not judging. Not laughing. Just watching him squirm. Then you reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Bob.”

He looked at you through his fingers again, completely sheepish.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s totally normal.”

His eyes widened a little. “It is?”

You nodded. “Yeah…and honestly, kind of sweet.“ You smiled teasingly. He laughed, relieved, and pulled you close again, resting his chin on top of your head. “God, I like you so much.”

You nestled into him, your fingers laced together on his chest. “Good. Because I really, really like you back.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, tangled together, breathing slower now, hearts lighter. The night was quiet, soft, and full of something that felt a lot like the start of forever.

The golden morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, dancing lazily over tangled limbs and a rumpled blanket. You and Bob were still wrapped around each other—bare skin against bare skin, your head on his chest, his arm draped protectively over you. Your legs tangled, breaths slow, hearts steady.

A knock. Sharp. Three times.

“Hey, you coming to breakfast or are you dead?” Yelena’s voice chirped from behind the door.

Your eyes snapped open in panic. You bolted upright under the blanket, your heart immediately in your throat. Bob groaned quietly, still groggy, eyes not fully open yet.

You whispered, “What time is it?!” your voice barely audible and full of dread.

Bob blinked, looked around helplessly, and shrugged. “I—uh… no clue.”

You covered your face with both hands. “We’re dead. We’re actually dead.”

Yelena knocked again, softer this time. “We're going now, just letting you know.”

You scrambled to respond, “Yeah! I’ll be there! In a sec!”

Bob turned to you, now slowly realizing the situation. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing faint marks from your mouth the night before.

You stared at him. “We need to get dressed. Now.”

It was mayhem. You both jumped out of bed, frantically looking for clothes. You grabbed your swimsuit top, which had ended up halfway across the room, and pulled on a hoodie over it. Bob, on the other hand, was still stumbling, holding only his swim trunks in one hand, his shirt nowhere to be found.

“You can’t go out the door!” you hissed. “Someone could see you!”

“Then what do I do?!”

You gestured to the window. “Jump out.”

“Are you serious?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. You’re a superhero. I think you can survive this.”

He groaned dramatically, pulled on his swim trunks and shirt, then paused before the window. You rushed over, stood on your tiptoes, and gave him a rushed, smiling kiss. “Go. Before someone sees you.”

He opened the window, one leg already out, then looked back with a crooked grin. “You’re chaos.”

You grinned. “You love it.”

With that, he slipped out and disappeared into the early morning light.

Later that morning, everyone gathered at a nearby rustic café for breakfast. You sat at a corner table, sipping coffee, trying not to look suspicious. Yelena sat beside you. Bob was diagonally across, seated next to John. The chatter around the table was casual—about the lake, someone’s forgotten towel, who burned marshmallows last night.

You and Bob exchanged occasional, brief glances. Not long. Just enough to pass a message between you. A silent, thrilling electricity. You could still feel the echo of last night under your skin, and judging by the way Bob nervously rubbed the back of his neck, so could he.

“Dude…” John leaned closer to Bob, squinting. “What the hell happened to your neck?”

Bob blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve got like, bruises or something. All over here.” He pointed.

Bob’s brows furrowed and instinctively reached for the spot. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, clearly unaware. Your fork froze mid-air. You looked straight down at your plate. Yelena turned to you. Her eyes widened slowly. Then, lips barely moving, she mouthed with a dramatic grin:

“You. Fucked. Bob.”

You nearly inhaled your scrambled eggs. Your face heated like wildfire. You avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Bob’s. Meanwhile, Bob was trying to deflect. “Maybe I slept weird or—uh—bug bites?”

“Mmhmm,” John muttered, unconvinced.

You dared a glance at Bob. And that was it—your eyes met, and he knew. His brows lifted just slightly. His lips parted. You both quickly looked away.

Yelena leaned into closer to you and whispered, “I knew it. I heard really weird noises last night.” “Yelena, shut up.” She just chuckled into her cup of tea.

As the conversation drifted elsewhere, your face still radiated heat. Across the table, Bob leaned his elbow against the table and rested his cheek on his hand, sneaking one last look at you. You caught it—and gave him the tiniest smile.

This week was going to be… very interesting.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY,

BYEEE📙🦋

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNDONE

A/N: i've started like 3 wips these past weeks but finally finished one! so here is some boss!harry for you, let me know if you want more of it, bc i feel like i could def add to this story!

WORD COUNT: 8.1k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry is obsessed with Y/N. The only problem is that he is her boss, so he keeps this obsession to himself. But everything changes after one drunken night.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has a love-hate relationship with the glass-walled meeting rooms in the office. Aesthetically they are bringing that well-known, usual vibe of every corporate office, nothing new, nothing unusual. Often, he is irritated that people tend to peek inside as they walk past towards the coffee machine or the restroom. He knows it’s second nature, they don’t necessarily try to intrude, but it tends to frustrate him when he is in the middle of a meeting and a random guy is just staring him down from outside. He tried to get the glass covered, but HR declined, they said something about transparency that just pissed Harry off even more, then he just gave up.

But lately, there’s been an advantage of those see-through dividers, because if people from outside can see in, that means Harry can see everything and everyone outside.

Like right now, as he is sitting by the oval table, laptop in front of him while the lawyers are talking about all the legal documents that are needed for their next deal, it’s an important step and Harry is usually great at focusing on what matters, but today his attention is somewhere else.

Outside of the meeting room, right by Y/N’s desk. 

She is the latest addition in the department, a talented analyst who joined a little over three months ago. Harry knows she is great, because he was there at her interview. He is usually not one to attend interviews, but the hiring manager got sick and they needed someone from management to be there as well and Harry had a spare hour he wanted to use to get a little ahead on that tender he’d been working on, but that got thrown right out the window. 

It was the last thing he wanted to do, listen to some random analyst who probably never even saw a DWH system, they always think they are qualified to deal with anything, but then they see just how much data they need to work with and then freak out. Harry was convinced it would happen that time too, but he was wrong.

Y/N walked in there, seemingly nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan, looking like a frightened little rabbit, so innocent, so sweet, something surprising happened. 

Harry was in awe. 

He found himself being drawn towards her, interested in how she’d perform at the interview. He kept a straight face as the recruiter beside him asked her some basic questions and then he took over for the professional part. 

He gave her his hardest questions, things even seniors might not know, he quizzed her about topics that are way too specific to work around and… she excelled. She couldn’t answer every question, but she worked up a logic she would use to at least try to tackle the matter and Harry knew she would succeed if she had the right materials. 

She blew his mind away. Once she left, he turned to the recruiter and said:

“I want her. Get her to start next week.”

And she did. Next monday, she was holding her onboarding package, eyes bright as she got seated at her desk, ready to start working. 

Now she is sitting at the same spot, wearing her blue light glasses, her eyebrows slightly furrowed behind them as she is working on something on her computer. She is wearing a long sundress today with a yellow cardigan to cover her shoulders. Harry has noted her colorful outfits every morning when she strolled into the office, brightening the otherwise dull atmosphere. It’s a whole floor full of developers, analysts and other IT professionals, they are not known for their exquisite fashion taste, but Y/N is different. Her wardrobe is full of colors and pieces others wouldn’t consider as business casual, but somehow she always makes it work. 

She is the kind of person that has a nice word for everyone, she often brings coffee to Linda, whose desk is across from hers and they usually have lunch together, Harry has noted. She is always happy to help others, she is great at seeing problems differently and quick to come up with solutions. She is definitely a favorite among her colleagues.

Unlike Harry.

Not that he wants to be liked, he is head of IT, he needs to lead, keep everything under control and make hard decisions. He is not stupid, Harry knows most people in the department fear him, he is not known for being friendly and chatty. He usually has so much work he doesn’t have time left to get a coffee with anyone, not that he would have anyone to invite. He is the gruff boss who is always busy and people try not to cross paths with. 

He doesn’t mind it. He likes to be focused on his work and most people don’t realize how hard it is to be the one to decide about budget cuts, downsizing and restructuring, because they don’t see what goes down behind these decisions, they just want to blame someone and that’s usually him. They don’t want to be friends with the big boss who fired their work bestie, even if it was a known fact they never did their job.

It was never an issue for him how his employees saw him. Until her. 

Someone stops by Y/N’s desk and he watches her face light up as she gives them her attention. He can’t hear what she is saying, but when she laughs, it rings in his ears. He loves hearing her laugh.

“So what do you think?” one of the lawyers asks him and he snaps back, realizing he has no idea what they were talking about in the last five minutes. He quickly looks down at his notes so far, but there’s no use. 

“Uh, I’ll leave it to you. I have to go now, do you think you can have everything set by the end of next week? We need it for the next sprint.”

“Sure,” the guy nods, his name is something with a J, but Harry can’t remember what it is. 

He is relieved that he could dodge admitting he has no idea what was talked about, shutting his laptop he murmurs a thank you for the group and he is the first one to walk out of the room, heading towards his office. 

Y/N is not at her desk when he walks past and he looks for her, hoping he is not too obvious, but he sees no trace of her. Is she having coffee with that guy who walked up to her desk? Are they planning something outside of work? Does he want to date her?

Harry’s thoughts are racing as he closes the door behind him, shutting out the general buzz of the open office outside. With a sigh, he sits down in his chair, places his laptop onto the desk, but leaves it unopened for a bit as he rubs his face with his hands. 

He always has control. He plans and keeps himself to his plan, he gathers data, analyses and then makes a new plan. Easy as it is. This is why he likes his job, IT is usually exact, the problem might be deeply hidden, but it’s always exact, he just needs to find the data.

But he’s been feeling chaotic lately. He is disoriented, can’t focus at meetings and finds himself thinking about her when he is supposed to be working. He just can’t help it. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, then rolls his head, his neck cracks and he lets out a groan before opening his laptop and trying his best to get back to working. The code opens in front of him and he focuses on the lines he’s been trying to rewrite, but right when he is about to start typing, there’s a knock on his door. For a second, he feels irritated that he was interrupted again, but then he looks past the screen and sees her.

Harry nods and Y/N walks through the glass door, holding her laptop to her chest, smiling shyly. Harry likes to think that this smile is for him only, that he is the reason to bring it to her lips, though he doubts he has such an effect on her. But still, it’s a nice thought. 

“Hey,” he greets her as she crosses the room and sits across from him. 

“Hi. Am I disturbing you?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“I finished those tables you asked for yesterday, but I wanted to run a few things with you.”

“You… finished?” he asks as Y/N unfolds her laptop, nodding. 

“Yeah.” She places the laptop onto his desk and he leans closer, focusing on the screen as Y/N explains what she found unclear, but Harry is still stunned when she is done talking.

“Is it… Is it bad? Not what you thought of?” she asks, seeing his face.

“No, it’s… Y/N, you did this all by yourself?”

“Yes?” Her answer sounds unsure and panic settles in her visibly. “I-I’m sorry if it’s–”

“Y/N, this is brilliant.”

She is taken aback by his compliment, it wasn’t the first time, but it feels like a gift every time for her. 

“It is?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t doubt you could do it, but I didn’t think it would turn out this great and you also finished so fast, I thought it would take you the entire week at least.”

“Well… I did stay in a little longer last night,” she admits with a soft chuckle and it tugs on his chest right away. He looks at her over the desk, their eyes meet and for a second, warmth spreads through his veins as he fights the urge to reach out and touch her. 

Clearing his throat he leans back in his chair.

“Send it over, I’ll leave comments on those sections and then you can start the migration.”

“Thank you,” she nods, taking her laptop and heading to the door.

“And well done, Y/N,” he calls after her. She just nods and smiles at him before walking out. 

Harry watches her return to her desk, takes some deep breaths and forces himself to return to the code on his own computer. 

***

Linda wiggles her eyebrows at Y/N once she is sat at her desk. 

“Did you two eye-fuck again?” she asks and Y/N gapes at her, quickly looking around to see if anyone heard her, but luckily, everyone is too busy.

“Linda! That’s–We don’t do that.”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, twirling her pen around between her fingers. 

“We just went over the tables. He said I did a good job.” She shrugs, but Linda doesn’t miss how the corners of her mouth curl up, though she tries to hide it. 

“You do realize you’re the only one in this whole department he has ever complimented, right?”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. Zach go the best reaction from him last spring, when he spent two weeks refactoring a fucked up code, Harry said it was acceptable. That’s all. The fact that he said you did a good job is just another proof that he is into you.”

“Would you stop talking about the head of IT being into me?” Y/N hisses. “Come on, let’s get a coffee before you start screaming it.”

They go down a floor where the coffee station has better options and once they both have a mug full of coffee, they settle by a high table in the common area. 

“I have a confession to make,” Y/N admits, but avoids looking her in the eyes. “Okay, go for it.”

“I’m meeting Archer today.”

“Y/N! Not your fucking ex! Why?!” Linda gasps. “Do you really hate yourself that much?”

“I don’t hate myself,” she gives her a look, before returning her gaze to her mug. “He texted me the other day.”

“And you texted him back?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Boo! You should have blocked his number a long time ago!”

Y/N has thought about that. A lot. Her asshole ex has come back a couple of times since they broke up about a year ago, they shared one or two nights, but it always ended with him disappearing and leaving her shattered. His comebacks slowed down the process of getting over him a lot and though she feels like she is finally okay, she couldn’t just ignore his text.

“That’s not like me,” she shrugs, ignoring the thought that she knows Linda is right. 

“Hun, what do you think will happen today that hasn’t happened before?”

The question stings, right in her chest, because she knows it’s true. Her logical side knows Archer won’t just magically apologize for the way he treated her, even though it’s the only thing she wants from him at this point. To admit that he was in the wrong. 

“We’ll talk. That’s it.”

“Please don’t sleep with him,” Linda sighs desperately. “He doesn’t deserve your time.”

“I won’t,” she says, though she is not entirely certain it’s the truth. 

“Uh-huh, okay.” Linda checks the time on her phone. “I gotta go, I have a meeting in ten.”

“I’m coming too, I have a lot to do.”

Grabbing their mugs they head out of the common area, back to the upper floor. 

***

Harry didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He is the last person to be interested in anyone’s private life in the office. 

But when he heard Y/N’s voice as he was about to walk into the room, he stopped and hid behind the wall, listening to a conversation that was truly not meant for his ears. 

Hearing the two women talk about Y/N’s ex has ignited something new in him, especially when it became clear that he has hurt her in the past. Harry is not one to become violent, he channels all his tendencies in the gym while boxing, but from what he heard of the guy, he would have gladly punched him in the face. A few times.

Maybe more than a few.

The short conversation tickled his curiosity about what happened, but when he heard that they were about to leave, he quickly walked away so they didn’t see him. 

Now as he is back by his desk he can’t focus on the code in front of him at all, his thoughts are only about this mysterious ex Y/N is apparently meeting today. At one point, he even considers giving her some extra work to keep her in late and preferably miss the meeting, but that would be too petty even for him. Instead, he spends the next hour pretending to work while he just keeps fantasizing about different scenarios of what happened between Y/N and the guy. 

Slowly, the office starts to empty out as the end of the day nears. Desks get abandoned, lights are turned off and Harry is still there, since he barely got anything done that day. 

He sees when Y/N packs up her stuff and leaves and his jaw almost breaks as he holds himself still and just watches her walk out. 

“I’m fucking insane,” he mumbles under his breath, willing himself to do some work now that he can’t get distracted by Y/N every time she leaves her desk. 

It’s all new to him. This obsession he’s been feeling since the moment he saw Y/N at the interview. An invisible string has been pulling him towards her and it’s unlike anything he has felt with his exes before. 

He wasn’t obsessed. He didn’t think of them all the time. He didn’t lose focus when he was seeing someone. But with Y/N, he is losing his precious control and it’s almost scary. 

He finally manages to lock in for some work and time flies by. Next time he looks up from his screen the whole office is empty, only his desk lamp giving light and the green haze of the exit signs. It’s past nine and he can hear the cleaner vacuuming somewhere on the floor, so with a tired smile he shuts his computer off, gathers his things and heads out. 

He moved less than a year ago and the place he bought is within walking distance of the office. He knows it might have been a stupid idea to get a place just because it’s close to his working place, he probably won’t work there his whole life, but he doesn’t see himself switching for a long time, so it’s convenient. 

With his backpack hanging off one shoulder he steps out into the warm evening, the afternoon rush is over, now the nearby bars and restaurants are full of workers desperately needing to let some steam off before heading home. 

There’s a small park he walks through before reaching his street and it has always been dear to him, a nice change in the scenery of concrete and glass in the middle of the city. There’s even a small pond along the path that takes him across the park with benches and a handful of ducks are usually circling in the water peacefully. 

Older people from around like to come here and sit or take a short walk and they are the only people Harry likes to watch. He admires their slow pace, no rush, just enjoying what they have, a state he dreams of reaching too. 

Tonight, as he passes by the pond his eyes spot a familiar figure sitting on one of the benches. He stops in his tracks, questioning if his sight is right, because the person sitting there with her head hanging low looks just like Y/N. As he slowly approaches he notices the soft shaking of her shoulders.

She’s crying. 

***

Y/N has been sitting on that bench for… God knows how long. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. She was planning to cry her eyes out at once, then move on by the time she gets home, but apparently, she needs more time to get herself over than she estimated. This spot seemed like a great one, it’s far enough from the lights so people don’t notice she is crying, but she definitely did not expect to be noticed by her boss.

“Y/N?”

Harry’s voice makes her jump and as her head snaps up, she finds herself staring up at the person she least expected to see. His eyebrows are furrowed, concern is written all over his face as he stands a few feet away from the bench, as if he can’t tell if it’s a good idea for him to get closer. 

“Oh, hi!” She quickly forces a smile on her face, but she knows she is fooling no one. She wipes her tear-soaked cheeks with the back of her hand and prays her mascara is not smudged all around her eyes in panda style. “What–What are you doing here?”

“I live nearby, I’m on my way home. What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I was just taking a walk and now I’m… not.”

Her brain does not function. She knows what she said didn’t make any sense, but she can’t think of something else to say. She is way too busy thinking about how Harry is standing right there just after her ex made her wait for him for an hour before texting her he is not coming and when she called him to confront, a woman answered his phone.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to draw the conclusions: Archer was only trying to hook up with her tonight, but apparently found someone else and ditched her. A classic move from an asshole like him, but that doesn’t make her feel less like shit. Mostly because she should have known better and not believe he would do anything other than hurting her. 

Harry just stands there for a few moments and Y/N is expecting him to walk away and pretend like he didn’t even see her, but he surprises her when he walks over to the bench and sits beside her. 

“Do you want to… talk about what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she answers right away, but when she looks at him, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe her. With a sigh, she turns her gaze back towards the pond. She is hesitating between keeping it all to herself or just dumping it on Harry and then deal with the consequences later, but right when she is about to make up her mind, he speaks up.

“Is this about… your ex-boyfriend?”

She turns to him with wide eyes. 

“How do you…”

A guilty look takes over his face before he shrugs.

“I heard you talking about him earlier. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“I shouldn’t talk so freely with Linda in the office,” she chuckles, shaking her head. They sit in silence, when Harry peeks at her she seems deep in her thoughts and he is desperate to get her to talk, but doesn’t want to push her too much. 

As a last resort, he says:

“Do you want to have a drink?”

***

The tequila is burning her throat, she can’t help the frown as she bites into the lemon. When she looks at Harry, she is not even surprised he has the same, unbothered look on his face he had after the previous two shots. 

“Uh, how are you taking it so well?” she coughs and then takes a sip from her beer. They were lucky enough to find a table at a bar nearby and she was quick to accept that maybe getting drunk is what she needs right now, even if the alarms are still going off somewhere in the back of her mind, because doing it with Harry might not be her brightest idea. 

“I guess I still have some left of my college years,” he shrugs and she starts laughing. 

“Don’t tell me you were a party animal in college,” she snorts. The three shots and half a beer has definitely set her tongue free and took away her sense of embarrassment after saying everything that’s on her mind. She will surely regret it in the morning, but right now she couldn’t care less.

Harry likes this version of her. She is always bubbly and talkative, but in his presence he often senses her nervousness. Now there’s no trace of that and he is sinking in every moment of it.

“What do you think I was like in college?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, the words slurring a bit on her tongue. “Like a… hot nerd?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her and she realizes only then that she just called him hot. 

“I-I mean… I don’t–What I meant is–”

“I was a nerd,” he says, saving her from her rambling. “I was in the robotics club, spent a lot of time in the library, trying to hack their system so I didn’t have to return some books I wanted to keep.”

She can’t help, but laugh as Harry is smiling at the memory as well.

“Did you succeed?”

“What do you think?”

“For sure.”

“Correct,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his beer. “But I went to parties. I had this friend group from highschool, some of them were friends with the popular kids so we were always invited.”

“I can’t picture you with a red solo cup, filled with cheap booze.”

“But it happened,” he chuckles. “Luckily, photos have been deleted from social media.”

“Did you wipe the internet?” she asks, leaning closer as if she was asking him about a secret.

“No, but I did message those who had the photos posted when I was getting higher in my career.”

“Clever,” she nods and grabbing her beer, she takes a few swigs. Then her smile fades. “Maybe I should tell you what happened, right?”

“Only if you want to.”

Sighing she leans back, pursing her lips as she squints her eyes, looking back at him. She can’t think straight. Her thoughts are jumping, one moment she is thinking about Archer, the next all her attention is on how plump his lips look when they are wet from the beer, or the way his top two buttons of his shirt have come undone and she is seeing fucking tattoos, along his collarbones. 

She wants to kiss them. 

“I was stupid enough to think that I matter to him and he wouldn’t… hurt me. But he did. That’s it, lesson learned.”

She would love to look unbothered, like it doesn’t affect her, but she can’t. Her throat is closing up and when Harry calls out her name softly, she looks up at him with tears in her eyes and wobbling lips. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying, I know. I’m sorry!”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry shakes his head, but it’s like she didn’t even hear him.

“I know it’s stupid, but I just thought it might be different this time, that he might apologize and I can finally… I don’t know.”

“It���s not stupid. It’s not. You’re allowed to hope, to want to be treated the right way.”

“But I should have learned my lesson before!”

“You could have, but it’s okay. You will now. You’re smart, smarter than you think. You’ll get over it, doesn’t matter how long it takes, you will get there. I know it.”

“How?” she asks in a whisper, unable to break the eye-contact. 

“I don’t know how you’ll do it, but–”

“No,” she shakes her head. “How do you know it?”

He slowly runs his tongue over his lips, thinking his words through before speaking them.

“I just do. Do you believe me?”

Without hesitation she nods.

“I do.”

***

“If someone said one day I would be waiting for an Uber with my boss, drunk out of my ass at two am, I would have laughed them in the face.”

Y/N is holding onto a lamp post with one hand, twirling around it like a little kid as Harry stands by the curb, one hand in his pocket, the other one holding his phone, tracking the Uber that’s supposed to pick Y/N up and take her home. He is watching her with a tiny smile, it’s great to see her so carefree after her breakdown earlier. 

“Which part is so unbelievable?” 

She stops and steps closer to him. She can’t stand still, keeps shifting her weight between her feet and Harry is on alert in case she loses her balance. 

“All of it,” she grins up at him, blinking lazily. “Except the drunk out of my ass. That happens sometimes.”

“Really?” 

“Ooh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Am I in trouble?”

“Because you get drunk sometimes? You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want.”

“Yeah, but… you’re my boss,” she giggles, then starts swaying as if she could hear some music. “It’s not professional to get drunk.”

“Not when you’re working. But you’re not at work right now.”

“Nope,” she shakes her head, popping the ‘p’ sound. “I’m on the street, with Harry Styles, after drinking with Harry Styles! And now I’m gonna go home in an Uber that Harry Styles ordered for me!”

“Are you enjoying saying my name?” he chuckles, glancing at his phone again, The car is five minutes away. He is already dreading the moment it arrives, because that means the night ends. But he knows she has to get home and sleep it off.

“I do,” she sings. “It has a nice ring to it. It’s a cool name for a cool guy.”

“Oh, so I’m cool?” He knows he shouldn’t take advantage of her drunken state and keep her talking, but he just can’t get himself to stop.

“Yeah. You’re cool and smart and scary sometimes and mysterious, but not tonight,” she giggles as she keeps swaying around, while Harry can’t take his eyes off her, not when she is talking about him. “People at the office are scared of you, but I think you’re great.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re amazing, I always look forward to seeing you. Sometimes I…” She giggles at whatever she is thinking about, completely oblivious at how intently Harry is listening to her. “Sometimes I ask you about things I know just so we can talk.” She shakes her head with a chuckle, but it’s enough for her to lose balance.

She gasps when she starts falling, but he is quick to grab her by her arms, yanking her towards him to keep her from smashing against the concrete. She is not laughing anymore, especially when she realizes that her chest is pressed against his, hands still holding her arms firmly. And his eyes are piercing into her gaze in a way that takes her breath away. 

“I love when you come asking questions,” he admits. “That’s usually my favorite part of the day.”

Her eyes widen at his words and when his gaze shifts down to her lips, they part as she gasps for air. Her chest presses even more against his as she fills her lungs and she feels even more dizzy now than before. 

“I want to kiss you.”

The words blurt out of her before she could think them through, unaware of the effect they have on Harry. His gaze darkens and it moves down at her lips again. But before he could say or do anything, the Uber pulls up beside them. 

Harry lets go of her, then opens the door.

“Get some sleep, Y/N. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She blinks at him a few times as he just stands there, waiting for her to get inside. She is confused. Drunk and tired and the longer she stays there the more awkward she feels, so she finally gets into the car, then Harry shuts the door and the car starts moving. 

Y/N turns around and sees him still standing there, hands in his pockets, his head hanging low. Then she slides down in the seat, closes her eyes and then replays those couple of moments when she was pressed up against him over and over again until the car stops at her apartment building. 

***

Sunday evening Y/N contemplates calling in sick. Preferably with something that keeps her away from the office… forever. 

Once she woke in the afternoon of Saturday, sobered up, with a killer headache, memories from last night came crashing down on her and the embarrassment took over instantly. She spent the rest of the weekend in agony, cursing herself out for being so stupid. 

Did she really tell her boss she wanted to kiss him?

Yes, she in fact did. After getting drunk with him, crying about her ex and telling him all kinds of stuff she never planned on admitting to him. Like that she finds him cool and smart and sometimes scary. 

But the kissing part is obviously the worst.

No matter how badly she dreads Monday morning, time doesn’t stop or slows down, the week starts and she has to go to work and face the consequences of her actions. 

Maybe Harry won’t be there. But he is always there. 

Maybe she can hide all day and avoid him… until the rest of her life or until she finds a new job. Very unlikely, but whatever. 

Her palms are sweating as she swipes her card at the gates and heads up to her floor. She’s getting paranoid, thinking that everyone in the elevator knows what happened on Friday, even though no one even bats an eye in her direction. 

Luckily, as she logs into her computer at her desk, work swamps her and provides enough distraction to stop her from throwing up when she sees Harry for the first time.

It seems like he is having a busy day too, he is in and out of meetings for the most part of the noon, she only sees him passing by or sitting in his office with his AirPods in, a sign that he is in an online meeting. But even when he is free for a short time, Y/N makes sure she avoids facing him. She even considers moving to another floor’s common room with her laptop for the day if it means she can survive without running into him and God forbid, talking to him. 

But then comes an email. 

It’s a bit after lunch time when it pops up in her inbox and her stomach drops to the floor right away when she sees it’s from Harry. Then another wave of anxiety washes over her when she reads it.

FROM: Harry Styles

Come to my office at your earliest convenience. -H

“Oh shit,” she mumbles under her breath and it catches Linda’s ears across from her, who gives her a questioning look. “Nothing.” She just shakes her head, grabs her laptop and then heads to Harry’s office with shaking knees. 

Is this the part where he tells her behavior was unacceptable? Did he maybe report her to HR for what she said?

She knocks on the door with a sweaty hand, Harry looks up from his screen with a blank face and nods at her to go inside. 

“Hey. I got your email.” She sounds like a frightened little girl as she closes the door behind her and stills, hugging her laptop to her chest. 

“Thanks for coming right away.”

Harry pushes his chair back lazily, stands and rounds the desk before leaning against it leisurely, his eyes glued to Y/N who is still standing by the door, too scared to go further. He doesn’t like the distance.

“Come, sit,” he nods towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

Obediently, she walks over and takes a seat, blinking up at him with wide eyes while he looks unbothered and almost… bored. He squints his eyes at her, tilting his head to the side a bit before finally speaking up. 

“Is there a specific reason why you’re avoiding me all day?”

Her lips part at his question and her first instinct is to deny.

“I-I’m not–”

“Y/N, you are. Normally, you would have already asked me at least two questions, but instead you walk out of the office every time I step out of mine. You are avoiding me.”

She shuts her mouth, trying to come up with something to say that could save her, but nothing comes to her mind. 

“I’m sorry.” Her gaze drops to the floor, his stare is too intense for her. “I’m so ashamed about… everything I said on Friday, I didn’t know how to face you. I said all that… inappropriate stuff you definitely shouldn’t have heard. like… ever. I’m sorry.”

“Y/N,” he softly says, but her gaze remains on her shoes. “Y/N, look at me, please.”

Finally, she dares to move her eyes back to meet his and then he continues… in the most surprising way.

“What I’m about to say, it’s going to be fully unrelated to work. Can you treat it as something outside of this setting?” Y/N nods. “Use your words, I need to hear you say it. Do you understand that this conversation is outside of work?”

“I understand,” she answers weakly, her mouth running dry. 

“Good.” He nods and then continues. “Do not feel sorry for anything you said. I’m glad I know all of that. The only downside of it is that now I need every ounce of self-control not to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you forget your own name.”

This time her mouth hangs open. For a moment she is not entirely convinced she hasn’t just imagined it all. That it wasn’t just her sick mind playing tricks on her. But then he speaks again.

“Did you hear what I said? That I want to fuck you into oblivion on this desk?”

“Yes,” she breathes out, trembling. 

“Good. Now I want you to go back to your desk and think it through whether you want that too or not. If you decide that you feel the same way, stay late and come back here when everyone is gone. Understood?”

“Yes.”

She feels dizzy, but not the same kind she felt on Friday, this is entirely different. Turning around she walks out of the room, but she’s on auto pilot as she returns to her desk. She leans back in her chair and slowly looks around.

No one in the room knows what just happened. Everyone is just minding their own business while Y/N is on the verge of fainting.

“You alright?” Linda peeks out from behind her screen with a concerned look on her face. “What did he want?”

If only she knew! Y/N thinks. She is dying to share, to take the whole conversation apart and analyze every bit, but she can’t. Instead, she forces a smile to her face.

“Just checked in with me about the migration.”

Linda examines her suspiciously for a second, but then her phone rings and she returns to her work while Y/N opens her laptop as well, but as she stares at the document in front of her she was working on before Harry’s email, she can’t even make out a word. 

Instead, she is busy thinking about what happens when the office empties out. 

***

Harry was dragged into some urgent issue sometime in the afternoon and it gave him enough work to take his attention away from prying outside, impatiently waiting for everyone to leave while making sure Y/N is still there. 

He answers one call after the other while emails keep popping into his inbox and he loses track of Y/N. When he finally drags his gaze away from the screen he looks up and finds the whole floor empty. All of it.

Meaning that Y/N left as well. Groaning he stands from his desk and walks over to the window, staring out into the night that has slowly creeped up on him. He truly thought she would stay. That she felt the same desire and thirst as him and she wants to explore whatever it could be, but maybe he read it all wrong. 

How will this affect their work? He should have thought of that before telling her he wants to fuck her on his desk. Who even does that? He is supposed to be her boss, her mentor, this was so incredibly inappropriate, he is thinking about reporting himself to HR and–

There’s a knock on his door. 

Turning around he freezes when he sees Y/N standing there with doe-like eyes and with just one look she is already making his pulse jump. He nods, barely noticeably, but she sees it and lets herself inside, closing the door behind her even though it’s truly just the two of them now. 

“Hey,” she sheepishly says, stopping exactly where she did earlier when he wrote her that email. This time however, Harry is the one to cross the room and then stop just inches away from her. She wonders if he could hear the wild hammering of her heart in her chest, the dizziness is back and she hides her hands behind her back so he doesn’t notice them shaking. 

“Did you think about what I said?”

Harry talks slowly and clearly and she couldn’t tell just moments ago he was freaking out too. But now that she’s there, every racing thought is gone from his mind, all he is thinking about is… her. 

“Yes.”

“And what’s your conclusion?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” There’s a tiny bit of sassiness in her tone, just enough to start a fire in him. 

She catches the way one corner of his lips curls up as he takes another small step towards her, his hands come up to cup her jaw on either side and he gently tilts her head back, angling it perfectly. Then slowly, he leans closer until his lips are almost touching hers, but then stops. As if he is giving one last chance for her to change her mind, but she is still there, waiting for him to finally break down the wall between them and he gives in. 

He lets his hunger take over instantly. There’s no testing the waters, feeling each other up, he kisses her in a demanding, needy way that takes her breath away at first, but she is quick to react the same way. 

Her hands move to his shirt, grabbing the fabric at his stomach while his hands are still holding onto her face, but then they slide down her sides, settle on the back of her thighs and she knows exactly what he wants her to do. So without breaking them apart, she jumps up, he catches her with ease as she wraps her legs around his waist and he blindly carries her to the small sofa by the wall. 

He sinks into the cushion and she straddles him, giving her a bit of advantage in height this way, so now he is the one to crane his neck while she is leaning down to meet him. 

It’s a mess, lip biting, tongues crashing, soft moans and grunts, his palms wander over his thighs and ass and then he sneakily peels her soft pink shirt out of her tight jeans so his hands can slip under the fabric and feel her heated skin. 

She is desperate to feel more, to ease the aching throbbing between her legs, so when she starts rolling her hips and grinding against his rapidly growing bulge, he can’t help the moan that slips out of his mouth, right into hers. 

His head drops to the back of the sofa and she takes the chance to kiss her way down the column of his neck. After dozens of fantasies doing the same thing during meetings, now she is finally tasting his skin, gently nibbling on a spot that has his hands grab onto her ass, pushing her even more into him. 

When their lips meet again her fingers dance down his chest, feeling up his abdomen through his shirt and then settle on his belt, she starts undoing it, but he is quick to stop her, which breaks her out of her trance., scared that she did something wrong. 

Reading her from just one look, Harry shakes his head softly.

“I know I said I want to bend you over my desk, but I don’t want the first time I’m inside you to be here. So we are gonna do it differently for now.”

As he speaks, his fingers work the buttons of her shirt, one after the other until the white, lacy bra is revealed underneath. 

“Is it fucking Christmas?” he breathes out, hooking a finger into one of the cups and tugging it down so your breast spills out of it. An airy chuckle slips out of her, but it quickly turns into a gasp when he sucks her pebbled nipple into his mouth, even gently biting and tugging on it. Her fingers comb through his hair, his fingertips massaging his scalp as her grinding continues. 

“I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do,” he murmurs against her chest, one hand freeing her other breast from the bra as well, so he can pay equal attention to them both. “You’re gonna grind that needy cunt of yours against me until you come, just so you can see what it is like when you’re not even undressed and imagine what will happen once I get to unwrap you.” He smacks her ass gently, a moan slipping out through her parted lips. “And I’m gonna leave marks all over tits and suck your nipples until they are so tender you can barely touch them, so when you go home and see yourself in the mirror, you’ll remember every moment of what’s happening right now.”

His hands grab her hips and make her roll them harder, his erection and the seam of her jeans rubbing into her soaking wet cunt. She eagerly takes the pace he dictated, desperate to chase her release that’s building in the pit of her stomach rapidly. 

“Do you like that? Do you like my plan?” he asks, his lips brushing against her nipple, teasing her with his touch just enough to make her whine and ache for more. 

“Yes,” he nods eagerly, hands clasping the back of his head to pull him closer to her chest and feel his lips on her heated skin again and he complies happily. 

“Then let me feel how badly you want to come.”

If someone told Y/N in the morning, that tonight she would be dry humping her boss like a horny teenager, she would have checked that person into a mental hospital. Yet here she is, grinding against Harry’s massive bulge, shamelessly rubbing her cunt against his erection while his mouth is full of her breast. 

He has already left a few marks on her and she knows she’ll have to wear turtlenecks for the next 2 weeks, but she couldn’t care less. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she cries out when she finds just the right angle where the seam of her jeans and the tip of his restrained cock rub her clit perfectly, sending sparks through her nerves. 

“Go on, want to see you come undone.” He bites the side of her left breast and she hisses, but it feels so good, so fucking great she moans loudly, her head falling back at the sensation.

“Harry, I–Ah!”

His hands grab her ass and he pulls her in, making her fall forward, her chest pressing up against his as she buries her face into his neck, fastening her movements as her orgasm is nearing. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let me see you come undone.”

“Wanna feel you inside,” she whines, but keeps moving.

“I know and you will. Just not now.”

She whines again in a disapproving manner, but doesn’t stop and Harry’s hips start moving as well. He encourages her a few more times, his lips brushing against her ear, sending shivers down her spine and right when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, the bubble pops. 

She gasps and moans, her movements get dragged out and Harry forces her to look him in the eyes as she rides out her joy. She loses track of time, can’t tell if it lasts for seconds or hours. But when it’s over she collapses into his arms. 

“You did so good. So fucking good,” he murmurs into her ear, kissing the side of her face wherever he can reach. When she finally catches her breath she sits up straight and looking down she sees that he’s still hard underneath her. 

Instantly, she reaches down, ready to take him out and take care of him, but he stops her again. 

“Not now.”

“But you… didn’t–”

“I know,” he smiles softly. “But if we go further now, I won’t be able to stop and I told you, I want the first time I’m inside you in a different setting.”

She understands and it’s flattering knowing he wouldn’t be able to control himself if they continued, but it feels unbalanced now that only she came. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, hands flattening on his stomach. 

Smiling, he nods. “Very sure.”

She thinks to herself for a bit and reaching up Harry brushes a lock of hair behind her ear as a smile stretches slowly across her face.

“What is it?”

“So… this means there will be a next time?”

The playful glint in her eyes amuses him. She is sitting on his lap, her chest still exposed, lips swollen from his kisses while his erection is still straining against his pants and she asks if there will be a next time. 

“Oh yeah. I will watch you come undone over and over again in every possible way. If you let me.”

She bites into her bottom lip, sheepishly blinking down at him, but her answer surprises him for a moment.

“I’m not letting you.” His face falls and his heart drops into his stomach, but she is quick to continue: “I’m begging you.”

“Oh baby, for that, now I’m adding  spanking to when I’m bending you over my desk and fuck you.”

Her smile only grows wider.

“Please, Boss!”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[haniette]

untouchable. // ln4

pairing l lando norris x fem!reader

genre | smut, angst, college au, enemies to ???

word count l 8.2k

warnings | no use of y/n, fratboy!lando, smut (18+) minors dni. (dom!lando, sub!reader, fingering, bathroom (mirror) sex, p in v, dirty talk, voyeurism, heavy degradation kink, semi-public sex, hair pulling, some cum play) possessive!lando, kinda mean!lando :(, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling), kissing/hot makeout scenes, lots of tention, cursing.

(losely) inspired by: madison beer — make you mine, nessa barret — pornstar

summary: everyone called you the untouchable girl—too pretty, too bitchy, and too far out of reach. Lando didn’t believe in the rumors, didn’t want to believe it. so he set out to prove them wrong, and he did. just not in the way anyone would have expected.

a/n: omg.. it was my first time writing smut, and y’all.. i hope it’s okay 😭 also big shoutout to @norristrii for believing in me and making me finally post it, love you babsie 🧡 anyways, tell me if you’d like a part two or smth hehe~ hope you’ll enjoy !! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡♡

You weren’t trying to make an entrance. Not really. It just kind of happened.

The sky was clear, the air cool enough for your coat to feel just the right amount of heavy on your shoulders, but warm enough that your legs, exposed in your perfect-fitting skirt, could still breathe.

First day of the semester—new campus, new faces. New everything.

You stepped out of the car and the world felt like it tilted for a second. Not because you looked back or hesitated, you didn’t. Every step you took was measured, as if you were walking a runway no one could see but you. The sound of your heels clicking against the pavement was hypnotic, like a warning before the storm. 

Your skirt was hugging your hips just right, and your sunglasses hiding half your face but none of your expression—bored. Distant, yet still slightly amused. You didn’t smile, not even once but still, heads turned. 

And when you reached the entrance of the college campus, it felt like the world held its breath. You weren’t in a hurry, you never were.

But the moment you walked through those gates, everything slowed.

There was a murmur. A ripple, like a stone dropped in a quiet pond. A girl laughed too loudly. A guy stumbled over his words. A group near the steps whispered and turned their heads, eyes widening, mouths barely moving.

You didn’t even look around to see who was watching. You already knew everyone was.

Every gaze on you was slipping under your skin like a shiver you couldn’t shake off. You were used to the attention, and the looks that never quite left you alone. But here, in this sea of strangers, it felt… different. Bigger, more intense.

Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Boys straightened up, and girls narrowed their eyes. They didn’t know your name yet but it didn’t matter. You walked across campus like it belonged to you—like they belonged to you—and everyone felt it.

You knew you were pretty. But there was something else about you, something more. A quiet confidence that was too much for them to just ignore.

After three days, they already knew your name. And after a week, they were saying it like it’s a dare.

Some claimed you transferred from a different elite private college in England, and others suspected that it had to be from another country. Rumors swirled like smoke, impossible to catch. Maybe your dad was loaded? Maybe you were a model? Or maybe you had a scandal back at your old school?

No one really knew the truth, and you never bothered correcting them. Instead, you walked into the class and sat alone—always early, always in the same spot, always with that faint scent of expensive perfume, and that don’t-talk-to-me aura.

By a week or two, the more complicated stories had already started. You didn’t give anyone much to go on—you were polite, sure, but still unbothered. 

Untouchable.

You sat at the front in every class, never late, always alert. Answered questions with a sharp tongue and a smoother voice.

The girls—they hated you on principle. Even the ones who wanted to like you, felt the heat of their own insecurity rise the longer you were near them. You weren’t loud, weren’t fake-nice. You didn’t beg for approval. You just existed—and that’s the part that stung the most.

You didn’t ask anyone to notice you, you just made it impossible not to.

They saw their boyfriends look at you a little too long, and observed how their exes stalked your socials and liked old pictures. You wore confidence like lingerie under every outfit—hidden, but felt.

And so they whispered.

“She’s such a bitch.”

“She thinks she’s above everyone.”

“Has she even spoken to anyone?”

“I bet she hasn't even given head to anyone in her life.”

“Probably just a pretty face with daddy’s credit card.”

But they still glanced, still had to double look. Still tried to pathetically copy your outfits, thinking no one would notice.

And the boys? That was a whole different story. 

They were bolder. Eyes raking over you like they wanted to strip you of that power.

“She's insanely hot.”

“Nah, she’s cold. Look at her, she doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“My homie said he tried to ask her out and she laughed in his face.”

“She’s such a fucking bitch. Thinks she’s better than everyone.”

“I heard she turned down Jake. Yeah, she told him to fuck off.”

“I’d still fuck her.”

You heard it all, the whispers in the halls. Noticed the glances in the library, the subtle shifts in group dynamics when you walked into a room. And every single time, you kept your chin up, eyes forward, lips painted in a color too bold for anyone else to wear at 9AM.

You knew what they thought, and you didn’t care.

They wanted you. Desperately and pathetically. Some tried subtle—a smile here, a compliment there. Some tried bold, “Hey, you free this weekend?” And every single time, you turned them down.

Once, one guy said you smiled at him after a class, and touched his arm, leaning in close. He told everyone that you were into him. But the truth was, you didn’t even remember his name. And the next time he approached you, you stared at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

After that, the rumors have changed drastically. Now it wasn’t just that you were pretty. You were unreachable, above all of them.

They called you the untouchable princess like it was an insult—but you actually liked it. It just felt right because none of them had a chance with you. They never did.

None of them, except him—Lando Norris.

The kind of a guy your old friends would have warned you about. The kind of a guy who didn’t chase anymore, because he didn’t have to. Girls came to him—fell for his accent, soft, chocolate colored curls, that stupid grin, and those muscles hidden under his hoodie.

You noticed him before he said a single word to you. Not because he was loud, not because he flirted.

He didn’t. And that was the whole point.

He didn’t gawk or shift uncomfortably like the rest of the guys. He just watched from the back row, those aquamarine eyes of his stayed locked on you, tracing every curve of your body, every movement you made. You could feel him studying you, but he never tried to approach. Never even gave you a hint of a smile. Most guys would have tried something—a wink, a subtle compliment. But not him. 

Lando seemed to be more of a silent observer—the kind of guy who liked to watch before making a move. The kind who liked to study what he couldn’t quite believe. 

You didn’t give him any reason to break his silence. Your gaze never strayed toward him. You didn’t need to—you were above that. Still, the tension between you and him was palpable, and you felt it. Every second you were in that lecture hall, that magnetic pull of him watching you from across the room.

And for the first time since stepping on campus, you felt it—that flicker. That little electric twinge at the base of your spine. Because he wasn’t trying to win you over. He was studying you, testing you. And that? That was far more dangerous than any compliment.

When lunch time came, you barely bothered with the cafeteria. Why would you? You weren’t some average college student who ate their meals at the same tables as everyone else. No, you had your own routine. 

You went to your favorite spot, a quiet bench by the trees at the edge of campus. The breeze was always perfect there, your skin kissed by the sunlight while you scrolled on your phone—every so often glancing up to see who noticed.

It was there you saw Lando again. He was with a group of guys, laughing a little too loud, but his eyes kept flicking toward you.

You watched him as he glanced your way, his gaze lingering. His friends didn’t notice, too caught up in their conversation. But you noticed, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to meet his eyes.

You didn’t smile, didn’t even acknowledge him. But you locked eyes for a split second, and he didn’t look away. There was something about the way he watched you—intense, intrigued, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. 

You felt that stare burn into you like a mark. And when you stood up to leave, the air felt even heavier. It was the first time you’d felt this kind of electricity, this tension between you and someone else. Not just because he was looking at you. Not just because he was intrigued by the mystery of the untouchable girl.

But because Lando wasn’t like the others.

He knew what you were. He didn’t try to approach—he watched, and something in his eyes told you he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had figured you out.

────୨ৎ────

For Lando, it should’ve been nothing—just another girl in a sea of faces. Another pretty one among hundreds of college students, all trying to stand out in their own way. 

But you? You were different.

Lando knew it before he even saw you. It wasn’t the beauty—he’d seen beautiful girls before. Hell, he’d had more than his fair share. It was the way the entire atmosphere seemed to shift when you first walked in. The murmur of voices dropped, conversations paused mid-sentence, and there was this subtle tension in the air—like the campus collectively held its breath.

He glanced up, his irritation already starting to build—he hated the drama, the unspoken competition among his friends, the way everyone seemed to lose their minds over a new girl. 

But then he saw you. Tall and graceful. Skin glowing in a way that made no sense under fluorescent lights. You wore confidence like a second skin, head high, eyes forward, never faltering. There was a quiet authority in your presence that didn’t need words. 

You weren’t looking for attention—but you got it, anyway. And fuck, that did kind of annoy him.

He watched you move through the hall like you owned it. Every step was deliberate, every motion sharp and controlled. You didn’t smile at anyone, didn’t even glance at the people who were already undressing you with their eyes.

“Oh, fuck me,” One of his friends muttered under his breath. “She’s a total 100.”

Lando snickered at his comment as he was used to the talk. He’d heard it all before. And the way every guy’s jaw dropped the second you walked into a room, the way they tripped over themselves just to be noticed by you. He’d seen it a hundred times. 

But surprisingly, you didn’t seem to care. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it—the way they wanted you, the way they tried so damn hard, but couldn’t even get a chance to look you in the eye.

He rolled his eyes. Fuck this.

By the end of the week, the rumors started spreading.

“She’s untouchable. No one’s ever gotten close.”

“I tried to ask her out. She laughed and told me to fuck off.”

“She’s just a bitch. Thinks she’s too good for anyone here.”

But the one that stuck? The one everyone repeated like it was the gospel truth—the untouchable princess.

Lando didn’t even know why it irritated him so much. It was just a nickname. Just three, meaningless words for him. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t shake it off. It crawled under his skin in a way he wasn’t used to. It was the way people were treating you like a myth—this perfect, untouchable creature who couldn’t be touched, couldn’t be reached.

And as much as he tried to keep his composure, he had to admit that he hated it.

There was no denying that Lando had his own reputation. Everyone on campus knew who he was: the loud, cocky frat boy who always seemed to be having fun, who lived for the challenge of pulling the next girl into his bed. But you? You were different. You didn’t care about guys like him—and that was infuriating.

He’d watched other guys try. Some were bold, others sweet, some obnoxious, and a few damn near desperate. But you never blinked. You never even acknowledged them—except for the rare moments when you’d look at them with that cold, almost condescending smile.

“You know, I tried talking to her the other day,” One of the guys complained, rolling his eyes at the mere thought of you. “And can you believe that she just looked at me and said, ‘I don’t think you’re worth my time.’ What a fucking bitch.”

Lando had heard the stories. Hell, everyone had. But the thing that got him wasn’t the stories themselves. It was the fact that you never gave anyone—anyone—a shot. You made it clear, in a way that was so effortless it was almost cruel, that you were above them.

That was what pissed him off so much.

One night, Lando sat with a few of his friends at the campus bar, listening to them debate how they might finally break through your perfect little bubble. 

“She’s a challenge,” One of the guys said, taking a swig from his beer. “No one’s gotten in. But I bet she’ll crack soon.”

Lando had been quiet. Too quiet, in fact. He didn’t know why he was even bothered by the conversation, but he was. He didn’t like the way they talked about you like you were some kind of conquest. He didn’t like how they dismissed you as just another pretty face, like they could wear you down if they just kept trying hard enough.

What made you untouchable, anyway? Was it your looks? Your attitude? The way you always seemed so goddamn unbothered by the world around you?

Fuck, he was tired of it already. Still, something about it nagged at him. And Lando wasn’t the kind of guy who backed down from a challenge—not even if that challenge was wrapped up in a cold, perfect, untouchable package.

By the time the first party of the semester rolled around, everyone knew you’d be there. It was like some kind of unspoken rule—you never skipped a chance to make an appearance, but you never really engaged either. You’d show up, stand in the corner in that definitely too short skirt and a tube top while casually sipping your drink, and making sure no one got too close.

And that’s when Lando saw you again. You were standing there, across the room, looking like you didn’t care about a single thing happening around you. Your friends laughed in the distance, but you were… separate. Like you didn’t belong to them. Like you belonged somewhere else entirely.

And Lando? Well, he wasn’t about to let this go on much longer.

“Hey,” One of his friends said, elbowing him. “Isn’t that the untouchable princess?”

Lando narrowed his eyes, watching you across the room. You hadn’t even noticed him yet.

“Yeah,” He muttered, his voice thick with annoyance. “Untouchable. Sure.”

Lando didn’t know what had possessed him, but before he knew it, he excused himself from his group and pushed through the crowd towards you. His mind was racing, irritation bubbling up in his chest. 

What the hell was he doing? He didn’t need to chase anyone—especially not someone like you.

But there was something in the way you stood there, pretty and untouched, like you were above everyone else. Something about it— about you—made him need to test it for himself.

────୨ৎ────

You were already tipsy when he found you. Not drunk—never sloppy—but softened. Loosened, like your walls had finally cracked, just enough to let something in.

You were in the hallway, lit by the low pulse of party lights and the bass thudding through the floor. The air smelled like cheap beer and sweat, but somehow, when you turned your head to look at him, all he could smell was your perfume. Warm, sharp, and dangerous.

“Looking for something?” Lando asked, leaning in like he already knew the answer.

You stared at him for half a beat before finally answering, “Privacy.” 

His brow rose, a smile wandering on his lips, “And you’re telling me that… why?” His eyes fell to your lips before looking back into your eyes, and biting his lower lip. 

He knew what he was doing.

After a moment of silence, you finally shot, “Bathroom. Now.” To which Lando’s eyes shined almost immediately as if he was anticipating you saying that. 

Then, you turned, slow and graceful, and walked into the nearest bathroom, his hands on you before the lock even clicked.

The second the door shut behind you two, the air went thick. His hand was at your waist, spinning you around, pressing you back against the counter so hard the edge dug into the skin of your thighs. It was like the pressure in the room doubled, the music from the party outside growing muffled, distant. Everything shrank down until it was just the two of you—just Lando, and that unstoppable pull he had toward you. 

You didn’t need to say a word. The moment you stepped into this space, the moment you looked at him with that gaze—he knew what you wanted. You were too pretty to hide it. Too perfect to pretend. And in here, with the door locked behind you? You couldn’t lie to him anymore.

“Fucking finally.” Lando muttered as he crushed his mouth against yours like he’d been waiting years for it, not just weeks. 

He kissed you like he hated you—like you’d pissed him off just by existing, and maybe you had. The way you walked around with your chin high, that bored little smirk on your face, pretending like nothing and no one could touch you. Well, now he was going to.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, lifting you off the ground and slamming you into the sink. The cold tile of the counter pressed against your thighs, and you gasped, head falling back as your breath caught. Then he proceeded to slide his hands under your top, dragging them upward like he couldn’t decide what to rip off first.

His kiss felt as if he wanted to devour you, not just taste your lips. Like he could rip the pride out of you with his mouth alone. Lando’s tongue slipped inside your mouth, claiming you, leaving no space between you and him. His lips were bruising against yours—not soft, not caring. 

After finally pulling himself away from your intoxicating kiss, he slid lower, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin like he couldn’t get enough of you. Lando grinned against the skin of your jaw, because fuck, he’d known it. Knew the rumors were wrong. Knew you weren’t some frigid little ice queen. You were fire.

“Been watching you,” He growled into your neck, lips hot against your skin. “Strutting around like some fucking queen. All the guys panting. You act like they don’t exist. You think you’re too good for them, don’t you?”

You let out a breathy laugh, cocky, smug. “Oh, but I am.”

He grinned against your throat. “Yeah? Let’s see then, shall we?”

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking just enough to make your mouth open wider, lipstick smeared at the corner of your lips—already ruined, and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet. He stared at you like you were a prey, chest rising, jaw clenched.

And he could feel it now as he slid his hands under your skirt. The truth—no panties. You wanted this, had wanted it all along.

“Of course you’re not wearing anything under this,” He snickered, voice low and rough as his hand slid up your thigh. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You blinked up at him—breathless, already trembling. “Maybe.”

“Such a fucking tease.” He muttered, voice low, almost a growl. 

Your heart pounded. God, you couldn’t even pretend anymore. There was nothing but need, desperate and raw, coiling deep in your belly. You were so wet for him—every inch of you had been waiting for this.

You could feel his breath against your neck as he whispered low, his voice dark and rough. “You think I’m just gonna fuck you?” Lando paused, his  hands sliding over your stomach, up to your ribs, then down again to your thighs. “No, sweetheart. You’re gonna let me make you come first.”

His fingers traced the curve of your thigh—just a light touch, just enough to make you shiver. Then, without warning, his hand slid up between your thighs, his fingers dragging through your folds again, slow and deliberate, testing, teasing.

“God, you’re so wet,” He snickered, fingers gently brushing over your clit. “And all of this for me? For a guy like me?”

“S-shut up.” You tried to answer him while trying to hold yourself together as his fingers circled your clit again, a little firmer this time. 

You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you, your hips involuntarily grinding back against his hand. 

“Oh, darling, don’t act like you’re not into this,” He teased, his voice dripping with that signature smirk. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Wanted me to touch you.”

His thumb pressed down a little harder, dragging through your slickness, and you gasped, a small sound escaping before you could stop it. 

Lando smirked at your reaction, “You like that?” He asked, his voice low, and husky.

Your body answered for you—a tremor passed through you, and you had to grip the counter harder, trying to steady yourself as his fingers slid down, slipping inside you with one slow move. Your breath immediately caught in your throat. The sweet stretch of his fingers, and the pressure was just enough to make you gasp, make your body pulse around him.

“There we go,” He grinned, chuckling at how responsive you were. “So fucking tight. I bet no one’s ever made you feel this way. Bet they’ve all just fucked you without taking care of you, haven’t they?” You clenched around him, the words stinging even though you weren’t sure if they were true. 

Lando’s fingers worked you, pulling out, pushing in again, circling inside you, deep enough to make you ache, but never enough to break you—at least, not yet.

“Oh, fuck—” You moaned, sounding already wrecked.

“God, listen to you,” He groaned, scrutinizing your facial expressions, “You sound perfectly, and you feel so good,” Lando added, his voice turning rougher. “Tighter than I thought. Like you’ve been holding out for me.”

You could barely breathe, your pulse racing, and your hips moved involuntarily with the rhythm of his hand, desperate for more. You felt every flick of his fingers, every press against that one sweet spot deep inside you. You whimpered, soft and broken, and your hips rolled toward his hand instinctively—needy, just like he knew you were.

“That’s right, baby,” Lando whispered against your skin, lips leaving wet kisses down your throat. “Rub your perfect little cunt on my hand. C’mon, make it messy.” 

And you did—rocking back against him, desperate for friction, for anything. 

“I knew it,” Lando groaned, the corner of his lips lifing slightly, “Knew you weren’t some cold, untouchable princess. You’re a filthy fucking girl in disguise, aren’t you?”

Your voice was breathy, wrecked. “Yes—”

“Louder.”

“Yes! Fuck—” His thumb brushed against your clit, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and you gasped. “Oh shit— Lan—”

“You’re getting close, huh?” His voice was almost a growl now, his hand moving faster, firmer. “I can feel it because you’re fucking soaked for me. Want me to make you come on my fingers? Want me to touch you until you can’t think straight, sweetheart?”

You nodded, desperate now, your body already trembling, the heat building in your core. You felt like you were on the edge, and he was the only thing keeping you from falling.

“Yes—yes, Lando— please!”

“Come for me then,” He demanded, his voice cold and commanding, but there was an edge of tenderness beneath it. “Show me how good my fingers make you feel.”

And with the last push of his fingers, you came with a strangled cry, your legs nearly buckling, pussy clenching so hard around his fingers it dragged a groan out of him. 

You collapsed against the counter, gripping it tightly as the orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling and pulsing as you came all over his hand. His fingers never stopped, though—still working you through it, gently, teasingly, until your hips jerked away from him, too sensitive to take any more.

You instinctively leaned forward, resting your head against his chest as the impact of your orgasm had caught up with you. One of Lando’s arms wrapped around your fragile figure, trying to ground you for the moment.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” He whispered, his voice rough, but there was something different in it now—something darker. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that? Could watch you all night long.”

Lando pulled his fingers out of you slowly, deliberately, watching the way your slick clung to them—thick and glistening under the low light of the bathroom. His chest rose with a sharp inhale, and you watched, breath caught in your throat, as he brought those same fingers to his lips. He didn’t look away from you. Not once.

He sucked the tips into his mouth, tasting you with a low groan rumbling from his chest — guttural, unrestrained, and so visceral it made your stomach twist.

“Fuck,” He breathed against his fingers, voice dark and reverent. “You taste just how I imagined—sweet and so fucking delicious.”

The praise struck something deep in you, heat blooming fast, sharp and needy. You squirmed under his gaze, lips parted, barely breathing as you watched him slowly pull his fingers from his mouth.

And then he brought them to your lips.

“Open your mouth.”

You didn’t need him to say it again. Your lips parted willingly, your pulse hammering in your ears as his slick-coated fingers slid inside. Your tongue wrapped around them, eagerly licking your taste off of him, eyes locked with his the entire time.

The way he watched you—so focused, and so possessive—made your whole body tense. There was nothing playful in his expression now. Only hunger. Only claiming.

He dragged his fingers back out with a deliberate slowness, lips curling into something wicked as he brushed a damp strand of hair behind your ear, voice lowering.

“Still think you’re untouchable?”

Your breath caught in your throat because right now, you didn’t feel untouchable at all. You felt owned.

While still recovering from the aftershocks, you could barely speak. But as you pushed away from his chest to look up at him, you managed to smirk—just a little.

“Maybe I’m just not easy.”

Lando chuckled, that wicked grin returning to his lips. He pressed his forehead against yours, body still flush against yours, but his hands never stopped roaming—touching, caressing, like he couldn’t get enough.

“Don’t worry, princess. You’re not easy, I’ll give you that.” He leaned in close, voice just a whisper against your ear. “But I’m gonna make you mine.”

In the split of the second, Lando turned you towards the sink, forcing you to face the mirror. The glass of the mirror fogged slightly in front of you from your breath, your palms flattening on either side of the basin to steady yourself. Your eyes met his in the reflection, wide, glossy, mascara already beginning to melt. Your reflection was already flushed, dazed—lips kiss-bruised, hair tugged loose.

“Look at yourself,” He murmured, “Pretty little thing. Bet you’ve never looked this messy before.”

The reflection in the mirror stared back at you. You already looked wrecked—lips swollen, eyes dark, cheeks flushed—and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. But he was going to. And oh, he was going to make a goddamn mess out of you.

Lando didn’t even have to pull you into place. You were already bending for him—hands braced on the edge of the sink, ass tilted just right, like your body knew what it was for before your mind caught up. 

You didn’t even get a chance to recover before you heard the rip of a condom packet, barely being able to register it over your own panting. Then, he was already lining himself up, one hand gripping your waist, and the other guiding himself to your entrance.

“Still so wet for me, sweetheart,” He chuckled, “You’re gonna take every inch of me, aren’t you?” Lando asked before he finally pushed into you—slowly, the head of his cock stretching you, making you cry out again.

“Fuck—” His fingers dug into your waist as he buried himself deeper, forcing a cry out of you as your body stretched to accommodate him.

For a moment, all you could hear was your breath—heavy and desperate, mingling with his. Your hands were planted on the counter, gripping so tightly you thought you might break the ceramic. But you didn’t care. In that moment, every inch of you in was focused on him—on his cock filling you up.

“Shit—so fucking tight,” He hissed under his breath. “Taking me so well, though. Look at that. Every inch.” 

He didn’t stop until he was buried inside you. The stretch was perfect—just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to make you feel full, completely. He held still for a moment, grinding his hips into yours, letting you feel it, letting it burn a little.

“You okay?” Lando asked, voice suddenly quieter and tender as he leaned down to you. His eyes met yours in the mirror, gentle and caring, “Is it too much?” 

“N-no—” You answered as you shook your head frantically, desperate, breathless.

“Good,” He murmured, lips kissing softly your shoulder. “Because I’m not stopping.” 

And then he started to move. Long, slow thrusts at first—like he wanted you to feel every dragging inch as he slid in and out of you. 

You moaned loudly, and Lando lost it. His hands dug into your hips as his thrusts turned rough, desperate, each one slamming into you harder than the last. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, obscene and beautiful.

“You feel that?” He groaned, pounding into you, voice breaking. “That’s what being fucked feels like.”

You were too far gone to answer. Just moaned again, louder, hips moving back against him like you needed more. “Lan—”

“Say it again,” He growled. “Say my name like that.”

“Lan…” You gasped, eyes fluttering, mascara streaking down you cheeks. “God— Lando!”

His hand wrapped in your hair and he pulled your head up, forcing your gaze back to the mirror. “Look at you, sweetheart,” He murmured, “This is the girl everyone’s scared to talk to?”

You whimpered a noise that didn’t sound like it belonged to you. Not the cold, controlled, perfect girl everyone knew.

“But this is how I want to see you,” He whispered, hips snapping forward again. “Bent over, begging. Not walking past me like you don’t even see me. Not pretending you’re too good for this.”

You weren’t even pretending anymore. You were completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, nails dragging down the edge of the sink. You whimpered, arching your back as your body took everything he gave and still begged for more. 

“I knew it. I knew you were gonna feel like this,” His voice was breaking now, hips snapping forward. “I’ve dreamt about it. Losing my fucking mind thinking about it. Every time I saw you walk past me in that tiny little skirt—”

Slap. His hand came down hard on your ass. You cried out, grinding back on him like you loved it.

“I knew I had to be the one to break you. Not just fuck you. But ruin you.” Your makeup was smudged, eyes glassy, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth.

“Look at yourself,” He growled again, one hand tangling in your hair once again, yanking your head up. “Eyes on the fucking mirror.” He forced you to watch. 

When you did as he said, you were immediately met with the sight of your mascara streaking down your cheeks, the red bite marks on your neck, the tremble in your thighs every time he drove into you.

“I look—” You gasped, not being able to form a proper sentence.

“Say it,” He snickered, “Tell me how you look, baby.”

“I… I look—” You blinked, eyes glossy from the tears that had gathered in the meantime. “Ugly.”

Lando smirked, lips brushing your ear as he slowed the rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that made your whole body jolt. “Finally. Finally not so fucking perfect. But shit—” His voice cracked. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Lando had to admit that the rumors weren’t just a noise.

You were every bit as breathtaking as they said. No, not just pretty. Stunning, ethereal, and achingly divine. The kind of beauty that didn’t require introductions—it walked in before you did, settled into rooms before your name was even spoken. 

What pissed Lando off was that no one was exaggerating it. There was no illusion here, no inflated tale passed down in drunken whispers between boys at frat parties.

And the worst part? You knew it. 

You were the kind of pretty that hurt to look at too long. Everything about you was deliberate—every glance, every flick of your hair, every sharp curve of your smile. Even the way you told boys “no” had a certain poise to it. Like rejection was a language you were fluent in.

It was that confidence that infuriating, untouchable grace that made you impossible to ignore. Even now—half-undressed, flushed, breathless—that same air clung to you. Head tipped back, mouth parted, eyes glazed over from the intensity of his touch. You looked utterly wrecked, and yet somehow still composed, still powerful in your vulnerability. And that made Lando grit his fucking teeth.

Strands of hair that stuck to your skin because of the sweat, were now framing your face. Some were sticking out in wild directions from how tightly he’d gripped your hair moments ago. Your top slid down your body, and your bralette was tugged down just enough for your breasts to spill out. Lando’s hickeys and marks were littered across your chest, your neck, and your thighs as some silent reminders of the chaos between you, of how tightly he’d held you, how desperately he’d tried to burn himself into your skin.

You looked completely ruined. Yet still impossibly, maddeningly, gorgeous. 

Your legs were shaking, whimpering louder with each thrust. Lando leaned forward—chest pressing to your back, one hand snaking up to grip your jaw, forcing your eyes back to your own reflection.

“All that attitude, and that untouchable bullshit. But you’re fucking soaked, sweetheart. So wet that it’s pathetic. Where is that attitude now, huh?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t. The words were lodged somewhere in your throat, drowning in the way your body was still twitching from the last orgasm he’d torn out of you. You weren’t sure if you could find your voice even if you wanted to because you were crying now—not sobbing, but tears had welled in your eyes, smudging your mascara, making streaks down your cheeks.

And it was beautiful.

“That’s what I thought,” He breathed, lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re not untouchable, that’s some bullshit. You’re just mine.”

His words felt like silk and gasoline, soft and destructive at once, setting fire to everything you thought you knew about yourself. And as he rocked into you again—slow, deep, possessive—the mirror gave you nowhere to hide.

This wasn’t the version of you the world knew, and this wasn’t the girl they whispered about in dining halls and locker rooms. This was the one Lando had—unraveling, trembling, bare in every sense of the word.

As Lando watched you fall apart again beneath him, he couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t out of cruelty, but with the satisfaction that he’d gotten closer to something no one else ever would.

The sight of you like this—breathing heavy, lips kiss-swollen, eyes glossy—wasn’t supposed to exist. You weren’t supposed to exist like this. vulnerable. Letting him or anyone see you like this. But here you were, and it fucking wrecked him. 

If this was what you looked like when you were ruined, then no wonder no one could shut the fuck up about you. And now that he’d seen it for himself, touched it, tasted it, and felt it—there was no going back.

He slammed into you again, and again, and your walls clenched around him like you were close. The wet sound of your arousal echoed between you, loud and filthy and raw as your thighs trembled.

You moaned, loud, and broken. Your hips rocked back, chasing him as he leaned in, lips at your ear. “Tell me, baby,” He whispered. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about this.”

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He slammed his cock into you deeper—harder—and your mouth fell open on a cry.

“Say it.”

“Yes— Lando—fuck—I’ve been thinking about it,” You gasped. “Your hands— your dick— I wanted all of you—”

“I know you did,” He laughed smugly. “I felt it the second you walked in the room. Every fucking guy here’s been drooling over you, but you didn’t want them, did you?”

“No—” You managed to stutter.

“You wanted me. The one who wasn’t chasing you.”

Your head dropped forward, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Hie was relentless now—deep and steady, thumb matching the rhythm on your clit until your legs threatened to give. 

“Please, Lan! Fuck, let me come—”

“That’s it, princess,” He whispered. “Come for me. Come while you look like this—crying, filthy, and drooling on my cock. Let them call you untouchable now.”

You came hard—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream, nails digging into porcelain like you might break it. Your moans filled the room, echoing off tile and mirror and the sound of skin slapping skin. Your whole body shook, muscles clamping around him like a vice. 

And as you were still gasping, limp against the sink, legs trembling hard, Lando wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Such a good fucking girl,” He murmured, “Taking it all, and letting me wreck you.”

When he came, deep and hard inside you, growling your name, he didn’t pull out. He just held you there, trembling, gasping, both of you sticky with sweat and slick and spit and the heat of the kind of sex that left marks long after it ended.

You both stayed there for a beat, panting. You couldn’t even find any strength to lift your head. Your legs were shaking, lips wet with spit. And when you finally raised your head up, you met his eyes in the mirror again. Still flushed, still gorgeous, even like this.

He leaned down, lips brushing your neck, voice low. “Yeah,” Lando muttered, like a confession, still holding you as if your were the most fragile thing in the world.

“Even ruined like this, you’re still the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

────୨ৎ────

Lando barely heard the words of his friends at first.

He was too far gone in his own head, back in that bathroom. 

His chest tightened with the memory. He barely noticed when one of his buddies kicked his foot again under the table. 

“Yo, Lando, you hear me?”

Lando blinked, dragging himself out of the fog of his thoughts. The conversation buzzed around him, a lazy backdrop to the one thing still on his mind. It was almost laughable.

The untouchable girl. The girl everyone else talked about like a goddamn riddle—like some unreachable prize. You walked past them all like you were a queen, and they were your peasants. Everyone knew your name but you never cared. You acted like you were above it all—and they let you, watching from afar, too scared to get too close.

But Lando? He’d made it past the walls you built. He knew the truth—you weren’t untouchable—you were just playing hard to get. A little game to you. But to him? You were ruined.

He could still feel you in his hands, your lips trembling beneath his. He could still smell your perfume clinging to his skin, the taste of your tears as he drove you to the edge of what you were pretending to be. Untouchable, but only because you were scared to admit you wanted it.

“Bro,” Said someone to his left, “You guys saw her last night?” Lando didn’t respond, just took a slow sip from his cup, eyes half-lidded as he leaned back into the couch, looking at them like they were all idiots.

“Seriously, she was there, and that skirt—fuck. She was clearly looking for attention.” He still didn’t look over. He knew exactly who they were talking about—you.

“Bet I could get her number,” Someone muttered. “Easy. Just gotta catch her alone.”

Lando snorted into his drink. He had you bent over a sink, tears down your cheeks, crying for his cock while you watched yourself fall apart. And they were still here, talking about how they might try and get your number.

Fucking idiots.

“She doesn’t even talk to people,” Another guy argued. “Dude, she shot Justin down in front of everyone. Just laughed in his face and walked away.”

Lando barely managed to hide his grin behind his cup. They still had no fucking idea.

“Someone’s gotta break the streak.” One of them said, stretching his arms.

“Shit, I’d take the risk. I’d fuckin’ die happy if she just spat on me.” Another replied, making everyone from the group laugh.

Everyone, except Lando. He was too busy replaying the way you looked with your thighs trembling, cum dripping down your leg. 

That memory hit like a drug, hot and thick in his veins. You’d tried to keep it together—of course you had. But he saw the way your eyes fluttered when he grabbed your chin. Heard the way your voice cracked when you whimpered his name. 

The voices of his friends slowly broke through again,“We need to do it,” Someone said, “Seriously. We’ve all been talking about it for weeks now. Someone’s gotta prove it.”

You had a funny way of making people go stupid. The moment you set foot on campus, the entire food chain reset. Boys barked, girls bristled, and the world tilted slightly in your direction like it didn’t know how to resist. And they still thought you were a fantasy.

“She’s such a fucking tease,” Another one muttered, “Walks around like she’s better than everyone. Bet she’s cold as hell in bed.”

Lando’s jaw tightened at those words. Wrong. You were a fucking fire. 

“I’d give anything to see that skirt hit the floor,” Another said. “Bet no one’s even touched her yet.” And at that, Lando finally laughed—a quiet, smug sound from deep in his chest.

“Told you,” The first guy said, grinning as he elbowed Lando. “He’s obsessed with her, but thinks he’s sneaky about it. Lando, when are you gonna do it, huh? Be the one to finally shut her up. Break the curse, mate.”

Lando leaned back, stretching out like a lion who’d already been fed. He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

“You need to do it, mate,” Another guy said, “C’mon, be the one to finally shut her up. Imagine what it’d be like.” In response, Lando just hummed while taking another lazy sip of his drink, letting them talk.

He didn’t need to imagine anything.

“C’mon, man,” One laughed, nodding. “It’s like she’s asking for it. Walks around with that short skirt and attitude, like she owns the place. There’s gotta be a way to crack her.” The rest of the group agreed, their voices rising with excitement, as if one of them was going to be the first to conquer the impossible. 

They all joked about it—how it had to be done, how someone needed to step up, take the challenge, and finally prove the rumors wrong. And through it all, Lando couldn’t help but smirk.

Because unlike them? He didn’t need to prove anything. He already had you.

And as if on cue, the front door opened, and there you were. You walked in like you owned the place—like you always did. 

Sunlight hit your skin just right—a golden sheen over every inch of you, glowing like the campus might as well have been your throne. You had your usual face on—blank and unreadable, your perfectly glossed lips slightly parted like you were always bored. 

And that fucking, black skirt. The way it barely covered your ass, a little too short for anyone’s comfort, showing off legs that seemed to go on forever. Of course he noticed the faint bruise near the top of your thigh, peeking out just below the hem. His bruise. He remembered placing it there with his own hands, his fucking name.

You moved through the crowd like you didn’t even notice them, your gaze focused, but not on anything. It was like you had a bubble around you, a forcefield that kept them at arm’s length. And Lando? He just smirked, slowly but deliberately. He wasn’t going to let them know anything, after all.

“Yeah, man,” One of the guys continued, his voice too loud, eager. “Someone’s gotta put their hands on her. I’m serious. It’s time to prove she’s not untouchable.”

The others nodded, excited. “You’re right. One of us just has to get close, ask her out, show her what she’s missing.”

Lando’s gaze never left you, even as you turned and walked past him. The moment was electric, almost suffocating, as your eyes flickered to his once again. And just like that, that slight blush crept up your neck—a quiet acknowledgment. Your lips curled into that small, knowing smile. And that? That was all the confirmation he needed. You might be untouchable to everyone else, but he had already claimed you.

Lando’s stomach tightened. His smirk was immediate, lazy, like it was second nature.

He let the moment hang, drew it out. Watched the way you walked away like nothing had happened, like the two of you weren’t still vibrating with the tension of it all. Like you hadn’t made eye contact while his cum was still drying on your thigh the night before.

“Damn,” One of the guys said, cutting into the silence. “She’s unreal. We really gotta get someone to prove it, man.”

Lando’s hand gripped tighter his phone, feeling that same familiar tug in his chest. They were still talking, and now it started to fucking irritate him.

He leaned back in his seat, chin tilted just slightly. His voice was low, easy, almost amused. “Yeah, well, I don’t think so,” Lando finally muttered, voice smooth and cold. “Did you guys forget already? She’s untouchable.”

The guys groaned, laughed, and swore like they thought he was giving up. But Lando didn’t even flinch. He didn’t need to explain anything. He just kept watching the path you’d walked, imagining you with your back arched, mascara running, breath hitching as you came apart around him, moaning his name.

Because the truth was—he’d already tasted you, and already ruined you. Basically, Lando had you wrapped around his finger.

And most importantly, he proved you’re not as untouchable as everyone thought.

© haniette | 2025, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

taglist: @norristrii @ernegren

[bucketbueckers]

WILD MOUNTAIN THYME

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

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

wc: 22.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of the vanilla variety,” she said snootily.

“My favorite,” you hummed.

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

“Baked pie,” you said gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A regret,” she murmurs finally.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For good?” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To you,” she says. “And to us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But not anymore?” you question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get to the point.”

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

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

“You love me,” she fires back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goddamn beautiful,” Joan agrees unsettlingly.

“Even through these walls,” Bert adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not leaving you,” she argues.

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

“Won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s really, really nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds real,” she shot back.

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

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

So maybe children came in all shapes and sizes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

bonus

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

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

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

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

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

But this? This wasn’t a coincidence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In this life, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

[fallintower]

i still get notes on this post from people liking and reblogging it and every time i do i feel like the guy from the end of the usual suspects after he realizes that he has totally and utterly fallen for an elaborate ruse. not only was i a victim of Tony's Trick but i also went so far as to make this image, unwittingly spreading the wrong memetic idea even further than it already had. pluey was never a "who". we'd been asking the wrong question the entire goddamn time. as soon as i realized that, as soon as i put it together that they had given us the detail to let us figure out what pluey really was during the sweepstakes silence ending event, i considered making a big long theory post about it, but i decided against it, assuming that someone else would realize. that someone else would notice it and make a post or a video or something and spread the word. well if anybody ever did, i didnt see it. ive seen joker memes. ive seen people pointing out that jongler had been mentioned in the game itself before. but i have seen not a SINGLE mention of the same reasoning i went through ANYWHERE online. and now its too late. in just two days now we will all know The Truth About Pluey for certain. we will know whether image_friend is a french cat or not. and im terrified that i might be right. i might have been right, and i stayed silent. im terrified that everyone will know theyve been had, and that i will have had a part to play in it. through my silly little goofy guy art, and through my silence. i played right into his hands. god damn you toby fox

alright everybody lets see those Pluey designs

[trainer-from-unova]

the rule

Ⓢ english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ

ship: the void x afab!reader x robert reynolds

summary: the rule is simple: a day for bob, the next one for void, over and over again. but void is needy and possessive, and insecure and jealous (even though he would never admit it), so when he decides to not let bob have control of their body you decide to ghost him because he's stealing bob's time with you. huge mistake. if you don't talk to him then he would make you scream.

au: bob and the void are a system

c/w: established poly relationship, poly negotiations, jealousy, arguing, ghosting as a punishment, slight dubcon / cnc (aka consensual sex), makeup sex, unsafe vaginal sex, fingerfucking, finger licking, orgasm delay / edging, implied creampie, praise kink, voice kink, dom/sub undertones, possessive (but in love) void, third person pov

a/n: I'll probably post another version of this, shorter but more angsty like I did with muscle memory and a second, also english isn't my first language and feedback is highly appreciated here or on ao3

word count: 2100

The rule was simple: one day one had control of the body to spend time with their girlfriend, the next day the other one, and so on and so forth. As soon as the alarm went off in the mornings they had to change. It had been five minutes since it went off, and Void was still there.

"Are you so anxious for me to leave?" he asked jokingly when she reminded him that he should hand over control to Bob, provocative as only he knew how but deep down annoyed and jealous.

She looked at him with a grimace as they dressed to leave their bedroom, slightly annoyed but not angry — deep down there was no need to get so upset, it was only a few minutes he had taken from Bob. As long as that was all it was it wouldn't be bad. The problem was that Void wanted to get his way and be the one to enjoy spending time with her on her day off.

"It's Bob's turn to spend the day with me," she said more annoyed when an hour had passed and he was still there instead of him, waiting for the lift to go down and out of the tower.

"I don't care, I want to be with you," he replied, infected by her annoyance. "I don't understand why it bothers you to spend time with me, I'm your boyfriend too."

"I don't mind spending time with you when it's your day, I mind you taking Bob's time," she said as the lift door opened and they stepped inside. "It's unfair and Bob and I have the right to spend time together too," she said pressing the button to go down, not very gently. "I have plans with him today," she said looking straight ahead, staring at the lift door.

"I don't care," he replied, craning his neck in her direction and looking at her the whole time.

"Yeah, of course not," she said sarcastically, crossing her arms, "when have you ever cared about anything?"

The question and especially the tone annoyed Void even more, even offended him. He couldn't believe she was asking him that, and it seemed unbelievable that he had to remind her of it.

"You," he replied, calm but serious at the same time, "I care about you," and as soon as she heard that answer, she closed her eyes and craned her neck in the opposite direction as she grimaced with her mouth — touched and sunken, because as much as it bothered her she knew he wasn't lying and that she was the one who had gone too far with her words. "You're literally the only thing that matters to me, ______. And you're also the only one who cares about me."

That was true too, but still Void kept doing something that was wrong, being selfish like a little kid. She didn't want to repeat herself, she didn't want to get into a loop, but she had to say it again whether she liked it or not, because unlike when Bob was in control of the body and listened to Void in his mind, Bob couldn't do that when he was the one in control. Bob couldn't defend himself, so she had to be his voice.

"...It's Bob's turn to spend the day with me," she said as she opened her eyes, still staring straight ahead as the lift beeped. "Go," she said as the door opened and she stepped out.

"...No," he said seriously as he followed behind her, staring as her back was turned.

He followed her like her shadow all the time, and he thought that her anger would soon pass because he was him and because she was usually a cheerful and positive girl, but he was wrong: she didn't speak to him or look at him, she only let himself hold her hand but for not slapping his hand and for someone to see it, especially some paparazzi. Disadvantages of having become a New Avenger, she had to be careful of absolutely every move she made in public because she had an image to look after and a private life to protect.

In desperation he decided to make her talk in the only way he knew how, to calm her down and make her happy in the quickest way he knew how. When they arrived at the tower, as expected, he followed her and went with her into their bedroom, closing the door behind him with his telekinetic powers — latch included, but apparently she didn't notice, or maybe she decided not to give it any importance as she left her bag on her desk chair.

And apparently she also didn't notice or maybe she also decided not to give it any importance as he unbuttoned his trousers, while she turned her back to him and pulled down her trousers to undress and put on more comfortable clothes to go around the house. She didn't notice how he approached her, grabbing her by the waist to turn her around and grab her, slinging her over his shoulder as if she were a sack that weighed nothing.

"Void! What- What are you doing?" she asked in surprise, but not too confused. It was actually a silly question she asked without thinking. Seeing that he was heading for the bed and that his trousers were starting to fall down around his waist, it wasn't too hard to figure out what he was up to. "Void," she said as he released her onto the bed, "this isn't the best m-," she said as she tried to get out of bed, but he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back down as he settled on top of her.

The door may have been locked, but Void would have let her escape if she really wanted to. She could have easily escaped his grasp, even without being trained to do so. She could also have attacked him or tried to immobilise him. But she did nothing, and let him bring his right hand quickly to her crotch, slipping it inside her panties to start touching her. What he noticed there surprised him as well as pleased him.

"Oh, then why are you so wet?" He asked teasingly as he caressed her lips with his fingers, smiling as she tried to look in another direction, frowning as well as blushing, embarrassed. "How long have you been like this? Is it because of my presence?" he asked craning his neck, a mannerism he always did when he was enjoying humiliating someone. "Look at me," he commanded now, much more serious and threatening. "Answer me."

She nodded silently and slowly, connecting their gazes for a second before turning away again, embarrassed and annoyed. But all that would be short-lived, he would make sure those feelings would disappear. Though deep down he liked her playing hard to get, it made him feel more special when he got what he wanted.

"Use your voice," he ordered as he slipped his fingers inside her.

"Yeah," she said as she nodded her head again, a little faster now.

The moment he had his fingers deep inside her he began to move them up and down at high speed, making her scream and writhe in pleasure. She put her hands to her mouth to try to silence herself while also trying to close her mouth and bite her lip, but even if he hadn't grabbed her wrists and pulled them over her head it would have been impossible — he was fucking her mercilessly.

"You move too much," he said slightly annoyed that he had to restrain her. He would have preferred to lift her shirt with the hand that was pinning her down to see her tits, apart from the fact that she sometimes unintentionally closed her legs a little. Her eyes were also closed. "Look at me," he ordered seriously, and she obeyed, "I'm better than Robert," he said trying to convince her, but deep down he was trying to convince himself. "Say it!"

"You're b-better than Bob! You're the best, at everything!"

"You've got a favourite and that's me, right?"

"Yeah!" she moaned as he arched her back.

"Good girl."

"Please-!"

But soon after that he stopped dead in his tracks. Even if she didn't moan that she was about to cum it was obvious, he could feel her pussy throbbing, clinging to his increasingly wet fingers — he stopped too close, to make her even more desperate. On the one hand he wanted to show her that he was better than Robert, to calm her down and make her happy, but on the other hand he also wanted to punish her, torturing her even if it wasn't in the same way she had tortured him during the day. Besides, watching her writhe in pleasure beneath him as she sobbingly begged him to continue, plus the way she sobbed when she felt him stop at the worst possible moment, were scenes almost as satisfying as his own orgasm.

When he stopped masturbating her he released her and made her lick his fingers clean, sliding his fingers along her tongue careful not to make her gag as he stared hungrily and intently at her. Then, as she caught her breath he ordered her to undress while he did the same, quickly removing his clothes from his upper body and pulling down his boxers to free his erect penis.

"Do you want this?" he asked as he grabbed his cock, pulling him close and settling down to stroke her entrance with his wet tip, mixing her flow with his pre-seminal fluid.

"Yeah please," she moaned eagerly. She needed more, she felt empty without him inside her.

She tried to stifle another moan as he thrust his member in without any gentleness, failing in the attempt and clutching his shoulders tightly with her shaky hands. He didn't flinch, just watched her facial expression. And he had no patience for letting her insides get used to him, but because he knew she didn't need to. She moaned again as he began to move back and forth, keeping her hips firmly gripped.

He began to ram into her, harder and faster, making her moan louder and more frequently. Now you could also hear the springs of the mattress and box spring hitting the wall, and his hips against hers. He loved the sensation of making himself hollow between her throbbing, wet walls, and so did she. But most of all he loved her moans and the things she said, hearing how she confirmed how much she liked it and begged for more. It made him feel wanted, it made him feel loved and accompanied.

"Say you love me more than him," he ordered her.

"I- I love you more- more than him!" she replied.

Her back began to arch against the mattress again, sobbing. Void was ramming into her so hard and fast that her whole body shook with each thrust, and she didn't know how he hadn't broken the bed yet.

"Fill me, please!" she begged, her breath hitching and her voice getting higher and higher. She was about to cum, it was obvious. "Please please please!" she said begging for more and at the same time for mercy as she felt a heat forming in her lower abdomen going down. "I need it, I need you!"

"That's my girl," he said smirking. He gladly complied and grabbed her to keep her from moving or unintentionally separating, feeling her pussy begin to clench against his cock.

"Yes please please, use me, I'm yours!" she cried, and lucky for her, he listened to her: he came inside her at the same time she did, mixing their fluids completely and making her lose her mind as she writhed and screamed with pleasure, while he grunted and ended up lying on top of her, satisfied in many ways. He heard from her lips everything he wanted to hear and got what he wanted again, getting his way.

"I love you, and I swear it..." He said in her ear as he pulled back — as she caught her breath she thought he would pull out of her, pulling out of her to let his cum out. He always loved to see how well he filled her, but when there was just a little left to get his cock all the way out he thrust into her again, making her moan again and cling tightly to him. "Someday you'll be all mine, just mine."

© trainer-from-unova / alicent burton | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[raven-dor]

just a shell of me

in which rafe cameron finds the girl of his dreams, and refuses to let her go

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader, rafe cameron x pogue!reader

WARNINGS: given last name (Bradshaw), making out, soft rafe, angst, ward being a jerk (as per usual), kie being nosy, kissing, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

🎶 : another life - sza

The summer air was heavy, savory even, thanks to the salt spraying from the ocean. You ducked your head, running quickly across the Ward’s large lawn. The house, or mansion, more like, was guarded by motion detectors and traps, set to go off with one wrong move. Pausing below Rafe’s window, you tried to figure out a way you could scale the wall. The gutter was right in front of you, practically calling your name. Then again, you had little faith in that supporting your body weight. The porch was directly under his window, and if you willed yourself (or utilized your upper body strength), you would be in the clear.

You decided to do the latter. Jumping up to the roof, you carefully walked the rest of the way to his window, tapping urgently, the fear of getting caught clouding your mind. "Let me in!" You hissed, tapping on the glass a little louder than before. "Rafe!"

His room appeared empty, and you frowned. He’d just texted you saying he was home, so why was he not in his room? The door's handle moved, and your eyes widened, pressing your body against the wall, holding your breath. The window creaked open, Rafe’s familiar timbre breaking the silence. "Front doors exist, you know.”

You scoffed, climbing through the window clumsily. "As if your father wants you associating with a disgraced Bradshaw."

Rafe shut the window behind you, muttering under his breath. "I don't care what my dad thinks. He's an asshole anyway."

"Never said he wasn't." You looked around his room, arms crossed defensively. "Still looks the same."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, watching with evident amusement. "You were here last week."

"Yes, last week when I was still a somewhat redeemable Bradshaw and my mother hadn’t abandoned me."

Rafe frowned, hands carefully wrapping around your waist. "Are you alright? You know it’s fine if you’re not. You've been through-"

"I don't want to talk about it." You wiggled your eyebrows mischeviously. "Now take off your clothes."

He shook his head. "You can't just show up here whenever you want and expect something. You're using me to ignore the real problem. You know that you need to talk to someone. Your father died, and your mom abandoned-"

You leaped up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Rafe- just let me forget about that for tonight, please."

He sighed, pulling you flush against him. “You're not getting out of talking about this."

Lacing your fingers into the hair near the nape of his neck, you tugged, eyes fluttering shut as his lips neared yours. "I think I just did."

Placing his hand gently on the side of your face, he pulled your lips to his once more. "God, I love you." His breath hitched, heart dropping as he waited for a reaction. "I-"

You smiled, actually smiled. "I love you, too. Now less talking and more-” He fell back on his bed, pulling you along with him. “Smooth.” 

He grinned, eyes falling to your lips every so often. “I try my best.”

The morning light streamed through the blinds, ripping you from your sleep. You dug your face into your pillow, trying to indulge yourself in a few more moments of peace. You sighed, reaching out in Rafe’s general direction, frowning when you realized that Rafe was no longer in bed. 

You groaned, pulling the covers tight around you as you sat up. "Rafe? Where are you?"

No response.

You huffed, standing up and investigating. He wasn’t in his bathroom or his closet, which was much too large for a boy who wore the same three outfits. You felt dejected - after last night, you would have thought he’d stay with you, talking about everything and nothing. 

Your eyes caught the time on his alarm clock, pulling you back to reality. You had work in three hours, and since you did not have a single work-appropriate item of clothing stored here, you had to go back home. Your shorts were thrown haphazardly across the room, your shirt at the foot of his bed. It was like a scavenger hunt, finding all of your clothing before he came back. 

"Leaving so soon?"

You grabbed your shirt off the ground, nodding. "I have work, Rafe. I know that's something you're not accustomed to-"

"Don't do that.” He frowned. “Don’t start deflecting." He shut his door, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Stay. I’ll drive you so you’re not late.” 

“I don’t know-” 

“I’ll make you breakfast, you can take a shower. I’ll buy you a new outfit, even. We can talk." He spun you around, smirking at the flustered look on your face. "Stay with me."

You tried to fight it, his charm, his loving look, but he was hard to tell no. Irresistible, you would call him to your friends. Never to his face, his ego was already too large. "Alright, fine. I'll stay." He nodded like he already knew you’d say yes. You hissed at his back, watching as he walked back out the door and down the stairs. "Blueberry pancakes, please."

He held a thumbs-up, saluting you. "Yes, ma'am."

You showered quickly because even though Rafe had vowed to drive you so you weren’t late, there was still that nagging voice in the back of your head saying that you would be. You pulled on the clothes you’d worn yesterday before venturing back out to his bedroom, searching for a hoodie in his closet. The familiar creak of his bedroom door broke the silence, and you laughed. "Those pancakes didn't take long-"

Ward Cameron stood in the doorway of his son's closet with an eerily calm demeanor. Your heart dropped, knowing that every outcome of this conversation would end horribly. "Mr.Cameron."

He smiled. "You are not my son."

You pulled on Rafe’s hoodie, hugging yourself, a chill running down your spine. "I was just leaving."

He nodded. "Perfect." You walked toward the window, pulling it open before realizing your mistake. Turning around, you walked toward the bedroom door, smiling gratefully when the older man moved just enough out of the way to let you by.

You’d almost been free, your foot already on the first step, when Ward grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. "I don't want to ever see you on my property ever again. Do you hear me?” 

“Yes, sir-” 

“Stay away from my son. You and your family's recent fall in-” He grimaced. “Your reputation will ruin his prospects. I don’t need you messing up everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve.” He let go and smiled. "Have we reached an agreement?"

You nodded, and he sighed. "Speak up."

"Yes, yes, agreed. I agree." You ran down the stairs, tears streaming down your face. "Sorry for disturbing you."

Rafe pushed the door open, carrying a tray full of blueberry pancakes, coffee, and a little bouquet of daisies. “I hope these meet your standards, Your Highness.” Setting the tray down on his side table, he frowned, looking around his room curiously. “Baby?” 

“Shit!” 

He tilted his head, looking out his window for the source of the curse. “Baby, where are you going?” You opened your mouth, about to speak, before deciding against it. If you spoke, he would break you down into staying, and you couldn’t do that to him. 

Rafe leaned out the window and yelled after you, confused beyond belief as to why you were leaving without saying goodbye. “Come back!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Kiara pulled you aside, smiling quickly at a customer who walked past. “You’ve been all mopey since you got here.” 

“Nothing’s wrong, Kie.” You faked a smile, sticking your tongue out. “See? I’m smiling.” 

“I don’t appreciate the sass.” She glared, lowering her voice. “Is this about-” 

“I don’t appreciate you butting into my personal buisness.” You teased. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the regular at table five is waving me down.” 

Kiara scoffed, yelling after you as you walked away. “You’re in denial!” 

You ignored Kiara, smiling at the man in front of you. “You want the usual?” 

“I think I’ll try something new today, sweetheart.” He glanced down at the menu, fixing his glasses before reading off his order. The entrance bell rang behind you, but you ignored it, taking the menu from the customer's hand. The old man smiled, laughing to himself. “Your friend is staring at you.” 

You laughed along with him, making a mental note to smack Kiara upside the head. “She’s like that.” 

“You mean he?”

You nodded, smiling like you had made the mistake on purpose. “Sorry, sir. Long day.” 

“No worries, sweetheart.” 

You knew he’d follow you. You wish he hadn’t, but Rafe was anything if not persistent. Keeping your head down, you stepped past him and behind the counter, putting away the menus. “Please leave.” 

“You left,” Rafe whispered, leaning over the counter. “With no explanation.” 

“I didn’t think you would need one.” You explained like it was obvious. “Are you going to take a seat?” 

He raised an eyebrow, obviously not enjoying your approach to the situation. “Depends.” 

“On what?” 

“Are you going to tell me why you left?” 

You sighed, pouring a mug of coffee and stepping out from behind the counter. “Either take a seat or leave, Rafe.”

 “I’m not leaving.” He was adamant, following after you as you handed the mug of coffee to your customer. 

“Is this young man bothering you?” The old mann whispered, admiration blooming in your heart. 

You shook your head, smiling. “No, but you’re sweet for asking.” 

Rafe smiled quickly at the old man before turning back to you. “What happened? I thought we’d finally-”

“You want the truth?” 

“That’s all I want.” His hand twitched, and you could tell he wanted to reach out and hold you.

“Here’s the truth. I’m not good enough for you.”

“Not good enough for me?” He laughed, his voice raising, grabbing the attention of your customers. “Not good enough-” 

“Your reputation is everything, Rafe. I can’t be the one who ruins it, I just can’t.” Your eyes were watering for the third time that day. “Now will you please leave?” 

“I’m not leaving.” He looked thoroughly upset. “Why would you say that?” 

“It’s the truth.” You hissed. “That’s what you asked for.” 

“You sound like my father right now.” He laughed. “If anything, I’m not good enough for you.” 

“We both know that’s not the truth.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m a disgraced-” 

“Stop saying that.” His voice was weak, practically pleading. “Wait a second, did my-” 

“Rafe.” You couldn’t have him catching on. “Go home, please.” 

“What did my father say to you?” You avoided his eyes, staring at the wooden floor. “I knew it.” 

“Rafe-” 

“I’m gonna kill him.” 

“Rafe!” You hissed. “Don’t say that. He’s just looking out for you.” 

“So he did say something then?” Rafe took your silence for an answer, turning toward the door. “I’ll be back.” 

“No.” You shook your head, following after him, ignoring the onlookers. “It’s not worth it, really.” 

“Well, it’s his fault that I lost you, so I would say it’s worth it.” He jumped into his jeep, slamming the door shut. “He’s gonna-” 

“You didn’t lose me.” You called out, heart pumping a million miles a minute. “You never lost me.” 

“What?” He climbed out of his car. “What did you just say?” 

“I said-” You laughed, in disbelief that this was all happening. “You didn’t lose me.”

“Yeah?” He walked slowly toward you, like a lion stalked it’s prey. “You still want me?” 

“I always have.” You whispered, scared to move. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.” 

“Dangerous words.” He was grinning, pulling you into him. “I might have to take you away.” 

“Can’t do that.” You laughed, your breath intertwining with his. “I have to finish my shift.” 

“Well, shit.” He frowned. “Guess I’ll just have to kiss you here.” 

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Guess so.” 

He leaned down, lips soft like he thought this was all a dream. A growl escaped from his throat, pulling you impossibly close, lips attacking your passionately. You yelped, giggling as he tried to keep kissing you. “Stop laughing.” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just-” You pecked his lips. “You’re attacking me.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” His eyes were soft, lips still against yours as he spoke. “You’re not leaving, I don’t care what my dad says.” 

“Excuse me?” You jumped, pulling yourself out of Rafe’s arms. Kie was standing on the porch, her hand on her hips. “I’m glad this-” She waved in your direction. “Got resolved, but your table’s food is ready. So… break it up.” 

“Alright.” You nodded. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Kie smiled. “Stop distracting my employees, Cameron.” 

“I’m not your employee!” You yelled at Kie. “Stop spreading lies.” 

Rafe laughed at you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he saluted the pogue. “Yes, ma’am.”  

taglist: @milesdrift  @rottenstyx

[nightplvmes]

MORNING (fluff)

Rafayel one shot ⋆｡° | pairing : rafayel x fem!reader (third person pov) ⋆｡° | word count : 1k ⋆｡° | fluff, lazy morning, clingy rafa likes and reblogs are appreciated!! ★ masterlist here

She was about to fall asleep, her eyes slightly closed, until she felt hands around her. A yawn escaped her lips and she turned to look over her shoulder. Rafayel was trying to make room for him on the bed.

She shifted and crawled to the center of the bed to make room for him. Seconds later, she felt his weight on the bed. His arms wrapped around her again, this time pulling her closer to him. It was cold, and his warmth was actually comforting. She yawned and shifted gently in his arms so she could turn until she was facing him.

"I thought you were going to work," she murmured in her sleepy voice. She didn't know how long ago Rafayel had started his morning routine, but she knew it had been long enough for her to fall into a deep sleep for at least a few minutes.

"I work at home," he replied, causing his girlfriend to roll her eyes. He knew what she meant: starting some paintings he had pending. He already knew what she meant, but he liked to tease her every time she asked the same question.

"You know what I mean."

Rafayel nodded, pressing his body against hers. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, smelling her scent. There was a peculiar scent she had every time she woke up, and it had become his favorite. He'd mentioned it to her once. "Yeah, I just… wanted to say good morning to you."

"It doesn't count as good morning if you wake me up." She gasped when Rafayel pulled her against him again. She knew there was something more to it. It didn't have to be something bad, exactly, but she knew it wasn't just Rafayel wanting to say good morning to her. "What's wrong?"

He sighed when he stopped hiding his face to look at her. "I wanted to spend some more time with you," he admitted. "Besides, you smell so good. I hate that you smell so good," he complained before burying his face in her neck again, inhaling her scent.

She smiled, trying to wriggle in his arms, but Rafayel was stronger than her, and there wasn't much she could do while she was still sleepy. "You're late. Thomas called me yesterday asking if you'd thrown away your phone because you weren't answering." It had become a habit to call her when Rafayel didn't answer, which was… often when he was with her.

"One day won't change anything." He stopped hiding his face again, this time to place a kiss on her cheek. "It's your fault for smelling so good," he complained… again.

She laughed again; his lips tickled her, but she didn't dare push him away. She turned her face to look at him, but Rafayel took the opportunity to press his lips against hers, a small, lazy kiss. Like those kisses you give when you know there's more to come.

"You can do many things in one day." She shook her head. He had that look on his face that told her he wasn't leaving her side anytime soon. "I promise to stop showering and rolling in mud next time," she joked, causing her boyfriend to snort and her to giggle.

"Do that, and I'll put you in the shower myself." He squeezed her hips, and she raised an eyebrow, sensing that his words actually had a double meaning. "I didn't mean that, but you could put it into practice right now."

"Stop it, you have work." She shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't really like the idea of taking a bath together, but she hated being the reason he wanted to stay in bed all day or preferred to spend his time with her and was now he had pending work.

Rafayel nodded, giving up. He wouldn't get anywhere fighting with his girlfriend, especially since he knew she was right; he couldn't keep putting off work. "Fine." He sighed in frustration and placed one last kiss on her cheek before getting out of bed.

She watched as he left the room after a few seconds. The room fell silent, and she felt guilty for practically kicking him out of bed when she really would have liked to be curled up next to him for the rest of the morning.

She let out a yawn and shifted back in bed to settle in and sleep for another couple of hours. She was still tired; she could feel it throughout her body, but when she settled under the sheets and closed her eyes, sleep never came. Minutes passed, and if she continued like this, she was sure it would be hours, but she couldn't go back to sleep. All she could think about was Rafayel and how much she missed his warmth.

She gave up and got out of bed, having to tiptoe as the cold from the floor penetrated her feet. It took her a couple of seconds to reach the big room where Rafayel usually worked. Despite the quietness, he felt her presence almost immediately.

"Wouldn't you go back to sleep?" Rafayel's question echoed throughout the room even though he was facing away from her, preparing the materials he would use for his next painting.

"It's your fault, you made me wake up," she replied, and now it was her arms that wrapped around him from behind. He smiled and one of his hands wrapped around hers to bring it to his lips, placing a soft kiss there.

Was she too needy? Was there something wrong with wanting to be close to her boyfriend on certain days? It wasn't that she couldn't be without him; she could survive perfectly without him; she just preferred not to.

He guided her to the chair in front of the blank canvas and made a space for her on his lap, as he had done so many times before. She rested her head on his shoulder, her gaze fixed on the canvas, waiting to see the beginning of his next work.

And spending the morning on her boyfriend's lap, receiving his kisses, seemed like the perfect way to start the day.

[nevershootamockingbird]

[ Image One: A screenshot of a reddit post that reads: "AITAH for "training" a guy "like a dog"?

I (23F) have recently started seeing this guy (26M). he's super pretty, but he's kind of emotionally unavailable and he's alluded to an unstable/ unhealthy childhood.

for context, i also work w socializing abused and neglected dogs at a local shelter and i think about how much time i spend w the dogs is impacting the way i interact w ppl.

when we were on a date i started subconsciously making mental notes abt him like the notes id make abt a dog. for example, i noticed when we went out to dinner and i noticed he ate really quickly and was very anti-sharing (resource guarding) but when i offered to pay and suggested dessert it seemed to make him really happy and a little calmer (food-motivated); he likes when i pick where we go/ what we do (eager to please), etc. so, ive started using the tactics id use on a dog w similar problems.

recently a friend (22F) pointed out that it's weird that i keep peanut M&Ms on me w the specific purpose of offering the guy one when i see him, and offering them again whenever i can tell he feels vulnerable. she said that im being an asshole bc he's a person, not a dog so i shouldn't be "training him like one."

i don't think thats fair, im not trying to control him or anything, i just want him to feel comfortable w me the same way i need the animals im helping to be comfortable w me. humans and animals aren't THAT diff after all, we all just want to feel safe and cared for. the guy hasn't noticed yet as far as i can tell. the problem is, my "technique" is yielding really positive results.

AITAH? should i stop?"

Image Two: A screenshot of a reddit post that reads: "UPDATES/ CLARIFICATIONS

for everyone asking me if i've seen the big bang theory ep w this plotline: i have not

for everyone saying they think i am autistic: probably, yeah. i haven't been tested but maybe i should

i do not have loose m&ms in my pocket bc then they'd get all melty and gross - i keep them in a bag in my purse

ik the title was clickbait-y so i want to make some things clear. i didn't think of it as "training" til my friend said it was like i was training him, and that made me feel weird (and it's why i made the post)

i am not and never have been trying to "modify" behavior. what i noticed in him and what i notice in animals were stress responses. we only get aggressive over our food if we believe someone's gonna take it away. we get defensive over our spaces if we reasonably feel like they'll be violated. applies to both animals and ppl. i was trying to establish trust the way i best know how to lol

if he never shared fries and never wanted to park next to a car w wide doors again, that'd be fine w me tbh. i know he's not a dog, so he's not at risk of being euthanized or something"

Image Three: A screenshot of a reddit post that reads: "ON TO THE UPDATE PROPER YAY!"

so, to all of the ppl who told me i should tell him what im doing - you were right and that's what i did. turns out i was VERY WRONG abt him not noticing what i was doing - he apparently put two and two together pretty quickly after i started doing it. he didn't tell me he was on to me tho, bc he liked it and was worried id get embarrassed and stop if i knew that he knew. so we talked it out and it ended up not being a very big deal at all and im probably gonna keep having m&ms bc they're good. that's all i got for yall lol" / End ID ]

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[slutzforbueckers]

Hi! Love your work! Thought maybe action #9 sending text/pictures where maybe reader & paige were texting back and forth but then paige got a message from the team chat at the same time and sent her wild response to the team and not reader on accident! Then damage control lol

oopsies

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: not rlly smut but kinda fluff too idfk

♡— synopsis: you and paige were in the middle of sexting when she got a message from the team groupchat… she accidentally sent the wrong message to the wrong chat.

❥•°❀°•༢

paige 💋💋

i miss your pretty pussy

so fucking good

you bit your bottom lip at her text, rolling over onto your stomach as you thought about what to say next. within the next few seconds you decided that a picture would probably do more justice than anything you could say.

you

*one attachment*

she misses you too p, dw

paige groaned when she saw the picture of your fingers spreading your pussy, your arousal clear by the string of slick connecting your fingertips. she pressed her thighs together, trying to relieve some pressure.

she started typing again immediately, barely able to focus with the heat pulsing between her legs. while she typed she got a notification from the team group chat, she didn’t bother to look as she raised her pointer finger and swiped it away.

what she didn’t realize was that she accidentally clicked on the notification instead of swiping it. her thumbs were clumsy as she quickly typed and sent the text without checking twice.

paige 🪣

fuck baby

i wanna spread you open n taste everything

i’d have you crying in like five minutes

she clicked out of the messages to answer the group chats text but when she clicked on it a picture of your cunt was staring back at her. paige’s brows furrowed in confusion and her eyes narrowed as she checked the name—it was your contact alright but where was the text she’d just sent?

paige thought she had maybe accidentally hallucinated it and she started to type it out again but then she started receiving a string of notifications from the group chat. she saw up quickly when she realized what she’d done.

aubrey 👵🏾

girl what???

kk 💃🏽

oh hell nah

REF DO SOMETHING

jana 🍃

omfg delete delete delete

QUICKLY

paige’s soul left her body, she stared at the screen in horror, the realization hitting so hard it made her physically recoil. “fuck fuck fuck,” she hissed, scrambling to unsend the message—but it was too late, everyone had seen it. she tried to flip it around, do and say anything to stop this from being brought up for the next 10 years of her life—even though that was totally unstoppable.

paige 🪣

im so so so sorry

i was literally hacked

this is literally ai

don’t believe everything you see on the internet

kk 💃🏽

girl boo 🌚

azzi 👑

no ai could do that amount of damage i fear…

caroline🙎🏻‍♀️

i hate to say this but you’re cooked

you laid on your stomach still, wondering what was taking paige so long to answer. you started to type another message out but then you saw the three little grey dots appear.

paige💋💋

babe…

i accidentally sent the team gc the wrong text

*one attachment*

you looked at the phone in confusion and clicked on the picture. it was a screenshot of paige’s group chat, her text were at the top—filthy words that should never be spoken to anyone other than her girlfriend.

you laughed, you couldn’t help it. all you could do was picture paige’s face when she realized—how mortified she must’ve looked. you called her immediately and she picked up after the first ring, her face red with embarrassment. “you know you’re never living that down, right?”

“shut up, it’s not funny.” paige groaned, running her hand down her face. you laughed a little harder and she turned a little more red, glaring at the phone like that was really enough to stop you from laughing. “okay bet, remember this tomorrow night.”

her voice dropped to a low tone and you stopped laughing, your face going still because you knew what she meant. paige raised her brows and smirked, thinking that she had finally silenced you—which she should’ve known better when that mischievous smile came back.

“one second, let me make sure i’m talking to the right person.”

[aimasup]

2025 lilo and stitch rant, super long post, mega spoilers

might make changes to this later, no beta we die like Stitch's personality

"ohana means family, family means no one gets left behind, which includes you Nani 😇" (not a direct quote from the 2025 film)

WHO?????? WHO IS LEAVING HER BEHIND?? Is it her sister fresh out the womb, apparently a burden making sure Nani never gets to be her own person?? Is it Nani herself?? Someone who was completely rewritten to have different goals for a good message in the wrong movie?? Is it the 2 childrens' dead parents?? If so then what about Lilo?? What happens when Nani is too busy to visit in her new college?? Don't talk to me about how David and his mother are also family, it's the principle of the changes in plot.

Those are sisters who have lost their father and mother. They literally only have each other. I find it hard to believe that after such a recent loss that Nani would just: "*sniff* you're right *sniff* I DO have to put myself first!!! I'm so tired!!" and already start thinking about college?? I'm not saying it's selfish of her to want it I'm saying it's, to me, a coping mechanism that the movie wants to say was her real hidden motivation all this time.

You ever have to move away from your best friend? Not a good feeling, especially when there's options in the same area you could've chosen but you can't for some reason. You can still visit, but it is a huge change. That's the best case scenario this movie decided on for Lilo and Stitch.

Original Nani literally wants the best for Lilo and understands that her little sister is different (read: likely neurodivergent). A massive strength of original Nani was that she had the maturity and ability to understand that. That's not something their parent's death made Nani have to come to terms with, that's something about Lilo that she already accepted long before.

I cannot stress this enough, they are sisters. Nani sticks her tongue back at Lilo, Nani teases Lilo (oh nooo gravity's increasing on me!!), Nani rolls her eyes at Lilo - have you considered, that these traits are not caretaker/mother Nani just playing along with her kid's games, but that Nani is naturally silly and Lilo brings out that side of her more?

There's one scene in the original where she may be 'playing along' with Lilo.

Original Nani makes Lilo feel better about her losing her job, but that vampire excuse came so naturally to Nani that I personally interpreted it as,

a.) holy shit Nani is an extremely good guardian,

but also

b.) Nani is creative enough in her own right to play off of Lilo, and

c.) Nani seems to even cheer up a bit when making up this absurd tale to Lilo. This is headcanon territory but I feel like they used to fill each others' heads with stories like this all the time, Nani may not get everything about Lilo, but she's smart and whimsical too - IDK IF IM GETTING THIS ACROSS RIGHT BUT THEY'RE SISTERS. THEYRE BESTIES. NANI NEEDS LILO AS MUCH AS LILO NEEDS HER

For what reason did she have to do this. Nani you are being such a piece of shit I love you

And then in the new movie Nani is just seems to be completely annoyed Lilo's - everything?? They added this layer of tiredness and anger to Nani for 'realism', she loses control and takes it out on Lilo for 'realism' - but she loses control and takes it out on Lilo in the original too without telling her to 'wake up and stop living in fantasy'.

There's literally a whole scene in the original showing how Nani and Lilo are not adjusting well, and Nani calls Lilo misbehaved and a pain, but she doesn't RANT AT HER. There's a difference in original and new Nani's anger. I can't explain it.

Lilo being taken to the adopt a dog wasn't just Nani listening to a request, it might have been her trying give Lilo a friend. Lilo doesn't even know Nani overhead her star wish, Nani just wants Lilo to have one friend that won't run away, something that they both know Nani, Lilo's own sister, can't be for her full-time anymore.

Then they made it so Nani couldn't even do that in the live action film so their new characters could have something to do.

It's all girlboss girlpower until the girl loves her sister so much it hurts and she's entirely fine with it

The more I think about the ending of the live action Lilo and Stitch the more it baffles me. It's like reading a bad-end fanfiction where the characters end up evil or separated except the movie's trying to say it's a good thing somehow.

Also I'd rather they not add Cobra Bubbles at all with how little he contributed here. You guys do know when you divide a character in half the characters are only half of themselves right. Right

They've watered down all the characters tbh - Lilo, Stitch, Pleakley, that tall alien leader woman (idk her name), even that mean girl in the hula class. So I wanna talk about Jumba real quick (lie)

Jumba

And how do you misunderstand Jumba so bad?? He definitely wasn't good in the original, literally says he will take Stitch apart and remake him, but he isn't totally malicious?? Original Jumba was just an antagonistic mad scientist motivated by - like many other mad scientists, science.

In the original, Stitch both aggravates and intrigues Jumba, and this dynamic is fun because of:

a.) the little blue shithead's evasion of Jumba's grasp and

b.) the little blue shithead's responses to the new environment variables.

"I'm coming to kick your ass you bitch homunculus I literally made you"

Therefore Original Jumba is literally so pissed at Stitch but so happy to observe his creation under a microscope. That indestructible monster is his pride and joy!! They're on another goddamn planet, why wouldn't Jumba play Animal Planet while trying to keep up with Stitch (before shooting him)!! That's a biologist given a free study trip!!

In the original when he's telling a sad Stitch that he has no family, he's stating a cold fact as impassively as possible, that's just who he is!! Jumba is antagonistic to Stitch' development because he is reminding Stitch of his purpose - Jumba has no reason to believe this feral terror creature can ever be domesticated.

Original Jumba didn't really see Stitch as anything but an unruly test subject (affectionately) - here's the thing though, he was willing to have this instant change of heart because Stitch is his test subject. No Victor Frankenstein is a totally sweet dad to their lab abomination children let's be real.

Basically Original Jumba adores science. Stitch is his greatest scientific creation, and when Stitch began to be more than just an experiment to him, he embraced that too because Jumba, plain and simple, was never so unlikable that the audience couldn't believe he didn't have a heart. Because Stitch, mindless monster or not, was always his beloved/beloathed child.

Also the dialogue in the whole 2025 movie is so bad. everyone feels dumber now.

Gonna stop talking about the writing now

The presentation

I don't think this movie should've been made in the first place but they should've just used puppets for the aliens, like in star wars.

Could've even used camera tricks to make Gantu enormous like those monster movies from decades ago. Have someone in a shark cop costume stomp around a tiny model of an island i dunno

And why are the colours so bad?? this is live action yet real life literally looks better than this movie lol

It goes by so fast, no suspense to leave room for interest and no pauses to let the jokes breathe. Everyone talks like they're in such a hurry like slow down!!!

Also the hologram disguises, the reasoning is so odd. If the aliens don't look convincingly human, they just don't.

'it worked in the animated version but it doesn't work in real life' NO TF IT DIDN'T. They could not have been MORE OBVIOUSLY ALIENS, even in the original animation!! I don't even think humans are that easily fooled, I think everyone's just too polite to say anything about this random couple's appearance!!! Jumba and Pleakley did not pass as humans in the original because they were animated they passed because the plot let them PLEEEEASE

'this didn't work in live action' and 'that didn't work in live action' then don't make it! The audacity!!!! To not only make this a real thing, but also be cheap about it. Like pick a struggle mate

[clara-a7]

𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 || Oscar Piastri⁸¹

✧f1 masterlist

彡PAIRING ; oscar piastri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff, childhood best friends

彡SUMMARY ; you return to a karting track to support your nephew and unexpectedly run into oscar, your childhood friend.

彡REQUESTED? ; yes! (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 670

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; i’m not at home right now so I wrote this super quickly... sorry if there are a few little mistakes! But I really hope you enjoy it ♡

You didn’t plan to come back. Not on a track. Not to the sound of karts racing on the track. And definitely not to your past.

But when your nephew asked you to come with him said he wanted “someone who used to race” to watch you smiled and said yes. Just one weekend, you thought. What could go wrong?

Now you were here, standing by the fence, watching him take the corners too wide. He reminded you of yourself at his age fast, brave, a little wild.

“He’s good,” someone said beside you. “He reminds me of someone I used to race with.”

You turned and your heart stopped for a second.

Oscar.

He looked a little older. His face was sharper, and he seemed more serious now. But his smile? Still soft. Still the same.

“Hey,” you said, blinking. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Same,” he replied, standing with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I had a sponsor thing nearby. Thought I’d stop in. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

He nodded toward the kart speeding by.

“That your nephew, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. “His first regional race.”

Oscar watched in silence for a moment, then smiled. “He’s quick. A little wild, but he knows what he’s doing. Just like you were.”

You laughed quietly. “Some habits run in the family.”

There was a pause between you. The kind that feels heavy, like you both knew how long it had been since you last spoke.

“I’m really glad to see you again,” Oscar said. His voice was softer now, more honest. “It’s been a while.”

You nodded. “Yeah… it has.”

Wanting to break the awkwardness, you said, “I saw you got your seat in F1. That’s amazing.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s been… a mess, but I got it.”

You smiled. “I always knew you’d get there.”

He raised his eyebrows with a little smile. “You did?”

“Of course,” you said. “You always had that perfect mix calm and fire. You never lost your head. You just kept pushing.”

Oscar gave a small laugh. “Except when it came to you.”

You looked at him, surprised. “Me?”

He gave a small shrug, still smiling. “Back then… you were always one step ahead. You drove me crazy. In a good way.”

You laughed, a little shy. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Another quiet moment passed. This time it was full of old memories, things neither of you had said back then.

“I thought about you,” Oscar said quietly. “After you stopped racing. After we lost contact.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup. “I thought about you too.”

He looked at you with a soft smile one that held a little sadness. “It’s strange being here again. Talking to you like no time has passed. I missed this.”

Your cheeks warmed. You looked away, trying not to smile too much.

Oscar seemed like he wanted to say something more. But then, before either of you could speak, a loud voice broke through the sound of engines.

“Auntie!”

Your nephew came running up, cheeks red from racing, helmet in his arms. His eyes went wide when he saw who you were standing with.

“Wait?! That’s Oscar Piastri!” he said excitedly.

Oscar bent down a bit to his level and smiled. “You were really fast out there.”

“Thanks!” your nephew grinned proudly. Then he looked between you both and frowned. “Wait… do you know each other?”

Oscar glanced at you, a knowing smile on his lips. “We go way back.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” Your nephew turned to you, eyes big. “So can he come to dinner with us? Please?”

You looked at Oscar. He gave a small smile, looking a bit unsure.

“Only if your aunt says it’s okay,” he told your nephew kindly.

Your cheeks felt warm again. You looked at him for a moment, thinking about everything between you then smiled.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think it’s okay.”

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[bonediggercharleston]

Misrepresenting my point, I said cheating was easier than ever and more common, not that it was rare before AI . The easier you make something, the more common it becomes because difficulty is a barrier. In the case of getting others to do work for you, it requires material or social capital, which many won't have or know how to employ because they would have to admit academic inability to someone else. AI is how ever commonly advertised as a program that can do your work for you by its creators and has a lot of hype going around it, so it is easy to use and well-known. The computer follows your orders discretely and unquestioningly. It is a question of degree, not of existence.

2. True, I criticized your example but the example was obviously the center point of your argument and I used it to show why it is a flawed tool (following prompts creates blind spots, asking direct questions leads you to only using direct approaches which limits out of the box thinking, other tools produce equally good results without the externalities of AI). How many of those sources in the prompts were real? LLMs hallucinate sources all the time.

3. Scholar isn't really capable of being "infallible" or "fallible" as it is just giving you academic resources with the fitting keywords you entered, it is your job to suss out whether they are suitable for your research, which you say you do with the GPT results as well, so no difference to you. Offering other search terms is really helpful to explore other avenues, but that is done via regular algorithm not an overly expensive AI, and additionally you can quickly change the search terms tailored to your preferences. To get rid of answers you realize are not at all in the field you are looking for, you can add more specific key words and even exclude terms like programming by typing -programming in your example. No need to run high power consumption calculation centers for that little trick that google had for almost 25 years.

And yeah, some papers having similar names, but again, you can change keywords, and also, they are talking about the similar topic. That does not mean the content is the same. They will also contain sources which can lead you to more material. You assume they will all be the same, let's have a look at page 14

Looks like specific examinations on labor availability in specific regions, the effects on minor powers and case files of companies at the time. Seems like interesting results for a deep dive, but not the stuff you would want on the front page, which would have the larger overviews on the topic. So we can't say that google scholar does not give us diverse sources even within a single search, quite the opposite in fact.

You frankly do not know which technology will be the one to achieve a breakthrough, and pointing out previous breakthroughs is just extrapolating from hindsight. For every success there are many, many failures: Steam-powered cars and electric cars are over a hundred years old and they failed when they first appeared, so did wireless electricity, radium toothpaste, monorails, flying cars and blockchain technology.

Smartphones did not receive this backlash, they were recognized as really cool thing. Apple was the new cool because of the iPod after floundering in the 90s and the iPhone hit at the right time. It expanded our abilities as we were able to have a supercomputer and communication device in our pocket. Just because some people poo-poo'ed it then does not mean the criticism of AI atrophying mental capabilities nowadays is wrong. The brain needs to be used to stay sharp but GPTs , much like social media, actually counteract that.

Here is a real-life industry example: code-bases have gotten worse.

People have predicted this.

Experienced programmers have experienced this.

An LLM does not give you the ability to do something you couldn't do without google except write large amounts of text in very short time. So you lose the ability to write and plan essays, i.e. structure arguments. Say you had a structure in mind and told the AI to use it: It does wording for you, a thing that will also not improve because you don't practice it. Instead of your voice it will be the average voice of every single human on the planet. OPs argument is that she became a better thinker by challenging herself and that GPTs externalize thinking, so humans lose their ability to mentally grow. LLMs seem like a useful tool at first but I have not seen a single profitable use case, and the people who put a lot of money into it expect to see some money back in the end. How much will you pay chatGPT to give you ideas for essays instead of just looking on google or DDG? If you never practice brainstorming, you will become dependent on a computer to think for you. If you don't memorize many little facts, you will never make those connections out of the blue. Don't outsource the thinking out of your brain, even for brainstorming, research and structuring.

"what did students do before chatgpt?" well one time i forgot i had a history essay due at my 10am class the morning of so over the course of my 30 minute bus ride to school i awkwardly used by backpack as a desk, sped wrote the essay, and got an A on it.

six months later i re-read the essay prior to the final exam, went 'ohhhh yeah i remember this', got a question on that topic, and aced it.

point being that actually doing the work is how you learn the material and internalize it. ChatGPT can give you a short cut but it won't build you the the muscles.