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bi-writes · 13 days ago

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polarity | ghost x f!reader

maybe we're not so different after all.

type: one-shot (8.3k), AO3

cw: this piece is actually super dark proceed with caution, dark!ghost, dark!simon, sunshine!reader, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence + gore, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, meet-cute until it's not, background breeding kink, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, references to simon's past canon trauma, 18+

Ghost does not believe in love at first sight.

The concept is for children; even when he was a child, he doesn’t think he would’ve believed it then, either. There was no love where he went, even to the places where it was owed to him. In his own house, he feared what love felt like. The kind he knew was pain and misery and the terrifying reality of what it meant to always be looking over his own shoulder.

Love at first sight chewed Simon Riley up—and what it spat out was terrible, big, and caged-off from the rest of the world.

Ghost is built of many layers. Not like an onion, no—onions are easy to manipulate. With the tip of a knife, you can cut right through its skin and tear it apart, but Ghost is not built the same way. He laid concrete out in front of himself a long time ago. The things around him are rotten, curled in on itself, and it would take too long to unbury him for anyone at all to want to spend the time and try. He prefers it this way. He likes it this way. Being alone means there are no surprises, and there is no one waiting for you. There is no one to disappoint, and there is no one to prove right or wrong. There is only today and tomorrow, because yesterday has already passed, and he doesn’t care to think about what already was.

It’s Johnny that’s brought him here. In a pub too loud, with watered-down drinks that cost a quid too much. He didn’t have an excuse today to turn him down. Johnny’s got a sister he needs to see, and his sister has got a friend—someone from her uni, taking the same chemistry courses, or something like that. He can’t really remember, he wasn’t paying attention too closely, but Johnny offered to pay if his lieutenant just gave him company in the long drive into the city.

The booth is too small. His bourbon tastes off. All he wants to do is smoke a cigarette, but he’s been staring daggers at the “No Smoking” sign that’s posted behind the bar. There’s a ringing in his ears that’s been following him since they got off their last op just a few days ago, and it feels strongest here in this room, with too many unknowns in too many dark corners.

“Johnny!”

A soft voice squeals. Simon’s eye twitches, and he looks over Johnny’s shoulder to see a pretty brunette with bright, blue eyes smiling wide as she hurries towards them. Johnny slips out of his seat to cradle the woman to his chest, rocking back and forth as he hugs her. His baby Emily, he hears Johnny mutter. She’s got that same square jaw and strong brows, and Ghost imagines that if Johnny were to grow out his hair, it’d grow in the same matching, bouncy curls that Emily has. She sounds so happy to see him, and Ghost swirls a gloved finger around the rim of his glass as he watches.

It tastes sour, looking at something that he used to have. He wishes that he didn’t want it as much as he thinks he does at this very moment.

“Oh! Sorry, forgot for a wee second there. This is who I told you about—”

Emily steps aside, and there you stand.

Glossy, pink-tinted lips. A cardigan that hugs your frame with a knit, sunflower pattern. Light wash jeans, baby blue boots. Your fingertips are painted glittery and pink, and your baby blue purse matches your shoes.

Emily says your name, and you hold out your hand for Johnny to shake. It’s then that your eyes move to the shadow behind him, and Ghost licks over his teeth, satisfied, when you visibly swallow and your eyes widen a little.

“Ach, don’t mind ‘im. Tha’ scary bastard is just my lieutenant, Simon,” Johnny nods his head over his shoulder. “Simon, would ye introduce yerself, fer fuck’s sake? Stop brooding over there.”

Naturally, Emily sits next to her brother, already squeezing his shoulders and excitedly telling him about some fellowship opportunity she was up for. You slip your purse off your shoulder, shuffling towards the space next to Simon. You grip the edge of the booth to hoist yourself up onto the high seat, and you smile a little when Simon holds out his hand for you.

You take it, smooth palm in his gloved one, and it takes no effort at all for him to tug gently and get you up to sit. He sniffs, looking up when he finds himself staring a little too long at the curve of your jeans, but it’s hard not to when both of you take up the entirety of the booth. Just to fit, Simon has to lean back, and you adjust your cardigan over your shoulder when Simon stretches one big arm out behind you.

“So, uh…” You clear your throat. “What are you drinking, Lieutenant?”

“Piss water,” Simon says lowly. He cringes a little at the bite of his tone—he never means to be curt, but it always comes out that way. You purse your lips, tapping your nails on the wood, and you look at him over your shoulder.

“Hmm,” you make a face, “so Johnny made it?”

It takes a few moments for Simon to realize you’re telling a joke. The silence must mortify you, because you’re looking down and tearing a piece of yarn out of your sweater, and Simon realizes he’s wearing his mask, and you can’t see his face, and she’s trying to break the fucking ice—

“Nah,” Simon shrugs, shaking his head. “His tastes more like right shit.”

Your eyes flicker up, and you stare at him for just a few moments under your lashes before your hand goes up to cover your mouth. You giggle, cheeks warm, and he blinks at you slowly as your entire body relaxes. Your thigh touches his, and his fingers flex on the hand that’s thrown behind you, twitching as he thinks about letting them graze the skin peeking out from under your sweater.

When he gets the urge to touch you under your chin, he nearly curses out loud because fuck—

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Simon knows it as soon as he lays his eyes on you again. Staring right into yours, hand fidgeting behind you as it wants so desperately to cup the back of your neck and tangle into the strands of your hair—fuck, fuck, fuck—he’s so fucked.

He knows it, too, when you’re in his bed. Sunflower sweater draped across his floor, boots in the hallway, glittered nail-polish piercing his biceps as he tilts your head back, bares your throat, sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh there. You giggle, and it’s the rainbow after a storm. The drink of water after days in the desert, the stitch that holds the seams together, the pins that will take his broken bones and put them all back together again—

He’s feeling his cum dripping between your thighs when you ask him about his scars. He adjusts the edge of his mask as soon as you ask, sniffing under it as you smooth a finger over a puckered scar on his chest left behind by the ricochet of a stray bullet, one of many. You squeeze your thighs together when his long fingers move in squelching circles over your cunt, and your back arches when he slips them inside of you. You take his jaw between a few fingers and grip it tight, pressing your lips against his mask as you whine and kick your feet in overstimulation.

He doesn’t want you to ask questions. He doesn’t want to burst this bubble of warmth and goodness and intimacy that he’s created, because then this will be something else. Right now, he’s the mysterious, black ops military man you’ve spent an incredible night with, and if you start talking, you’ll learn. You’ll understand. You’ll find out why he doesn’t want to talk much. You’ll discover what he is under the skin he wears, and he already knows he’ll terrify you. There is nothing good about what someone uncovers under the lid he keeps over his head.

“Where did you get this one?” You point to a particular nasty white gash on the side of his ribs. He rubs a thick hand down your bare back, cupping your ass and squeezing gently.

“Op in Baghdad,” Simon murmurs. “Hand to hand.”

You touch a small circular scar on his arm.

“And this one?”

“Cigarette.”

You push the blankets down a little and bring your knee up. Simon grips the side of your thigh, and you hike your leg up to give him a better look at the puffed scar across your kneecap.

“Look at this,” you giggle. “I fell off my bike when I was little.”

“Tha’ right, swee’eart?”

“Mhm. Just like you.”

“Just like me.”

You’re still there in the morning. Cheek smushed against his chest, leg tangled between his, arm curled around his middle. There’s a little drool drying on the side of your mouth, and Simon thumbs along your jaw as he watches you sleep. The glittery eyeshadow you were wearing last night has smeared across your cheek a little, and you’re glowing. A good shag and a good night’s sleep, and you look like a right angel in the early hours.

You look like one on his couch, too. You look like one in his shirt that barely fits over your tits, watching his telly, eating the shit plate of eggs he made you since he’s never bothered to learn how to cook. You look beautiful getting your clothes back on and smelling just like him as he drives you back to your flat.

You look like his when he crowds you against the door of your place, masked mouth against your open lips as you fumble for the doorknob and yank him inside to get his pants off.

Your flat blinds him. There’s different colors scattered across the place. A fluffy pink carpet in the living room. String lights hung everywhere, in different colors, twinkling gently. There’s plants of all shapes and sizes hanging from the ceiling and overflowing from their brightly colored pots. No plate or cup is the same shape or color or even matches one another, and there’s lamps in the shapes of mushrooms and fish sitting on your mismatched coffee and side tables. You collect everything—movie posters of all kinds on the walls, an entire wall of funny clocks, another wall of arts and crafts that must be homemade, framed and hung up.

Your home is what you are. Fun and colorful and happy and bright, and Simon hikes his mask up so he can bite and lick and nearly eat you as he tries to absorb all of it. There is nothing inside of this place that doesn’t incite joy, and he feeds on it like a leech. He must have it, because he never has before, and whenever he lets go, he feels it less, and that cannot happen, he won’t let it go.

If it isn’t your smile keeping him close, your pussy is the next best thing. You look incredible on your knees—perched on your elbows, ass up, pushing back against him as he fucks into you lazily. You’re so beautiful, in every position, but there’s something about getting to push your thighs apart a little and watch you take his cock that makes his belly clench as he watches you suck him in again and again and again. There’s a ring of slick gathering at the base, making it nice and easy for him to kiss your cervix, and you sound so pretty—soft whines of his name, little mewls that make his jaw tick.

“Simon—Simon, please—”

He doesn’t like to hear you beg. You deserve whatever you ask for, whatever you want. Those big eyes should never desire anything. He never wants to see you pout or blubber—he wants you relaxed and pleasured and incoherent from how fed you are in every aspect, and he’s going to fuck you right into this mattress until he gets you right where you’re meant to be.

You tell him he looks funny in your bed, surrounded by the squishmallows and fluffy teddy bears, but he doesn’t mind. He didn’t realize what a proper bed could do for his back, because yours has springs and memory foam, and his body just sinks into it just right.

He gets woken up in the middle of the night by his phone. Wheels up at 0500, and now he’s dreading getting into his truck. There’s something warm on his chest, and for a moment he thinks it’s you, but then he blinks into focus when the thing on his chest moves and stretches, staring down at him with curious green eyes. It’s a chunky tuxedo cat, and it’s wearing a black bedazzled collar.

“‘ello,” Simon mutters, scratching under its chin. The big thing just nuzzles against his hand before moving to the end of the bed to curl up between your feet.

Simon tries not to think about you on the drive back, and he tries not to think about you as he puts his gear on; but there’s a bouquet of fake sunflowers on a secretary’s desk mocking him, and when he goes to put his gloves on, there’s still glitter on his fingertips.

You are everywhere. You are in the warmth of the sand that gets under the fabric of his mask. You are in the water that sustains him on hour fifteen of sitting on a rooftop. He sees you in the bright red that trickles from the hole in his target’s forehead, matching the red of the strawberry plushie that you were holding the morning he left.

He notices himself more. How much space he takes up. How loud his voice is. He compares the way his cock looks in his hand now to the way it looked in yours, and he has to swallow the groan that threatens to break when he thinks about the way you thumbed at the tip and cooed about how pretty he was. Delicate, pretty hands, not at all like his own—not at all like the roughness of his palms, the scars along the backs of his hands, the blood against his raw knuckles from beating a hostile into the ground just to feel something.

Just to feel anything.

Standing next to you, it is all too clear what kind of man Simon Riley is. He’s not a man at all—he’s nothing more than an extension to his rifle, and when the trigger isn’t getting pulled, he’s just not that fucking useful.

Johnny is in a mood. Scowling like a brat. Glaring at the back of his head. Hitting him with his shoulder whenever they pass by each other. Simon is indifferent, and Simon pretends not to care, so he takes it in stride, but it makes his teeth ache with how annoyed he is.

“What the fuck is wrong with ye?”

He doesn’t like being scolded, especially not by his sergeant; but he sits there, and he takes it, because what Johnny is telling him isn’t a lie. There’s a girl that woke up in an empty bed—a sweet one, with glassy eyes, and she thinks he’s a two-faced asshole that slipped out when she wasn’t looking. A girl that can do casual, but not a girl that can tell him about the dreams she’s too scared to write down and lets him rest his head on the same pillow where she rests her own. Too intimate, too many words, too many times he came inside of her and told her that’s where it’s supposed to be—in y’r pretty pussy, baby, right there—

He’s never done this before. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t stick around where he knows he doesn’t belong, and he never thinks he’s done anything wrong enough to warrant some kind of apology. With Simon, you get what you get, and he doesn’t think he advertises himself as someone warm, empathetic, considerate; but he’s sitting here, his truck still running, and there’s a decaying plastic-encased bouquet of yellow tulips resting haphazard in the passenger seat.

He’s been waiting on your doorstep for more than five minutes. He sees you peeking through the window in your kitchen, and his eyes find yours through the blinds. He narrows his eyes at you, squeezing the bouquet until the plastic crinkles under his fists. It takes a couple more moments before you open the door, and Simon sniffs under the mask when he sees your eyes again. They’re big and wet and sad.

He never wants to see them like this again.

You’re sweet, so you take the flowers from him. You purse your lips as you stand there, trying to keep your lip from wobbling, but it’s very clear you’re trying not to cry. You hug the flowers close to your chest, and Simon brings his hand up, tucking his gloved fingers under your chin and tipping it up.

“‘ello, swee’eart,” he murmurs. “Were y’lookin’ for me?”

“N-No.”

“Y’r a bad liar, baby.”

It takes a few minutes to get you settled. Sitting on your couch, batting at your tears with the sleeve of your sweater as Simon turns the kettle on in your kitchen. The cat weaves between his legs as he steeps the tea bags, and when he comes back into your living room, you’re staring at the droopy tulips, rubbing a thumb over the petals.

“‘ere,” Simon murmurs, setting down a mug in front of you.

“I…” You wipe under your nose. “I-I don’t need your pity, Simon.”

“Not here for tha’.”

“I know Johnny said something to you, and I really don’t want to talk about it—a-and if that’s why you’re here, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

You pick up one of the stuffed animals that sits on your couch. It’s a goldfish, fat with stuffing around the middle, with a comical smile and rainbow-colored scales. You hug it, resting your cheek on it, staring at Simon through wet eyelashes as he stiffens uncomfortably. Crying, emotions, talking—he doesn’t do any of these things. This complicates things. Relationships make things more difficult, and connections mean he has obligations, and he’s already seeing now what this kind of thing will be between you.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

“He did say somethin’,” Simon mutters. He sniffs, looking down at his gloved hands. His fingers curl into fists as they rest on his thighs, and he lets out the breath he’s holding harshly, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing here, but the thought of getting up and leaving seems worse. “Didn’t sit right wit’ me.”

You tuck your legs underneath you, and he watches as you absentmindedly knead the stuffed fish. You hum lowly, sheepish, and then you open and close your mouth as you try to find the words to say.

“I know we…” You flinch a little. “It was just…I know it was just a day. A night.” You rub your nose. “I feel so stupid. I don’t want you to feel bad. I don’t want you to feel…like you h-have to come here and…explain, I…” You close your eyes. “I-I just…I really like you, Simon.”

I really like you, Simon.

He leans his head back against the back of your couch. Something in his chest squeezes tight, and he swallows hard as he listens to you say it again and again in his head.

I really like you, Simon. I really like you, Simon. Don’t you like me?

“Oh, love,” Simon breathes. He turns his head to look at you, and you’re already looking at him. You have the fish to your chest, hugging it tighter, and he reaches over and touches under your chin gently. “Y’don’t want this. Y’don’t want me. I know y’think y’do, and ‘s sweet, but y’don’t want this.”

“Tell me why,” you say softly. “Convince me, then.”

“Do you…do you even know wot we do?” He asks. “The kinds of things they ask us to do? Wot I’ve done t’get here?”

You shake your head, and when his hand opens up, your cheek finds his palm, resting there, nuzzling.

“We’re murderers with fuckin’ passes,” he whispers. “There isn’t a line we don’t cross. No boundary we don’t ignore. They killed my whole fuckin’ family, and then I came back for more, because tha’s the kind of life I live, and tha’s the kind of work I do. When I come home, I have someone else’s blood on my clothes, do y’understand tha’?” He leans closer, touching his nose to yours. “We go places tha’ no one comes back from. Even now—” He pinches your chin between two fingers, “—I strangled someone with these very hands, love, tha’s the kind of man I am. Look at me—”

You flutter your lashes, meeting his eyes, and he shakes his head.

“Tha’s wot I do, love,” Simon grunts. “And the worst part of it is tha’ I fuckin’ like it.”

You lift a hand up and wrap it around his wrist. There is no resistance as you draw his hand off your face and hold it instead, intertwining your fingers and resting them in your lap. His hand dwarfs yours—long, deft fingers and spread palm that covers your own completely. You scoot a little closer, getting up onto your knees, and Simon’s eyes follow you as you abandon the stuffed fish to put one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his masked cheek.

“You didn’t say no.”

“Wot?”

“You won’t say no,” you whisper, sliding the hand on his shoulder up to caress the back of his neck. “To me. To this.”

“Because I can’t,” Simon groans. “Need you t’do it.”

“But I…” You lean down and press your forehead to his. “I-I do want it. I want you. You’re…” You kiss him through the mask, a soft press of your lips against his. You feel him kiss back, and you pull away slowly. “Please. Please, Simon?” You kiss down his cheek, thumbing under his eye, and he lets out a shaky breath as you fall into his lap, knees on either side of him. His hands come up easily, cupping under your thighs, and you whine as he drags your hips forward, a slow grind that makes you shake. “Won’t you try? For me?”

Getting Simon into your bed is too easy. He looks nice here, underneath you. You press down onto his chest for leverage, using it to help throw your hips back against his. He’s deep, pulsing inside of your cunt—your rhythm stutters every time he touches your cervix, but his tight grip on your ass keeps you moving.

You’re so wet. You’ve never been wetter with another man. Sweat, tears, slick—every part of you leaks when you’re with Simon. You dig your nails into his chest, and he grunts, when you start to feel your orgasm creeping up on you, you arch your back to get friction onto your clit and squeal when Simon gets the hint; he lifts you up and plants his feet against the bed to fuck up into you and force your eyes into the back of your head.

He tastes like you after awhile. After spending days in your flat, his kisses start to taste as sweet as the pastries you make, and he starts to smell like the citrus soaps you keep in your bathroom. You get a whiff of lavender from his clothes after using your laundry detergent, and he sleeps like the dead after round two inside of you. Cum cooling between your thighs, mouth fixed to your throat, fingers stuffed inside of you to keep warm as he breathes in a sigh of relief until he’s deep asleep. He still doesn’t take his mask off, but he gives you his mouth, and you fix yourself there, mouth against his, kissing him feverishly whenever he exposes his lips just for you.

“Will you miss me?” You ask. He’s standing at the door, pulling his jacket on. He flips the hood up over his head, clicking his tongue as he fits a hand into the back pocket of your jeans and squeezes, pulling you towards him and into his chest.

“Mhm,” he mutters. You giggle, cupping his cheeks, and when he puts his thumb between your lips, you let him open your mouth, tilting your head as he spits onto your tongue before kissing you wetly. You wrap your arms around his neck, charmed bracelets jingling as you try to climb up to him. He bends, gripping you under your thighs before he hoists you up and against the wall. You moan, scratching along his back.

“Do you really have to go?” You whisper between kisses, and he hisses in response.

“Got to,” Simon sighs, but you smile wide when you hear the sound of his belt buckle. “But I can be late.”

Like you, Simon feels like he’s seeing the world for the very first time—all in color. Food has taste. Views have beauty. His gun feels heavy, and his cot is cold to the touch. Time finally has duration—it hangs and drags now, minutes and seconds taking too long as he sits in a dark room and listens to his captain explain an op he could care less about. His leg bounces impatiently, fingers twitching as he watches the screen and tries to pay attention.

Complicated. Difficult. Not enough and too much.

You are so beautiful. Your name lights up his phone, several pink and yellow emojis beside your name that you entered yourself.

we miss u! xoxo

There’s a picture of you and your cat. You’re seated on your couch, a pink blanket in your lap, a selfie of you holding up your cat in one arm. Simon clenches his jaw when he sees that you’re practically naked—in just a yellow lace bra, blanket covering your lower half. You send another picture after a few seconds, and Simon licks over his teeth. Another selfie of you, cleavage on display, and he can see the little rhinestones that are sewn into your bra. He can also see the little butterfly clips you have in your hair and the darling smile you wear.

He comes in his fist later, selfie on display in one hand, his mind on the sound of your voice. It’s never happened so fast—just a few languid tugs, and he’s spilling over his thighs like a teenager.

It’s all he thinks about. The blood runs warmer, easier. His gun fires quicker. He’s got tunnel-vision now, eyes on his prize—the sooner he finishes, the quicker he gets home, so he sinks his blade into throats and keeps his feet moving. He keeps quiet, keeps steady, and as soon as he’s got his target in his sights, he pulls the trigger without a second thought.

“Got somethin’ on yer mind, LT?”

Simon narrows his eyes. Johnny looks smug—a ghost of a smirk on his face, face red from sweat and his own cheekiness. Simon just leans his head back against the side of the helicopter, looking outside as the ground gets farther and farther away.

“Never pegged ye fer the type.”

Simon’s hands dig into his rifle.

“Always liked tha’ one,” Johnny continues. “Got a sweet face. Always wondered why she never liked me. Guess she likes ‘em big ‘n scary.”

“Careful, Johnny,” Simon warns, glaring at him.

“I just—”

“No, listen ‘ere,” Simon snaps. “We don’t talk about ‘er. We don’t mention ‘er. She is off limits, to you or anyone else. As far as y’r concerned, she doesn’t exist, yeah? Repeat it back t’me.”

“Don’t know who yer talkin’ about, LT,” Johnny says after a few moments. Simon looks away, shaking his head.

“Good boy.”

He doesn’t go back to his flat. There isn’t anything there that he wants; everything he needs leads straight to you. You’re cooing when he comes through the door, murmuring lowly as he drops his duffel bag and shoves his masked face into the crook of your neck. He crowds you against the door when you shut it, and you giggle as he takes deep breaths of your perfume. His hands grab at your waist, sliding down the backs of your thighs, feeling over the soft skin and biting at your throat even through the mask.

“What happened, teddy bear?” You mumble, scratching the back of his neck. “What did they do to you, huh?”

Dog, mutt, devour. He’s been away for too long, been starving ever since he left, and you take it with a smile. Simon is never too much for you. Simon is never too rough or too loud, and he is never too far into your space or too attached. You drink it so lovingly, and you never push him away.

He watches you carefully as you help him take his gear off. You start with the weapons. You slip the gun out of its holster on his chest, emptying the chamber and taking the magazine out. His grip on your waist tightens at the sight of you handling it with such ease, and you just shrug as you set it aside.

“I’ve been practicing.”

You unload all of his throwing knives, from his thigh holster and from inside of his boot. You find another small pistol attached to his boot, and you sigh as you unload it the same. Your hands find the buckles of his thigh holsters, and when you slide it off of him, you settle on your knees and tip your head back to look up at him.

He caresses the back of your head, and you swear you hear him purr. You lean forward, pressing your cheek to where his belt is. You kiss there, right against his zipper, and his fingers tangle into your hair just enough for you to feel a little pressure. He’s still gentle, still kind, but his eyes are so dark. You wonder if the way he looks at you now is the way he looks at his targets. Is this hunger the same—the same for you as it is to get the job done? They say love and hate are so alike, so intertwined; is that why he keeps coming back? Does he chase this feeling all the time?

What is it that you are?

An addiction? Or a necessity?

You take his dirty clothes from him as he undresses in the bathroom. Shirt, jacket, belt, pants, socks, boxers—you eye him with a smile, biting your lip, and Simon winks at you from under the mask as he slides a big hand down his middle.

“Wot?” He asks. “Like wot y’see, love?”

It would be impossible not to. Thick arms, tattoos on display. Unforgiving muscle and fat. His hands ungloved, you can see the split of his knuckles and the bruising from where he must’ve hit something—someone. Then your eyes skim over the curls just over his cock, which hangs heavy and red between his thighs. Simon has no shame—his nakedness is not something he cares to hide, especially not to you. You stand on your toes and gives his cheek a kiss before taking his clothes to the laundry room.

You’re at the sink when he’s freshly showered. There’s a bottle of peroxide next to you, and you’re wearing gloves, and he watches as you have his pants half in the sink as you work on scrubbing at the fabric.

“Wot ‘appened?” Simon asks. You hum, shrugging, ringing out a bit of the fabric.

“Just some blood. I’ll get it out. What do you want to eat for dinner, baby?”

Simon thinks that’s the moment he knew he was in love with you. Hair pinned back, baby pink matching lounge outfit with the tiniest shorts he’s ever fucking seen, scrubbing out the blood from his clothes as you talk about supper.

He knows he was fucked from the moment he met you—but it’s now that he knows he’ll never leave.

He’s reminded again of that feeling when you call him angrily from your flat. He’s pushing a trolly in the store, eyes sweeping over the selection of chocolate in the baking section. You were baking chocolate scones and would be making some ganache tomorrow, and he’s squinting at the paper you gave him with your list when his phone starts ringing.

“‘ello, love?”

“Simon, are you serious?!”

“Wot happened?”

“There’s—Simon! There’s a grenade in…in the jar!”

“Wot’s tha’?”

“The jar with my powdered sugar. I found a grenade in there!”

“Oh. Mmm. Right. Leave it there.”

“Simon! And are you taping ninja stars under my tables? I found two already!”

“Dunno. But sounds like someone ‘ad a good idea, wanted t’be prepared, y’should leave them there.”

“Simon, you are—” There’s a pause, and then he smiles under the mask when you laugh. “Just get my chocolate and get back here, please.”

You have no idea what Simon was talking about. You don’t understand what it is that he was running from. There’s so much of himself that he was meant to show to someone else. He’s been hiding for so long, and not just underneath the mask he wears—but there’s a man under it all, and you love when he comes out to meet you.

Maybe he is a little terrible. Maybe he really is just the thing you don’t need. You think about that a little too long when the water in the sink runs red again, his shirt an entirely different color from whatever it is that he had done before he got home. Maybe he really is wrong for you—it crosses your mind when you’re dusting the shelves and find a loaded pistol in the vase that used to hold your apology tulips.

He lives an entirely different life than you. He drags colors into your home that you tried so hard not to embrace, all the black and blue and grey that you’ve always felt could swallow your entire self—but you don’t know what the alternative is. There is no one else in the world that looks at you the way that he does. There isn’t anyone’s hand that feels the way his does when it’s against the side of your face or tangled between the strands of your hair or warm between your thighs.

You don’t think anyone else would mean it if they saw you crying and threatened to kill whoever had made you so sad; because he does mean it, doesn’t he? He would do it if you asked, wouldn’t he?

That’s love; you’re convinced it is. Love is the boundaries you say you won’t cross that you step right over without thinking. Love is the places you say you could never go that are already behind you. Love—real love—is the doorway that Simon keeps passing through even though he promises you that this is the last time whenever he leaves.

“Look at me—ha, Simon!—look here.” You fit the headband onto over his head, fitting the cat ears on top of his head. He grunts a little, sighing through his nose, and you warm up the makeup remover between your hands. Delicately, you start to rub it into his face. He closes his eyes, and you carefully work your fingers against his skin as the eye-black begins to run easily. “Almost done.”

You use a warm cloth to wipe his face. The eye-black comes off, but the scars remain, and when he opens his eyes, you know that you haven’t really taken anything away from him. There’s still something that weighs heavy on his shoulders, and you lean forward to get closer to him, keeping your voice quiet.

“What was it this time?” You ask, putting both hands on his face and keeping his eyes on yours. He blinks, and he goes somewhere else. He’s thinking about it. There’s something he’s looking at, somewhere far away, over your shoulder.

“He begged me not to,” Simon murmurs. “Told me their names.”

Moms. Dads. Partner. Children. They always have names at the end—as if attaching themselves to another will make their deaths harder. Men are singular beings. Rarely are they life support for another.

“It’s okay,” you tell Simon. You close your eyes as you rest your cheek against his.

“It is?”

“Uh huh.” It’s so warm here, arms around him, face tucked against his. “I forgive you.”

It’s okay. I forgive you. Everything is just as it should be.

“Y’don’t know wot I did,” Simon counters. “Wot I…got outta him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. You squeeze the towel out, wetting it again with warm water before passing it over his face again. You hold him under his chin, catching the droplets of water, and you smile as you kiss his nose gently. “It never does. Never will.”

“But—”

“I made your favorite,” you interrupt, plucking the cat ears off of him and tossing everything into the laundry basket. “There’s brownies in the kitchen. I want you to try.”

Is Simon really committing heinous war crimes when his reward is chocolate decadence and wet pussy?

You look so cute. You’re wearing a flowery pajama set, tiny shorts and cropped shirt, something that leaves nothing to the imagination as he pulls the gusset of your panties to the side and sinks into you easily. You brace yourself against the back of the couch, sitting up in his lap. Simon groans when your tits are right in his face, pebbled nipples poking through your shirt fabric, and he reaches up to pinch them between greedy fingers as you sit right down on his dick and take him to the tilt.

“Fuuuuuuuuck—” Simon breathes. The wet squelch is making his head spin. His wet girl, his pretty girl, his sweet girl. He sharpens his teeth when he leaves, and you dull them when he comes home, letting him sink his teeth into you and eat. You keep him in balance; the push and pull that he always felt he struggled with is nonexistent now that you’re here. When Ghost used to get put back into his duffel, Simon felt like what was left behind was almost too much to take. The nightmares, the torture, the disregard for what was moral in favor of what got the job done—it is gone with you. Your absolution resolves him of this debt.

How can he feel he’s done anything wrong when you’re calling him teddy bear and taking his cock like this?

You drag the hem of your shirt up slowly, and when your tits are bouncing, bare and sweaty in front of his face, Simon loses his train of thought. His mouth falls open, tongue hanging out, and you cup the back of his neck to draw him close until his lips wrap around your nipple and suck. You whimper, keeping him there, slowing your hips to watch him let go for just long enough to spit on your chest and lick it right back up.

“Feels so good, teddy bear,” you whine. “You’re so big…” You wiggle your hips until just the tip of him is inside you, and then you sit back down, drawing out a long moan from the both of you. His hands fall to cup under your thighs, and you feel like you’re melting as his tip prods against a squishy spot inside of you and makes you see double. You grab onto his shoulders, digging your nails in, crying. “Oh—right t-there, baby—right there—”

“Right there, swee’eart?”

“Mhm! M-More…”

“My sweet girl,” he mumbles, and you squeak when he grips the fabric of your shorts, grunting as he tears the fabric apart. His fingers cup both sides of your ass, spreading them, using the new leverage he has on you to start picking you up and bouncing you with nothing but sheer strength. You’re thick everywhere that he needs you to be—hips, stomach, thighs, all the perfect places he hopes any girl he’s with will be. They never quite had it the way you do; when his fingers dig and feel nothing but softness, he hisses because it feels so good to grab onto you. It makes his mouth water. It makes him so fucking hungry. It makes his cock ache and his balls heavy, and he’s going to come if he keeps seeing your breasts sway like that as you take his cock so well. “Fuck—” He shakes his head. “Fuck!”

You lick into his mouth just as he loses control. Fingers under his chin, tongue around his teeth as he holds you down on his lap and fills you nice and warm. Your hips stutter, and he lets you lean back just enough so you can touch your clit and squeeze around him. You look down between your bodies, touching tenderly where you’re connected, like you’re fascinated by how much of him fits inside of you.

You settle after a few minutes. You rest your palms on his chest, squishy muscle supporting you as you lift your hips and let him out. You lean over him, whining when you feel fluid slipping down your thighs and gathering underneath you.

“You’re thinking too much,” you whisper as you slip your shirt back on. Simon hums as he holds you in his lap, cock twitching as he watches you move your hair out of your eyes and lick your own fingers.

“Got a lot on my mind,” is all Simon gives you. You let your knee fall open, and you use your fingers to swirl between your folds before you guide them up and into Simon’s mouth. He chuckles, taking them, and you lean forward to kiss his cheek just as you pull your fingers back out.

“You’re not supposed to think about things,” you murmur. “How many times do I have to tell you, Simon?” You cup one side of his face, making him look at you. “You could never do something wrong. Everything is okay.” You smile. “You believe me, don’t you, teddy bear?”

It’s so easy to believe you when you look at him like that. You’re so pretty—you always are. There is nothing terrible about your mind. Your brain isn’t rotten between the flesh as his must be. There is no blood forever under your fingernails, and you don’t sleep thinking about the graveyards you fill with your heavy hand. You don’t know what it feels like to have a gun burn in your palm, and you’ve never heard the screaming of someone who only has one limb left to spare. You don’t know how long it takes before a father will give up his children, and you’ve never seen your tombstone so clearly that the callous of your hands feel like the rock it’s made of.

Whatever you say must be true. Whatever you forgive him of must be good enough. There is nothing you cannot give, and there is nothing you can say that won’t be absolute reality. He feels like he poisons you every time he touches you, but when he takes his hands away, the skin underneath looks the same, and your smile never fades. You don’t bruise like other people do when he puts a hand on them. You don’t flinch when he raises his arm. You don’t scream when he comes close to you.

He hears your laughter wherever he goes. He’s kneeling now, bone digging into the ground as he lifts up his arm that holds a blade high. The bullet would be quicker, but this feels better. It pierces the neck, flesh giving away to its sharpness like a hot knife through butter, and Ghost licks over his teeth as he watches something sacred leave their eyes. For a moment, he feels bad about what he’s done. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, looking for his alternate reality.

I am no good. There is nothing good in me. I am not made of it.

There you are. Sitting on your knees between his thighs, cheek nuzzled against his jeans, sparkly, glossy lips curled into a wicked smile as you fist his cock and coo up at him. When you kiss his tip, you leave it shining, and then your tongue comes out of your mouth, and it’s over for him. There is a heaven inside of you. When you suck, his mind blurs, and his jaw aches with how hard he clenches it as you dip your head and take him deep. You whine because you like it. No one’s ever liked Ghost the way you like him. No one’s ever seen the mask and giggled the way you do. There’s no one that looked at the layers he’s made of and thought to use their fingers to lift them up to tuck themselves inside. His shell is not a barrier, it’s merely an illusion, and there you are—blinking up at him, bouncing in that sunflower sweater, wet eyes like diamonds. He feels warmth in his hands, and he thinks it’s from how hard he’s just come, but when he opens his eyes, it’s merely blood soaking into the fabric of his gloves.

The house is dark when he comes home. The cat is staring at him from her spot by the window, blinking slowly as he toes off his boots and passes by her with a soft scratch under her chin. He finds you in your bed, face against your silk pillow, wearing fuzzy purple pajamas and hugging a well-loved stuffed bear. Your nightlight is on, casting soft shadows of a moon and her stars, and Ghost finds himself watching you for more than just a moment. He stays there in the doorway, rooted to the spot, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you snooze.

You wake up when the bed dips from his weight. Groggily, your hand moves, searching for him, and when you find the fabric of his hoodie, you close your fist around it and pull him until he’s nearly on top of you.

You taste sweet. When you kiss, Ghost chases the sugar sweet that still lingers on your lips, and you seek the ash from the cigarette he smoked outside. Your knees fall open, and Ghost settles between them. Too big, but he forces himself there anyways, one big arm wrapping around you and under your back before he yanks it into an arch and bites against the side of your neck. Where he saw blood earlier, all he sees is the give of your skin under his teeth. Instead of begging, instead of screaming, he hears your soft whine, a breathy call of his name that makes his cock so hard, he has to yank down the zipper of his jeans before he cuts himself on it.

Where he saw death in their eyes, he finds nothing like it in your own. When he is inside of you again, he tells himself he’ll never leave. His body has new purpose, and this is it.

You’re sleepy all over again once you come. Draped over his chest, palm rubbing against his solid middle, legs tangled between his. You smile at him as he turns his head to look at you, and he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt to caress you at the base of your spine.

“Good day at work?” You mumble, snuggling into his side. Simon tightens his grip on your middle. When he feels the flesh squish under his hand, he breathes nice and easy. Just what he expected. Exactly as he prefers.

“Good day, love.”

“You got all the bad guys, teddy bear?”

Simon licks his lips. He thinks about who had the unfortunate opportunity of being at the end of his scope today, and he thinks about who it’ll be tomorrow. He likes this routine. It satiates something nasty in him, but he’s never been quiet about the way it makes him feel. It’s what drew you to him, wasn’t it? He told you about all the horrible things that exist in his head, and you’re still here, you’re still in his bed—it wasn’t enough to push you away, so there’s no need to hide this dark truth from you. If anything, you might want to go again.

His cock twitches at the thought.

“No,” Simon tells you, and you shrug, closing your eyes.

“That’s okay. There’s still tomorrow.”

Simon feels something ache under his ribs when you say it—like taking the words straight out of his mouth. You are so in tune, it would scare him if he wasn’t already convinced that you were meant for him.

But even if you weren’t, I’d chain you to this bed. Never let you go.

He wonders what color your blood runs. He doesn’t think it would be red—you’re too pretty to have blood be such a color. Maybe it’s pink. Purple. Maybe it’s yellow. Maybe it glitters just like the sparkles you love to wear.

Maybe it runs black. Maybe, underneath it all, you and Simon are one and the same. Maybe you are rotten inside. Maybe you’re an illusion, too, maybe what he sees is just a mirror-view, and the real you hides and plays your limbs with puppet strings and masks the horrible, terrible, evil things that live inside of you—

You pat his chest a little, pouting, an annoyed breath leaving you as you close your eyes.

“Go to sleep, Simon. It’s late.”

It is late. You’re right. Always right, his smart girl, always telling him how he needs to hear it so his mind settles and his body relaxes.

It’s okay.

Isn’t it?

I forgive you.

He can never do anything wrong.

Everything is just as it should be.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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bueckeroses · 1 month ago

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HER CHEERLEADER ⋆ 𐙚 ̊. — paige bueckers

Synopsis: In Paige’s last year at UConn, she expected to keep her head down, focus, and enjoy her last year of collegiate basketball. Little did she know a shy cheerleader with a pretty face would change that.

paige bueckers x lesbian!reader

content: swearing, unwanted advances by a man 🤢 but paige saves the day dw, alcohol, smut, smut and smut ! fingering, teasing, multiple orgasms, humping, scissoring, shy!reader, dom!paige

notes: my first post !! hope you enjoy 🥹 also i know south dakota was paige’s last home game but this follows my own timeline lmao so let’s pretend it was one of the first. also take a shot every time i say paige bueckers.

The stadium, every seat filled to the brim with clusters of people, was alight with the excitement of the ongoing game. Stomping feet, clapping hands, and shouts of cheers were the few sounds entering your ears, all because of one team: the UConn Huskies.

One of the first of their home games, UConn were nearing the end of their match against South Dakota State, essentially securing their win with double the points against the opposing team.

And of course, the star of the show whose name was plastered as the main event at every UConn game, was Paige Bueckers.

Her near perfect scoring this game couldn’t be refuted. The way she played like she had everything to lose, her dominance on the court, and her smile of confidence every time the ball she threw landed in the hoop was downright addicting to watch.

The girl had every pair of eyes in the room drawn to her. And, of course, that also meant yours.

Sat on the floor amongst your team, your pom poms shaking in an organised routine along with the other cheerleaders, you watched on with great interest. Basketball was always a sport you wouldn’t particularly choose to watch in your spare time, but ever since you joined the team, you had discovered a newfound passion for the game. And — much to your dismay — it was majorly because of the attractive blonde basketball player.

It was your first year on the cheerleading squad, after your best friend ( who sat to the right of you ) begged you with every fibre of her being to try out for the team. Her sole reasoning and main argument for you donning the cheerleader uniform was that you were desperately single, and needed a basketball girlfriend pronto. You, instead, wanted to join because you were tired of your boring routine: attending lectures, studying, occasionally partaking in a party your friends dragged you to, and ending most nights alone in your dorm, watching romance films until you felt the loneliness seeping into your body.

So far it was a welcome change, all the girls on the team were lovely and extremely friendly. You had briefly met some of the players you were cheering on but had yet to be fully introduced to them; you doubted you would be sitting down and swapping life stories with them anytime soon, however. Their schedules, especially with the new season, were probably completely hectic and busy, and you doubted they had time for even themselves.

Cheers erupted as Paige secured another hoop, you and the rest of the cheerleaders jumping up and celebrating the 3 point throw. Your best friend, Catherine, who was infamous for her constant teasing and outspoken attitude leant over and spoke with a shit-eating grin on her face, acting as if she was in on a massive secret that you weren’t. “Did you just see that look Bueckers gave you? Like you were a dessert she couldn’t wait to devour once the game is over?”

Your head whipped around to face her, an incredulous expression painted on your face. You laughed slightly at the out of the blue comment, not even a little surprised at the beyond ridiculous statement escaping from Cat’s mouth. “You’re kidding, right? Paige doesn’t even know I exist, she was probably looking at someone else.”

You sat down once more with the rest of your team, your best friend not willing to give up so easily with her taunting; the blush rising on your cheeks simply giving her more ammunition.

“C’mon, Y/N. Please don’t tell me you’re as blind as I think you are. That was, like, the third time Paige looked at you this game, and who could blame her? You look fucking sexy!”

Your rolled your eyes, shaking your head in flat out refusal. The stadium erupted into cheers for the millionth time that night; Paige aiding Sarah Strong to score a two pointer. The many pom poms surrounding you made it harder to hear a single word Cat was saying, and you thought it was for the better. You waited until the stadium calmed down somewhat before replying to her.

“Drop it, Cat. There’s no way Paige Bueckers was looking at me. I’m like — I dunno — an ant compared to her!”

Now it was Cat’s turn to roll her eyes, “Well to me it looked like Paige was ready to strip you naked with that one look, but what do I know?”

“Nothing, apparently.” Your conversation was cut short by the last score of the night, KK Arnold managing to sneak one last shot in before the timer quickly fell to 0, the score being 91-57 to UConn.

Your team quickly praised the win of your college, jumping up with the most enthusiasm that entire night. The players of both teams slapped hands in their traditional, respectful way, whilst you and the rest of the girls wasted no time jumping into your end of game cheer routine, a simple show of celebration for UConn that added to the atmosphere of excitement circulating the stadium.

After the quick show was over, the players made their rounds around the audience to show their appreciation, whilst you and your friends waited until most of the crowd had dispersed before exiting yourselves. Whilst biding your time, however, you just couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the famous blonde. Paige’s pony swished back and forth as she walked quickly with her team, her smile of pure euphoria an addicting sensation to you. And, much to your notice, the sweat on her body — the majority on her rather muscled arms and back — gleamed underneath the bright lighting.

Heat rose on your face as you imagined if there was some semblance of truth to Cat’s words, that the fine basketball player who captured many hearts of fans was actually interested in you. You quickly realised you were being ridiculous, however. The only way you were going to be with Paige Bueckers was in your dreams, and you were lucky if even that happened.

As if knowing there were a certain pair of eyes on her, Paige’s head turned in your direction, her heated gaze locked onto yours. Despite desperately not wanting to, you quickly turned away, biting your lip as you hopelessly wished Paige didn’t think you were a creepy fan obsessed cheerleader who stared at her constantly ( and maybe you were, but she didn’t need to know that ).

You willed yourself not to return her gaze as you collected your belongings and helped your team with the end of game shenanigans, partaking in conversations with a few of the girls to distract yourself from your sweaty palms and butterfly filled stomach.

At this point, you would do anything to get your mind off of the 6 foot girl who made your heart race a little too fast.

Every bone in Paige’s body ached, the delightful soreness of a game well played was Paige’s ideal end to the night; her aching muscles were a small price to pay for another hard earned win under her belt.

The feeling of being one game closer to the end of her time at UConn was bittersweet, but she had a long ways to go until the official goodbye of her college career; she would savour every moment knowing she worked her absolute hardest to get to the position she was in right now.

Scalding water trailed down her naked body, her hand pressed against the stone wall of the shower as she let the water soothe her throbbing muscles ever so slightly. She ran a hand down her face to remove the sweat of the match, droplets clinging to her eyelashes as she gazed upon the flooring of the stall.

Paige Bueckers was not one to linger in the shower for long. Much unlike Jana, who had the team wondering constantly if she somehow fell asleep in the shower stall because of how long the girl took. No, Paige was quick and efficient, not wanting to fall victim to the shower thoughts that would undoubtedly keep her trapped under the hot water. Despite her quick showers, though, Paige always made sure she was clean and smelled good before exiting.

Today, however, was different, because she had far too many thoughts that she wished to deal with before she left the stadium. And they all revolved around a new cheerleader, whose perfect, pretty face couldn’t escape her brain.

Paige had only seen her a handful of times before, noticing that she was a new member amongst the returning cheerleading team of the UConn women’s basketball.

Paige was not one to be distracted by pretty girls. Not like Aubrey, whose smooth talking and flirtatious ways had every lesbian in a mile radius in love with her. Paige was the opposite. She was aware of her sexuality — had known for years she was gay — but she lived and breathed basketball, and other than a few flings here and there, she focused her entire attention on the sport.

Until now, apparently.

Washing the shea butter shower gel gently of her skin, she exited the shower before her thoughts ran too deep. She donned her sports bra and sweats, throwing her towel over her shoulder as she entered the locker room, where most of her team were relaxing.

“There she is! How you feeling, Bueckers?”

Paige smiled at Kaitlyn, setting her towel on the side as she walked towards her open locker to retrieve her trainers. “Fucking sore is what I am, how’re you guys feeling?”

The girls answered in turn, conversations flowed about the game they just had, one of their best matches to start the season with. They had, of course, already delved into their run down of the match with Geno, so their talks now just focused on their joy of winning.

Spirits were high, and Paige savoured the moments of just relaxing with her team. And then, of course, KK Arnold: troublemaker and known for her jokes, had to open her mouth and taunt her favourite friend.

“So, Paige, do you wanna share with the class your undying love for the newest cheerleader?” The girl had a large grin on her face, her hand on her heart like she was narrating a Shakespeare novel in a drama class. She was clearly loving that she had a new target to tease her best friend with.

Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes lightheartedly at the comment, deciding not to reveal her true feelings out in the open. “Delusional is what you are, KK.”

Leaning against her locker, her arms crossed as a joyous smile appeared across her face, Azzi Fudd decided to betray her years of friendship with Paige to side with KK in the matter ( or that’s how Paige saw it as, anyhow ). “No, KK’s right, it must’ve been, what? One, three, ten times you must’ve stared at the girl?”

Sarah giggled at Azzi’s comment, piping up that she agreed with them both. “You gotta admit, Paige, it was basically love at first sight.”

“Okay, is it all gang up on Paige day? The fuck is this?” Paige reached for her hoodie, now wanting to escape from the group of hyenas as soon as possible. There were barely any secrets held back between the team, so Paige wasn’t exactly surprised they had picked up on her latest … crush.

The instigator began to laugh at the mess she created, KK standing up and reaching for her jacket. “Not that I can blame you, Paige, she is fucking gorgeous. If you don’t claim her soon, I might have to swoop in and—”

Paige, using the towel that lay on the bench, whacked KK’s arm, ignoring the dramatic yell the girl let out. The girls laughed, Aubrey piping up with a comment that Paige was already protective of her future girlfriend.

“Look, I don’t even know her name, let alone if she’s gay,” Paige sighed, begrudgingly admitting to her friends the next part. “Besides I don’t think she’s interested, she couldn’t even look at me.”

“Yeah, because you’re Paige fucking Bueckers. Of course she’s nervous as shit to look at you!” KK retorted.

Ayanna, strapping her bag across her chest in a hurry to no doubt see her girlfriend, even put her two cents in. “Yeah, when I went over to Lili at the end, your girl was basically sneaking glances at you every 5 seconds.”

“Yeah, I know her best friend, Cat. Apparently, she’s just an extremely shy person.” Azzi leant over to put her trainers on, tying her laces as she added, “Oh, her name’s Y/N by the way.”

Ignoring their teasing until they had another conversation to focus on, Paige couldn’t help but think of the new cheerleader with her cute doe eyes, shy smile, and perfect uniform that fit snugly against her body. She didn’t know if there was any truth to Ayanna’s comment, but it did nothing to help her heartbeat slow.

Y/N, a pretty name for a pretty girl. Fuck, she thought, she was completely fucking screwed.

Attending a party was honestly the last thing on your mind tonight. When your new friend on the team, Hanna, had knocked upon your door and dragged you out of your dorm with a quick explanation of ‘party!’ you knew you had no choice but to agree.

The majority of the cheer squad were holed up in Hanna’s rather large dorm, Cat focused on applying a generous amount of makeup on her face before dragging you to sit by her side, demanding you pretty up for your future girlfriend. “Paige will definitely be there tonight. They can’t drink alcohol, but them players party hard. Trust me.”

It didn’t take long for you all to get ready and make your way to the party. You had to borrow one of Hanna’s roommate’s outfits, a black mini skirt and a crop top that showed far too much cleavage than you were comfortable with. Your friends spoke the opposite, however, saying unabashedly how sexy you looked.

The bodies of young college adults either high or drunk mingled in the large house, music blaring and lights flashing as you entered.

It didn’t take long for you to loosen up, two drinks in and you were beginning to feel the normalcies of college life. You weren’t drunk by any means, just not as sober as you were entering the party. Cat, much to your amusement, was chatting up her latest fling, the closeness she had with the guy basically inferred that she would most likely be leaving with him tonight. Of course, as she always did, she would make sure you were okay first before she left.

You had gone to collect another drink whilst Cat was busy, deciding three was your maximum for tonight. On your way over, however, you accidentally bumped into someone. Your eyes looked up to see Dylan, a guy in your business class who often overstepped his boundaries with you. Flirty comments and unwanted advances were usually his forte.

“Oh, hey, look who it is.” Dylan wolf whistled as he looked you up and down, not at all shy with his gaze. He was definitely drunk, barely standing straight as his speech began to slur. “Damn, you look hot as fuck, Y/N.”

You winced at his words. For one: you were a lesbian, and even if you didn’t shout it from the rooftops, it was pretty obvious to anyone who knew you. And second: even if you were interested in guys, you were 101% sure that Dylan would be at the bottom of that fucking list. But still, your shy demeanour meant you hated confrontation, so you tried your best to be polite.

“Um, thanks, I guess.” You attempted to quickly move around him to avoid any further conversation, but his large frame was blocking the table where the drinks were located. “I just wanted to get a drink is all—”

“Hey Y/N?” He attempted to grab your waist, one that you thankfully managed to dodge. Still, he attempted his best to move closer to you. “You wanna get outta here? You know, go somewhere a little more private?”

You immediately shook your head in refusal, wanting to move backwards to escape his presence but bodies of dancing people made you unable to do so. You weren’t exactly the shortest person, but your height wasn’t much compared to a 5’11 guy who filled every checklist of a stereotypical jock. He was either too drunk to get the hint or simply didn’t care. You spoke with a more pleading tone now. “No, I’m not interested—”

“Hey!” A loud — and rather aggressive — voice shouted out overtop of the deafening music beating against every surface in the house. At first the voice seemed distant, but you soon recognised that the person was behind you, getting closer as she continued to speak with hostility laced within every syllable. “Get the fuck away from her.”

Turning your head to look at your saviour, you almost couldn’t believe it when Paige Bueckers sidestepped around you, wasting no time before instantly shoving your harasser off of you. She was not gentle with her push, and Dylan was more than shaken up, stumbling back a few steps from the force of the blow. Her height also helped somewhat, she stood a few inches taller than him and she basically towered over you, stepping in front of you so her whole body covered yours.

To your belief, the guy was bordering on an absolute moronic level of drunk. Completely ignoring the fact that he nearly fell into the table behind him, he attempted to lighten the mood, despite having a pissed off, 6 foot basketball player in front of him. “Oh shit, Paige Bueckers!— ”

Paige didn’t even allow him to finish his sentence before interrupting him, standing somewhat close to him so he could hear her every word, but not straying too far from you. You could barely see Dylan because of her frame obscuring your view. “I fucking swear,” she began, gritting her teeth as anger seeped through her every word. “If you ever go near her again, I will fuck you up. You hear me?”

Despite being content with never seeing his face again, you desperately wanted to witness his reaction to Paige’s vitriol, so you stood on your toes to look over her shoulder. What you saw satisfied you immensely, a choked laugh escaping your lips.

Dylan’s face was full of intimidation and fear, nodding his head vigorously to show he understood what Paige had demanded. At least even in his drunken stupor, he was smart enough to not pull out the macho man card, and accepted that he was simply in a losing battle.

“Good,” Paige nodded, her tone now emanating with a calmer, less aggressive rage. “Now, fuck off.”

He quickly scampered away, losing himself in the crowd of dancing bodies clambering together. Paige watched on for a couple of seconds, ensuring he was far away from you. You were almost dumbfounded at what had just happened, the whole moment going by far too quickly for you to decipher it.

Paige soon turned back to you, her gaze settling on yours within an instant. The tension between the two of you was so palpable you could almost feel it in the air, and you quickly took your chance to admire her, your eyes roaming over her entire physique.

Her hair was slicked back in her infamous bun, the studs in her ears matching the simple chain around her neck. She wore a UConn hoodie and black jeans, a casual outfit that had you looking rather overdressed when compared to her. She had no makeup on her face, and the confidence she displayed mixed with just her in general was such a turn on for you that you had to calm yourself down before she spoke.

Paige gave you a brief look up and down, her eyes settling on yours as she took a step closer, head bent ever so slightly to accommodate the size difference. “Hey,” she spoke, her voice miles softer now it was directed towards you. “Are you okay? The guys around here can be fucking assholes.”

You kept your gaze on her blue eyes, finding it a million times harder now to draw your stare away that you were so close. You couldn’t help but think to yourself how fucking hot she looked: her outfit, the way she tilted her head so she could hear you when you eventually spoke, how she gripped her phone in her hand, the way her hand flexed as she gripped her phone, just her fingers in general—

Basically, you were fucking screwed.

And then, you realised you hadn’t even answered her back, because you were too busy fucking staring at her. Idiot.

“Oh! Um.” You shook your head to attempt to get rid of the dirty thoughts laced within every part of your brain where Paige was concerned, and attempted to muster a normal conversation with the girl. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. Thank you so much for that, you honestly didn’t have to.”

Paige took her chance to move one step closer, the closeness between the two of you now doing nothing to help calm your racing heart. She shook her head in refusal. “Nah, I can’t stand it when ugly as fuck guys refuse to leave pretty girls alone.”

Oh. Oh.

Despite the almost dark lighting in the place, — harshy lit leds being the only source of light in the room — you could feel feel how flushed your cheeks were, the heat of nervousness rushing to your head.

Paige fucking Bueckers just called you pretty. You honestly wouldn’t be shocked if you had a heart attack in the middle of this party; your heart was basically threatening to jump out of your chest with how fast it was beating.

You couldn’t help the cheesy smile that graced your lips. Your grin so wide as you avoided eye contact, tucking your hair behind your ear as you glanced at the floor, building up the courage to take a step further towards her, nearing chest to chest with the girl. Raising your eyes to hers, you managed to take ahold of your shy nature to give her a proper reply.

“Well, I appreciate it. Seriously, thank you.” You debated asking your next question, but decided your usual nervous personality was being thrown out the window tonight. “Are you here with anyone?”

Paige smirked, probably taking your question as you flirting … which you definitely were. You didn’t have too much practice when it came to chatting up girls, as you were usually too oblivious to notice when they were interested in you. Luckily, Cat’s comments earlier that day about how Paige was attracted to you had taken root in your brain, making you more confident than you usually were.

Your eyes were fixated on her every move, especially when her tongue poked the side of her cheek; the motion had you so focused it was hard to draw your eyes away. She probably took notice to your constant staring, but honestly, it was almost impossible to look away from her. Simply put, she was addicting.

Paige tucked her hands into her hoodie pocket before replying. “Just my team, most of them are out there flirting though, so I got left behind.” The music then changed, switching from a calm R&B song to a more upbeat and deafening pop tune, making it all the more harder to hear each other.

Paige bent her head closer to you, her mouth hovering near your ear, her lips just barely brushing your skin as she spoke. The breath that escaped her had goosebumps trailing all along your body, starting from the back of your neck and moving downwards. The close proximity did nothing to calm you down by any means, only heightening the sexual tension that was already amid the air between the two of you. “And you?”

The now extreme closeness had you stumbling over your words, making it all the more obvious how affected you were by her mere presence. “I-I came here with my team as well, but I don’t have a clue where any of them are. My best friend is probably making out with some guy.”

Your eyes settled on the drink table, and quickly averted your gaze. Nothing seemed less appealing to you than drinking another sip of alcohol tonight, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were literally flirting with Paige Bueckers, you wouldn’t be lingering at this party at all. You decided to voice that to her, even if you wanted to stay to spend every second you could with the girl.

“Honestly, I was just gonna go home after one more drink. Partying’s not really my scene. Especially with what happened before…”

You took your chance to face Paige, wanting to see her face fully and not glimpse at her out of the corner of your eye. Her gaze softened, her tone becoming more gentle after your confession.

“Hey.” Her hand automatically reached for your waist, her tender touch settling on the bare expanse of your skin. Immediately, your nerves were set on fire, your face heating up as you felt Paige’s caress. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, you were beginning to feel turned on at the feel of even a simple touch from the basketball player.

You had just met her, and yet you couldn’t help but feel so deeply attracted to her.

She carried on speaking as if nothing was amiss. “You wanna leave? I can take you to your dorm if you want? I was gonna leave soon, anyway.”

You were rendered speechless for a slight second, taken aback by the kind gesture. It probably wouldn’t seem like much to someone else, but this was Paige Bueckers. You know, famous basketball player who had everyone falling at her feet. She probably had a million other important things to do tonight than walk you home. And yet, she was offering anyway.

Fuck. You were falling deeper than you realised.

“You … you’d do that? You’d walk me home?”

“Yeah,” Paige laughed at your expression, assuming you looked absolutely dumbfounded. “I’d rather you get home safe, I don’t trust that slimy fucker not to bother you again.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. Paige dropped her hand from your waist, and you immediately began mourning the loss of her touch. “I think you scared him off for good.”

“I fucking better had.” She replied seriously, briefly — but not subtly — flicking her eyes one last time up and down your body before adding one more comment. “You ready to go now then, Ma?”

You nodded, a shy smile planting itself upon your face at the nickname. Her hand once again found your waist, and it was almost like she was craving the touch of you; not that you were complaining. Odd to think, it was like Paige’s hand was meant to be there, both of your bodies fitting together in all the right places.

You two soon made your way outside, breathing in fresh air and escaping the bustling crowd of drunk college students. You quickly sent a text to Cat, wanting to let her know where and who you were with, adding sporadically at the end of the message that you would let her know all the details tomorrow.

The odd person was seen loitering outside the building, either drunk, high, or sober enough to walk home. You and Paige soon escaped the presence of others, and found yourselves alone in the other’s company.

Even though the silence in the air was comfortable, you still wanted to fill it with conversation; selfishly just wanting to listen to Paige talk. You didn’t get a chance before you began to shiver, however, the cold air settling goosebumps along your skin. Paige, not walking too far from you, began to notice the shaking movement. “Hey, you cold?”

“Oh,” you started to reply. “I’ll be okay.”

Paige began reaching for the bottom of her hoodie, pulling the piece of clothing off her body. As she did so, you caught a glimpse of her stomach, her shirt riding up with the movement. Your breath hitched, immediately looking away so Paige didn’t catch you staring obsessively at her. It seemed too late though by the smirk on Paige’s face.

“Here,” she said, stopping you in your tracks and popping the hoodie over your head despite your protests. Your hair was quite frankly a mess after that, and Paige couldn’t help but tuck a piece behind your ear while you pulled your arms through. “Now you won’t freeze to death on my watch.”

“Thank you.” You laughed heartily, “You’re my knight in shining armour tonight.” The sweet smell of Paige’s perfume lingered on the hoodie, and you turned your head to bury your nose in the hood settling on your shoulder. It looked like you were attempting to heat your face up in the warm material, but secretly you just wanted to catch more of Paige’s scent.

Whether it was Paige’s obvious actions towards you, or your own confidence growing by the second, you decided for once in your life to be bold. You decided it was now or never to go after something you truly wanted, and to not let your shy self stop you.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Damn, one more thing, Ma? You’re a needy one.” Paige joked, purposefully walking into you, nudging her shoulder against yours to show her banter.

You jokingly rolled your eyes, biting your lip as the smile on your face faltered ever so slightly as you began to speak. “Earlier today, at the game … was it me you were looking at? I mean, if you were staring at some other girl, it would be no problem at all! I was just wondering—”

You were soon cut off from your rambling. Despite walking for a good length of time, you hadn’t even realised the two of you had reached the building to your dorm. The reason you were stopped short was because someone — coincidentally— walked out of the building the same time you and Paige neared the entrance. The universe, as you interpreted it, was basically saying fuck you.

You were honestly embarrassed by your question, and you started to feel annoyed at yourself for ruining what seemed to be the almost perfect night. You and Paige were quickly in the elevator to go to your room, and you were somewhat confused as to why she was accompanying you.

The two of you were soon outside your dorm room, having not said a single word to each other since you had spoken up before. You turned around to face Paige, not wanting to end the night on a sour note, never knowing if you were going to speak to her again. Maybe a little dramatic, but she was essentially a celebrity on campus, and you were an unknown cheerleader who was a regular student. It wasn’t likely you two would cross paths like this again.

Paige, however, must’ve had the same thought, as the two of you began to speak at the exact same time. “Hey, I’m so sorry for—”

“Shit, Y/N, I—”

You both stopped, laughing slightly at the incredulous moment. Her smile was honestly addicting to witness, the fondness in your heart growing ever more bigger at every single thing Paige did. The tone turned serious once more, Paige now being the one to speak up, rambling as she let her thoughts out without missing a beat.

“Fuck — to answer your question, of course I was looking at you during the game. I mean, you’re fucking gorgeous.” She raised her hand to scratch the back of her neck in a nervous gesture, her accent coming out stronger now. “It sounds cringey as fuck but I honestly couldn’t help myself. Usually basketball is what I focus on, but recently … I don’t know, you’ve changed that, and I barely fucking know you and you’ve basically got me falling at your feet—”

This time, you couldn’t help yourself.

You reached up to kiss her, your hands looping around her neck as you lost yourself in the kiss. Paige immediately reciprocated, her head turning to the side to fully immerse herself into the kiss. Her hands reached back to rest on your waist, the touch warm and welcoming on your skin.

The kiss soon turned heated, Paige’s tongue quickly gaining entry into your mouth, all the while pushing you up against your door, her hand coming up to rest beside your head. After what seemed like a lifetime of making out, her knee found its place between your legs, allowing you to grind up against her; your mini skirt basically non-existent as it rode up your thighs, making it easier for Paige to move her leg, gently applying pressure on your pussy.

You weren’t this kind of girl — you know, hooking up with someone like five minutes into meeting them — but with Paige, it was different. It was like the two of you had known each other for months with how comfortable you were.

“Fuck— Paige.” You whimpered, resting your head on her shoulder as she began to kiss down your neck, licking occasionally and varying her kisses from gentle to hard. It was like she was mapping out your body, wanting to get familiar with every inch of it. She took her time doing this, as if she was savouring every single moment, committing each act to memory to reminisce on later.

“You wanna do this, Ma?” She breathed out, kissing her way back up to your lips before pulling away, looking you in the eyes whilst speaking. Her knee wasn’t letting up between your legs, the pressure building in your stomach. You closed your eyes, leaning your head back onto the wall to maintain your posture. She placed her hand on the side of your face, her thumb playing with your bottom lip as you opened your eyes to gaze upon her face.

“I’m gonna need an answer, baby.”

A slight moan escaped your lips, and you hoped to God the other people in their dorms were either at the party or fast asleep. You nodded in response to her question, “Yeah— yes.”

Paige smiled at your answer. You knew that if you had said no, Paige would’ve accepted that without question, and immediately would have left you alone. That was the last thing you wanted, though. The tension between the both of you, was too high to simply be abandoned, and you desperately didn’t want to say goodbye to her. Selfishly, you wanted her all to yourself tonight.

Turning around, you dug your hand in Paige’s hoodie for the keys you had placed there earlier and fumbled to unlock the door. Paige, who seemingly couldn’t help herself, placed her hands dangerously low on your back, kissing the side of your neck once more as you finally opened the door.

You dragged Paige into your room, pulling her by the arm as she shut the door behind the both of you. She didn’t waste a second before pulling you into her, her mouth attacking yours once more. She reached to rid you of her hoodie, throwing it carelessly across the room.

In your haste to get ready hours before, you had left one lamp on, and the dim lighting in the room was all you needed. It added to the sexual atmosphere now pulsating around the room.

You backed up until you felt your knees hit the edge of your bed. Paige reached down to hoist you onto the bed, gently leaning over you until your back was flush against the mattress. She had one hand propped on the bed next to your head whilst the other was on your waist; simultaneously kissing you while her hand moved lower and lower, teasing you slowly.

You whined pathetically, knowing at this point the only thought in your brain was Paige. You had never crushed so hard on someone so quickly before, and the evidence of that was clear in your body. Your pussy began to throb at the mere touch Paige was giving you, and you desperately needed her to alleviate the pressure.

Paige, however, seemed to have different thoughts. Her touch was slow and teasing, wanting you to feel every single inch of her caresses as she ran her hands up and down your body.

You appreciated that she wanted to take her time with you, but you desperately needed her to do something. You decided to give her some ammunition to speed up the process. You leaned up to gently bite her lower lip, licking and kissing her mouth with an almost desperate fervour.

You leaned back to view her face, her expression full of want and lust as she watched you rid yourself of your mini skirt, throwing it across the room to join her hoodie. Paige’s hand immediately went to one of your thighs, moving her touch up and down while she chuckled slightly. “Damn, Ma. You’re a feisty one, huh?”

You leaned up again to kiss her, this time slow and steady. “I just need you.” You basically whispered, the sexual tension almost becoming unbearable for you to endure much longer.

Teasing you no more, she reached down to kiss you, hard, a satisfied smile growing on her face. Her hand found itself on your underwear, the thin g-string doing nothing to conceal how wet you were, the tight material clinging to your pussy. Paige didn’t waste a second before removing it from your body, leaning down to whisper in your ear as she flung the piece of clothing aside.

“Don’t worry, baby. I gotchu.”

She rid you of the last piece of clothing you were wearing — your top, and thank goodness you decided to forgo a bra tonight — and didn’t waste one more second before diving into you.

Her hand reached down to your pussy, her fingers mapping out every inch of your folds; your wetness making it so much easier for her to feel her way around. She purposefully danced around your clit, knowing where the small bud was but not yet touching it, all to make you moan and beg pathetically underneath her.

She didn’t leave your boobs alone, either. Her mouth wrapped around your right nipple, sucking and playfully biting it. Only when she felt that one had received enough attention did she move onto the next, giving the sensitive peak the same treatment — more so biting it to once again tease you even farther.

“Fuck… Paige, please.” You begged, and only then when your breath hitched did she turn her attention to your clit, rolling the bud between her fingers. You let out a full moan, closing your eyes and feeling her mouth on yours, her tongue gaining access, kissing you seductively and turning you on even more than you thought possible.

“Shit, baby, you’re so fucking wet.” She whispered against your lips, kissing away your loud whimper as she entered a finger into you, pumping it easily with how slick you were. You didn’t think you had ever been this wet in your whole life.

“All because of you.” You managed to get out, wanting her to know only she could make you like this, fucked out dumb on your own bed. You just wanted the feel of her all over you, and she was giving you exactly that.

She easily slipped a second finger in — probably gaining confidence because of your comment — and she skilfully began to curl her fingers whilst pumping them inside you, her other hand busy playing with your clit.

It sounded dramatic as fuck to say, but you swear you began to see stars, the dark lighting in the room doing nothing to help your vision.

“Paige! Fuck, please … kiss me.” You begged. You decided you would save your dignity for the moment and be embarrassed by how pathetic you sounded later.

Paige must’ve thought the opposite to you, however, as she quickly followed your request, kissing you while continuing with her movements, not letting up with the speed. She gazed upon your face, and thought it was kind of hard to see her because of the darkness, you knew she was gazing at you with pure admiration. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Her words were what tipped you over the edge. You let out a small gasp, you hand gripping her toned arm as Paige began to kiss down your neck, letting you cum. “Fuck,” you whined, convulsing around her fingers as your thighs began to shake.

“That’s it, Ma, just let it out.” She spoke into your ear, her fingers not easing up until she milked every last drop out of your orgasm. You knew then, for a fact, that Paige definitely enjoyed making you cum. She removed her fingers, giving you pussy a slight slap as she leaned back, licking her fingers right in front of you.

“Fuck… you taste sweet.” She smiled, rendering you speechless for what seemed like minutes. You decided you were far from done for the night. Despite having just cum, you honestly craved another orgasm. Not that there were a lot, but your past experience never had you as desperate as Paige did.

Just now realising you were the only one naked, you reached up to kiss her once more. Reaching for the bottom of her top, Paige pulled it off, your pussy throbbing with a deep desire when you saw that she was without a bra, too. “Round two already, baby?”

“You’re driving me crazy.” Was all you replied, watching as Paige stood to remove her jeans, her boxers pulling down with the movement as well. She soon hovered over you once more, returning her mouth to yours. You, however, soon decided to try and give her the pleasure she had graced you with tonight, wanting to thank her in your own way.

You gently flipped her over, her height and athletic stature made it almost impossible to manhandle her the way she did you. Paige seemed to enjoy the direction you were taking this, however, as she quickly slid her hands over your waist and ass, squeezing slightly as you bent down to kiss her sensually.

Her hand reached up to wrap around your neck lightly, moving her hand down to squeeze one of your boobs. “You’re killing me. You know that, right?”

Now it was your turn to smile, deigning not to reply as you sat back. Your thighs were straddled around her hips, your pussy just shy of touching Paige’s. Maintaining eye contact, you began to lower yourself on top of her, both of your folds merging together the best they could in the position you were in.

“Shit, baby.” Paige breathed out, your high whining and her low moans mixing together as you began to ride her, moving backwards and forwards, picking up speed eventually. You mentally thanked yourself for joining the cheerleading squad, as it allowed you to gain stamina you definitely did not have before.

Paige’s hands gripped your hips, helping your body move fluidly. If possible, it made you even wetter to see the veins flexing in her hands and arms, the many hours of bouncing a ball giving Paige unimaginable strength.

You whined, your body giving your all as you picked up speed, Paige gripping your chin to bring your head down to her level, kissing you before flipping you over. You were now on the bottom; she lifted one of your legs, your thighs now slotting between Paige’s as she began to grind her pussy against yours.

“Paige! … Mmph.” You whined. This new angle had your clits rubbing together, the mix of Paige’s wetness and your cum making it so easy for Paige to basically fuck you. She had one hand wrapped around your thigh and the other around the side of your face, still gentle as ever in her touch as she leaned down to kiss you.

“You gonna give me one more?” She breathed against your lips, not letting up in her movements. You couldn’t even give her an answer, as before you knew it another orgasm was ripped from you.

All you could do was whimper Paige’s name over and over as she began to quicken her movements, chasing her own high. It wasn’t long before her hips began to stutter, her own orgasm ripping through her body.

She began to slow in her movements, her face slotting in between your neck as you both tried to catch your breath. “That was…” You began to speak, your voice soft and damn near broken. “…wow.”

Paige’s breath hitched with a laugh, moving her body off of yours and under your sheets, lightly draping them over the both of you. “Damn right it was.”

You didn’t hesitate before curling your body into hers, wrapping your leg around one of Paige’s as you buried your head into the side of her neck. She easily slid an arm around around you, dragging you as close she possibly could.

You were silent for a few moments, realising how deep you felt in your attraction to the basketball player. You knew for a fact that you didn’t want to say goodbye to her anytime soon, knowing your fragile heart was already clinging onto her.

You spoke in a hushed tone, needing to say the words before they consumed your every thought. “Was this, uh, a one time thing?”

You felt Paige’s head turn to look at you, her hand cradling your face as she attempted to pull your face to gaze at her. You were still too nervous to look into her eye, but she wouldn’t let your comment slide without intervention. “C’mon, baby. Let me see your face.”

You let her gently move your face until it was eye level with hers, not helping herself as she placed a delicate kiss on your lips. “I ain’t letting you go, Ma. I promise. I’ve never… felt this way about anyone. I think I’m fucking falling for you.”

You smiled shyly, your heart fluttering with such warmth and joy it was hard to wipe away. Your own hand reached up to Paige’s face, moving your thumb gently across her cheek as you turned to kiss the hand that was cradling your face.

“Good,” you spoke. Confidence now creeping into your words. “Because I feel the exact same way.”

Paige smiled, the heartfelt motion warming you. She leaned in to kiss you once more. The hour was late, and yet all she could think of was spending every minute wrapped up in your body. The two of you feel asleep in that position, comfortable and safe in the other’s arms.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader smut #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x you #wlw #paige smut #wnba #dallas wings

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aviawrites · 2 months ago

Text

love bites (sinners)

!s: stack x female!oc

summary: Josephine’s brother, Wells, was a sharecropper with the Smoke-Stack twins. After they left him without a word, she never forgave them. When they come back seven years later causing trouble, she has no idea what to do — Especially when unexpected feelings arise. [5.5k]

a/n: thank you all for loving the last sinners story and welcome to my new followers! here’s another! also, again, im going to preface this with the fact that i am black. lastly, ! all of my ocs are ethnically ambiguous unless stated otherwise in the !s, free to read for all ! anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), abuse, alcoholism, blood, fighting, guns

in this story, our characters name is: Josephine

📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 2:00pm

Dry air blows in as I suck on my bleeding thumb, having stuck the sewing needle right into it again. Wells has left me in the store alone, as he’s so keen on doing, but as he enters again, he’s got dumb and dumber on his trail.

“Ain’t no goddamn way,” I say in awe, watching the Smoke-Stack twins walk into our shop.

“That’s what I said, Jo.” My brother smiles. I don’t. “The devil done brought their asses all the way back from Chicago.”

“They say he works in evil ways,” I state, flat faced.

Wells is beaming, smiling cheek to cheek and staring at the twins like they gave him something. I seem to be the only one remembering how they left him seven years ago.

“Say man, there any colored folk down in Chicago?” he asks.

“There's colored folk everywhere.” Stack grins, walking up to my counter.

“Why are y’all back, Stack?”

Wells chimes in. “They throwing a party, the fancy type. Down at the old sawmill.”

“The old sawmill?” I scrunch my face up. “And who bought that for y’all?”

Smoke huffs. “We grown now, Josephine. We buy shit for ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, I meant whose money did y’all steal to pay for it.”

“Woo.” Stack smiles wickedly, looking back at Wells. “This sister of yours always did have a mouth on her. Feisty lil thing.”

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck on.” I roll my eyes, rounding the counter and heading toward the back.

“Wait.” Wells stands in front of me. “They bringing business.”

My ears perk up and I look back to the twins — Although, ain’t no business worth the mischief they bring with them.

“What business?”

“This suit jacket right here.” Smoke traces his finger along the button holes of his jacket. “I want you to embroider it, something classy for the party. I’ll give you twenty for it.”

I scoff. “Yea, hell no.” I begin walking off.

My brother stops me again, evoking a rough sigh out of me.

“What, Wells?”

“Come on now, Jo. We family. You gotta do this for ‘em. I’d do it myself if I knew how.”

“Family?” I furrow my brows, crossing my arms and turning my body toward the three men. “If we was family they would’ve never left you on that damn plantation when they fled.”

“It’s best you don’t speak on business you don’t know, Josephine,” Smoke warns.

Every time, he think he gets me with that damn Josephine. If only he knew that I preferred that name over any of my short ones, especially from the mouths of those I hold no relation or respect to.

“You think I don’t know, Smoke?” I near him. “Who do you think was there when he cried the nights after y’all left him?”

Wells shrinks in his spot, embarrassed. Hell, I don’t know why — If anything these motherfuckers should be ashamed for leaving their “family” to do the picking while they took their blood money and ran uptown without giving a shit about the rest of us.

“Twenty-five,” Smoke suggests.

“Forty,” I throw back.

“Thirty.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty-two. It’s the best I can do.” He holds out five clean bills, cleaner money than I’ve ever seen.

I sneer at him, rolling my eyes as I grab the bills and stuff the money in my apron pocket.

“Atta girl.” He takes his jacket off, placing it neatly in my hand. “And make the thread match will you?”

I give him a do-you-think-I’m-an-idiot? look. Why the hell would I put orange thread on a navy lined jacket. It only aggravates me more.

“Are y’all done here?”

“Throw mine in too, Josie.” Stack coyly grins, taking his jacket off too.

“No, Stack.”

“Come on, Jose. I got money—“

“Hell no, Stack,” I interrupt him, walking toward the back room. “You’re lucky I’m taking your damn brother's.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

📍 Josephine and James’ house || 10:00am

Thimble covers my fingers now as I carefully thread flowers and flames into the bottom of Smokes suit. The thick smell of his cigarettes are embedded into every inch of the fabric, making me even less inclined to take my time.

Smoke is the lesser of two evils, if I had to choose. I can’t prove it, but I like to think that he at least felt a bit of hesitation before leaving Wells behind like that. Before they did what they did, when their daddy was alive, he wouldn’t only beat on them — He’d beat on Wells. I worked in a factory with my mama, so I was never subject to working in any kind of field, but Wells’ work got harder and harder the more he grew up. The only comfort he had was that he was doing it with the twins, our only friends. Ever since that day they left without a word and we heard about their destination through the grapevine, I never forgave them. The plantation got sold but each owner was as bad as the next, hitting Wells with his fist just because he could.

So no, I won’t forgive them — Not after that tricking shit they pulled on my brother, even if Wells is too forgiving to see it. God didn’t bless me with a forgiving heart.

James comes into the living room with his work overalls on, pulling the strap up over his shoulder.

“I’m heading out, baby,” he tells me.

“Oh, okay.”

I continue rocking in my rocking chair as he presses a kiss into my forehead. His retreating footsteps are tuned out by my singing, a gentle hum that gets me through the more tedious seam work. Just as I begin to get lost in my tunes, I hear footsteps nearing the family room.

I stop.

“…James?”

No answer, only more heavy footsteps.

My heart skips a beat and I reach into the wooden table that holds our plants. I feel like a child navigating a new toy for the first time as I retrieve James’ small revolver, holding it in my free hand and pointing it at the hallway.

Heartbeats turn into internal pounding in my ears as the steps take an eternity to reach me. When they finally do, I’m prepared to fire missing shots before meeting my grizzly demise.

As my sure murderer rounds the corner, I open my eyes to see…Stack.

“Jesus.” I hold my chest, letting out a relived breath. “Now why the fuck would that man let you in here?”

“I’m not allowed to visit my old friends?” he asks with a smile, leaning in the doorway.

“We ain’t nothing near friends, Stack.”

He sucks his teeth. “That’s just how you choose to see it, Josie.” He walks closer, sitting in the couch across from my rocking chair.

“That’s how it is,” I assure him. “What do you want?”

“To check in on you, damnit. We just got back, I’m owed a few updates, hm?”

“You’re not owed shit, Stack. And right now you’re wasting my time. What do you want?”

He stares at me for a moment, tilting his head and biting his lip in the slightest. “I wanted to know if you still dance.”

“Tuh,” I scoff. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“No, for real,” his tone quiets. “Do you?”

“Maybe I do, Stack. But not for you.”

“…I want you to show me.”

I continue embroidering Smokes jacket. “And why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I ain’t leaving until you do.”

“I guess we’ll just sit here then...”

And we do. What feels like half and hour goes by, the silence being filled with Stack’s constant nagging. He asks me any question he can think of, my life, my brother, my husband, my sewing, none of which I want to disclose to him. Nevertheless, I do, hoping and praying that he forgets his condition and gets up to leave.

Of course, he never does — They always were stubborn.

“Alright,” I huff, setting my embroidery needle down. “You really not gonna leave?”

“Sure ain’t,” he leers. “I’m starting to think you want me to stay.”

Accepting defeat, I set the jacket down on the rocking chair, grabbing a record from our side table and heading toward the player.

“Let me get that for you.” Stack grabs it from my hands, gently placing it on the record player and lowering the stylus.

He returns to his seat, crossing his leg and biting his lip, a hungry look of satisfaction on his face. “Go on.”

The record crackles to life, one of my favorite jazz songs blaring through the loudspeaker. As it always does, my body moves automatically, no thought needed.

“Woo,” he pull his cigarette out of his mouth, clapping. “There you go,”

“Shut up, Stack,” I groan, turning my back to him and swaying my hips.

It doesn’t take long for me to get lost in the music, throwing my hands in the air and running them down my body, my legs, arms, and hips rocking in symphony. I’ve forgotten Stack was sitting there by the time the music comes to a close — And my eyes haven’t reopened yet when I feel his frame against my back.

His hands hold my waist, pulling me close.

“That dance ain’t nothing like it was last time,” he says, his lips far too close to my ear.

My hands firmly rest on his. “Yea, well I wasn’t grown last time.”

“I know that’s right…” his breath grazes my neck. “You gon’ do that at the Joint for me?”

For the first time…I consider it. If it was anybody else’s Joint I’d jump at the idea, longing to feel the freedom of dancing to my hearts content once again. One thing James hates more than anything was my dancing — Any work of mine, he’d rather me not do. Even so, I can’t give the twins this satisfaction.

“You wish.”

Stack stays silent for a moment, simply pushing his chest against my back. I’m about to tell him to get the hell on when I feel his tongue on my ear…then his teeth, nipping my lobe.

Why I don’t immediately pull away is beyond me. If Smoke saw me right now…If James saw me right now…If Wells saw me — Wells.

I roughly push against his chest, turning toward him.

Stack adjusts his pants. “Come on, baby.”

“You best leave,” I suggest — I don’t know if I’m panting from my dancing or the close proximity.

He steps closer. “We got time—“

“I have a husband, Stack.”

“Mane, fuck your husband,” he urges. “He ain’t gon’ be home for another few hours, ain’t it?”

“And I need to have this suit done by then,” I reiterate, convincing myself more than I’m convincing him. “Go home, Stack.”

He searches my face for any signs of hesitation, and for a moment I think he sees it. But he backs down, putting his hands up and turning toward the door.

“Alright,” he surrenders. “But I best see you at that Joint tomorrow night, Josie.”

Hell the fuck no.

I stay in the living room until I hear him swing the door closed behind him — I’ve never trusted myself so little until now. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I follow him out.

I’m not supposed to tolerate these men, let alone dance for one of them. This is what I’ve heard of the Smoke-Stack twins doing to women. Serenading them, fucking them, and leaving them to the dogs. It won’t be me.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I finally walk to the door, reaching for the lock. But as I go to walk back down the hallway and finish the jacket, really this time, something on the coat rack catches my eye.

“Motherfucker,” I mumble under my breath.

Hanging there next to James and I’s winter coats, a grey suit jacket with a red pocket square sits pretty. In the pockets, Stack has left me five clean bills…$32.

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📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 10:00am

Business is slower than usual on this fine Friday morning. Wells finishes up some shoes that were brought in yesterday, and Smoke’s mostly finished suit jacket lays in the back room. It was being used as my personalized pillow before. My chin nearly falls off of my fist and my eyes flutter closed as a gust of warm wind passes over me.

All of the fatigue in my body is stripped away the next moment as two gunshots ring out from outside. Wells and I immediately pop our heads up and run toward the door.

“What the—“

My face drops when I see the scene outside. None other than Elijah Moore stands across from two men with bullets in their legs as he tucks his gun back into his jacket.

“The fuck are you doing, Smoke!?” I shout, running up to him.

“They tried to rob my truck.”

“So you shot ‘em?”

“I sure the hell did.” He looks at me crazy.

“Are you fucking serious? Y’all can’t go one day without bringing trouble can you?”

All of the store owners in the square have come outside, standing in front of their businesses and watching the scene play out.

“…Come on.” Wells pulls me back. “Go inside, I’ll handle it.”

“Will you, Wells? Or you gon’ let them get away with it again?” I yell in his face, adrenaline rushing through me.

“I got it, Jo. Just please go inside,” he begs.

I spin on my heels, rushing away from the bloody scene and back into the store on a mission. I rip a paper from under the counter and bite the pen cap off, spitting it onto the floor.

You and your crazy ass brother need to stay away from the Delta — Maybe back up to Chicago where they’ll deal with your asses right. Whatever happened yesterday was a mistake, I don’t want it, I’ll never want it. And come pick up this jacket of yours.

Grammatical errors litter the page, but I fold up the letter all the same, pressing it tight and leaving it on the counter as I go to retrieve Smokes suit from the back. When I return, Wells is entering with him.

“You just gotta chill is all I’m saying. People don’t do shit like that around here no more.”

I push the suit against Smokes chest, stepping back.

“Fuck is—“ He looks down at the jacket. “It’s done?”

“I’m not finishing your jacket,” I tell him, plain and simple.

He eyes me as I return behind the counter, stone faced and completely avoiding his gaze.

“You been showing me a lot of disrespect, Josephine, and I’ve been nothing but good to you.” He lays his jacket across his arm. “So I’ll ask you one good time what your problem is with me.”

“You are my problem, Smoke. Both of you.”

Wells walks over to me. “Don’t start this again, Jo—“

“I’m not starting nothing, Wells. It’s called having a backbone. Keep the coat, Smoke. Your brother can have his back too.”

I can see him make the conscious decision to retain his calmness as he adjusts his position.

“Alright,” he nods. “If you ain’t gon’ finish it, Imma need my money back. Eighteen flat, and that’s being generous.”

“You not gonna play me in my own store, boy.” I pay him no mind, rearranging my counter. “That coat is more than half done. With all that money y’all got in Chicago you oughta not need any back.”

“See, what you not gon’ do is steal from me, Josephine. I don’t give a damn how mad you are.”

“Or what, Smoke?” I challenge. “You gonna shoot me too?”

He pauses, then pulls that same pistol on me. “Think I won’t.”

“Woah, woah.” Wells holds his hands up. “Is it worth all this, y’all? Really?”

Smoke and I stare each other down, neither of us budging as the barrel of his gun aligns with my nose.

“I ain’t leaving without my money, woman.”

“Well then you ain’t leaving.”

“I’ll get you your money, Smoke,” my brother mediates. “Just put the gun down.”

I shake my head. “Nah, he ain’t gotta put it down. It’s not like he’s gon’ shoot it—“

My words can barely get out when a bullet is fired into the wall behind me, causing a sharp ringing in my ear.

“Smoke!” Wells yells, running over to me.

I hold my hands tight over my ear, moving from behind the counter and over to Smoke.

“Are you fucking crazy!?” I shove him. “You gonna do that bullshit in my damn store?”

“Give me my money.”

Grace and Bo from across the street run in, examining the sight in front of them — Smoke tucking his gun back in his suit, my hands over my ears, Wells pushing me back.

“What the hell is going on?” Bo asks.

“He’s fucking crazy, that’s what.”

Smoke turns to Wells. “You best tell her to give me my money, nigga. Else the next one going into a body.”

“I’m gon’ get the money, goddamnit!” Wells exclaims.

I get in Smokes face, rage overriding my common sense. Without thinking about it, I spit — A ball of saliva lining his right cheek.

“Fuck you,” I growl.

Smoke short circuits, looking at me with ten different men in his eyes. But the good ones don’t get the best of him today; he wastes no time pulling the gun out again, aiming it right at my chest. Grace swoops in, pulling me away before he can do something he might regret.

“Let’s go, we are going,” she tells me.

“He won’t do nothing!” I yell as Grace drags me to the car. “You ain’t shit, Smoke! Your ass should’ve stayed gone!”

Bo and Wells run out behind Smoke as Grace backs us out. Smoke has completely lost his composure now, shouting all of the fuck-you-bitch’s that he can muster. I’m just glad he has sense enough not to shoot my ass where I sit.

It’s only when driving away that I finally calm down, realizing just how huge of a mess I made of something that may not be worth it. As Grace speeds us away, I sink lower in the passengers seat, wanting nothing more than one of those cigarettes in Stack’s jacket pocket.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

I wrap my feather shrug tighter as the cool air of the Mississippi night breeze past me. I drove here in silence and in secret without asking myself questions. Why the hell I’m here, I don’t know.

Cornbread stands up the minute he sees me walking up.

“I don’t think you should be here, ma’am.”

“Cornbread, please get the fuck out of my face,” I smile, not in the mood to stay in this cold ass weather.

“Un-uh,” he shakes his head. “Smoke gave strict orders not to let your ass in.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I reveal the burgundy embroidered suit jacket from behind my back.

“Stack told me to bring it for tonight, I’m already late.”

Cornbread is conflicted, looking behind him in search of the twins.

“Man, where your brother at?”

“My brother ain’t my keeper — Now seriously, Cornbread. We wasting time and it’s cold out here.”

A sultry voice calls out from behind the doorman. “Let her in, Cornbread. She’s with me.”

He reluctantly obliges, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” I curtsy.

Behind him, I see my one and only friend around here — Pearline. She wears a big smile, hooking her arm in mine as we walk deeper into the dancing crowd.

“I hear you been stirring up trouble,” she taunts.

I scoff. “And you been eyeing Preacher Boy since I saw y’all at the train station yesterday.”

She giggles, looking back at Sammie who happens to have his eyes on her right this moment.

“Just a little fun,” she shrugs. “So, which one is yours?”

“Girl, what?”

“Smoke…or Stack?” she urges, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I’m thinking Stack.”

“Well, I’m thinking neither!” My eyes widen. “I am married!”

She coyly shrugs. “I am too…”

My mouth hangs agape, in disbelief at this side of Pearline — No one’s been able to pull this out of her before. Hell, it ain’t my place to be mad at it.

We don’t fit another word in before Preacher Boy comes to retrieve his little princess, excusing himself and softly pulling Pearline to the stage. She waves goodbye, but I can only give her a look. An I-know-what-y’all-did look.

Pearline’s song pulls that dance out of me that the jazz did yesterday. I have to stop myself from rocking my body to the blues so early into the night. As if I conjured this devil, my eye is caught by none other than Elias Moore himself — leaving the bar to talk to old Delta Slim. I make my way over.

“Stack,” I nod, placing the coat in his hands.

He grins, passing his drink to Slim who quickly makes himself scarce after downing the whole cup.

“I knew you could play nice.” He slips it on over his vest.

“When I want to,” I tilt my head, the hate that I usually feel for this face completely dissolving. “Where’s Smoke?”

“Man, fuck that." He nears me. “Where’s James?”

I roll my eyes. I’ve tried my best to forget about my husband since the second I left home.

“Oh?” Stack raises a brow, intrigued.

“We argued.” I summarize, my voice low. “He didn’t want me working no more, said it made him look like an unfit husband.”

He sucks his teeth. “Shit, you like to work. And I like that.”

I grin, praying that James never finds out where I came tonight.

“Honestly, I came here half just to spite him.”

Stack’s own smile grows wider, his golden grills showing as he wraps an arm around me, his hand sliding down to palm my ass.

“Let’s spite him even more.” He pulls my body close against his.

But this time…I allow myself to smile. Whether I like it because I know I shouldn’t be doing it, or because I’m growing soft spot for this twin, I don’t have time to figure out.

“Mm-mmm,” I decline, lightly pressing him back. “I gotta find Smoke— Pay him back.”

He backs off, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t, Jose. He still hot from this morning.”

“I gotta. I did some disrespectful ass shit today.”

“Oh, I know.” He winces, looking up.

I do the same. Standing over the balcony staring at us is his brother, a cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding him.

Stack places his hand on the small of my back, leading me upstairs. He’s hot on my trail as a knot ties itself in my stomach. Had it not been for Stack pushing me, I might’ve turned around and forgotten about the whole ordeal. But nonetheless, as Smoke slips into a room, I follow after him,

Annie stands beside Smoke as we enter, we’ve clearly interrupted something. Smoke just stares holes through my head, his jaw clenched so hard I think it might pop.

“You got my money?” His ice cold tone makes it sound much more like a demand.

I reach into my bra, straightening out a few bills before handing to him. His hand is hard and firm as he pull the dollars from me, counting them up.

Stack scrunches his face up. “Nigga, you was tripping over $18?”

“It’s the principle, mane.” Smoke nods at me. “She know that. Now let’s go make some money.”

And with that, Smoke and Annie exit the room. I’m not enough of a fool to think that Smoke forgives me or will ever forget what I did — But he’s fair enough to take only what he’s owed and go on about his life, and I can respect that.

Now alone, Stack sits in a creaky wooden chair, relaxing and spreading his feet apart. I just stare at him, feeling the slightest bit insecure under his gaze.

“You hear that music, don’t you?” his grills gleam at me. “Show me a little some’.”

A small laugh escapes my lips. But before I can say no, Pearline begins to sing a smoother song downstairs, something much more my speed.

“Go on,” Stack urges me.

I oblige, now thinking less of how mad James would be and more how pleased I can make the man in front of me. My back is turned to him and I begin running my hands up and down my sides, accentuating the curves that I’ve yet to let Stack see. The song gains momentum, speeding much more than I thought it would. Lovely singing turns into wild hooting as the stomps of the crowd thump in my ears. Still, I sway to the music, just with more intention, seduction even. I don’t even notice that Stack has gotten up until his hands are following mine, running over the most intimate parts of my body.

“You gon’ finally let me have you, Josie?” he rasps in my ear, his voice nearly blending in with the music.

“Maybe if you work for it…”

The two of us move in harmony, his hands following mine, my hips following his. It’s not until the tempo slows that I realize the position we’re in. My hands sit on the table as Stack stands behind me, his clothed waist grinding against mine as he leaves rough kisses on my neck. I don’t resist it this time, I don’t want to. In fact, I want to do the exact opposite. His hand rests across my throat, turning my head so that I can properly kiss him. It feels amazing, finally letting all of the tension out in this way. I feel possessed by the music as our hands grow nearer and nearer to crossing a line. But suddenly the stomps ain’t so far, and Stacks lips ain’t so close.

I open my eyes to a gruesome scene. It takes me a moment to be sure, but once I’m sure, I’m sure. James has burst through the door and ripped Stack off of me, landing blows the minute he entered. Only seconds have passed and blood has already begun covering his fist. Stack wastes no time, retrieving his brass knuckles and aiming for James’ face. Blood splatters across the room and the two men fight like dogs in front of me.

“Stop—“ I can barely choke the words out when I realize that this is going to end up in a death.

I don’t bother wasting time thinking before I run downstairs. The time between my leaving the room and returning with Smoke and Annie behind me must be about fifteen seconds, but it feels like three.

“The fuck!?” Smoke pushes past me.

He pulls his gun, aiming it at the incoherent mess that is Stack, James, and a lot of blood. I don’t speak, only run to the two men and try my best to save my James, pulling back on his shoulder. He swings his blood-soaked arm back, elbowing me in the face with a crack before continuing to tussle with Stack. I fall to the floor, cradling my cheek as I scoot away from the two men.

Two shots ring out, and the sound of thrashing finally ceases.

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📍Josephine and James’ house || 12:00pm

I made out that he found the note when he begged me not to leave him. Even bloody, shot, and thrown on the Mississippi road, James still gained the power to speak those words to me. He threw me his accusations that he had against Stack, saying he did something against my will. James did it to save me, according to him. I blamed myself all night long for forgetting to put that note away — Maybe it was that that allowed him to survive the night. Perhaps my praying and apologizing to God was enough to make him save James from those two bullets in his side.

It don’t matter now. I’m back home alone just like I would be if he wasn’t in the hospital, feeling the same too — Despite my stitched up cheek and the never ending thoughts of what Stack and I could’ve done last night. It’s wrong, I know it is, but no matter how hard I fight it, all I can imagine is what we would’ve done had James not barged in.

It’s stormy this evening, the clouds covering the sun make me feel like the lord might’ve darkened the sky just to make me feel worse. I flip through my old photo album, photos of young me, Wells, and our parents in that small house in South Carolina. Sometimes I miss those days — Most times, actually. Before I had a hard head and a harder ass, ready to take on anyone who wanted to whoop me at anytime. Back when I could be a soft Josephine who wouldn’t provoke men to shoot her or spend my nights with drunkards at an old mill.

A knock at the door pulls me from my miserable reminiscing. I close the album and set it aside, opening up the door for what I assume to be a patched up James…But it’s not. It’s a much more warming face.

“Stack,” I half smile, having no idea how he feels about last night…How he feels about me.

“Can I come in, Josie?” he asks.

"'Course." I nod, stepping aside and letting him walk past me. As we make our way to the couch, I’m marveled at how little lasting damage James did to him. Sure he had a few stitches beneath his t-shirt and a cut and a bruise on his face, but nothing like James — His face was swollen, still black and blue when I visited him this morning.

We sit next to each other, Stack taking his time not to hurt himself. The tension eats me alive as we just stare at each other, soft jazz music playing.

“I’m sorry…” I begin. “I wrote a note—“

“Shh.” He places a hand on my criss-crossed thigh. “It wasn’t never your fault, baby.”

I can’t find it in me to smile today, although baby makes me want to oh so bad.

“Doctors said he should be okay this morning. But he was damn near dead by the time I drove him there last night,” I tell him. Stack gives me no answer. “If he recovers…I don’t know if I ever want him back in my house.”

I never allowed myself to consider the possibility of leaving James. My mama taught me that in order for anyone to see my value, I’m gon’ need some sort of man behind me, whether that be Wells, my daddy, or another man. But daddy died and I protected Wells more than he ever could protect me, so I did what I was told — Found a husband.

I don’t know that I ever loved him. I said I did, but I didn’t know what love was when we got married. It didn’t matter anyway, he had money and he was good enough to me in the beginning, so I couldn’t ask for more. It was three good years before he showed me the real him. The him that got home from work and started drinking, and more than that, started hitting. Only holes in our walls at first, then more. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what makes me so violent. I never had it in me to stand up to him so I stood up to everyone else.

Stack brings his hand to my stitched cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

“If he ever comes near you again — Ever does this again,” his voice is the most tender I’ve ever heard it. “Smoke and I will shoot him dead this time.”

I shake my head, the tiniest hint of a smile on the corner of my lip. “No need.”

“You don’t believe me?” he asks, offended.

“Oh no, I do,” I assure him. “That’s why I’m not scared of what he’ll do no more. I think you and your brass taught him enough of a lesson.”

His eyes scan my body, his hand returning to my thigh.

“Something like this happen before?”

“Only when he’s drunk and jealous.” I don’t include the part where that is every night. “That’s why I’m at the shop so much. I sometimes think that if I’m there long enough he’ll forget he was ever gonna touch me.”

Stack's face has dropped.

“Your brother know this?” he asks, a fiery glimmer in his eyes.

“He got no clue,” I scoff. “He’s dumb that way.”

He stares at me for a moment, a hunger in his eye behind the immediate anger. He raises a hand to my cheek again.

“I can show you real love, baby. Even if it’s just for today...”

Gently, Stack pulls my face to his. We’re careful not to touch each others’ wounds as he kisses me harder, laying back and pulling me on top of him. He pushes his hips up and I grind mine back and forth, groans escaping the both of us.

I feel free when I’m with Stack, like I can be powerful in who I am — I don’t worry about the store or James when I’m on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, a deeper more guttural rasp in his voice now. I ignore it, enjoying his kisses that he litters across my chest. I feel like I’m flying, he can do anything to me.

“Josie,” he whispers.

“Hm?” I hum, not bothering to look down as I pull my dress up.

“…Can I bite you?”

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