#being there for each other and saving each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvelouslymarly · 2 days ago

Text

After Midnight (Bob Reynolds x female superhero!reader)

[Gif credits to @a-reader-and-a-writer]

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/the Sentry/the Void x female superhero!reader

Summary: You're out with the team when some dude starts acting like an ass. Bob helps you get away and takes you home to show you how a lady should be treated...

Rated E for explicit - Minors do not interact!!

CW: physical violence (bar brawl); the void showing up for a second there; some hints at sexual harrassment/assault (no on page rape!); Bob dancing with reader; fluff; half of this is smut (first time reader and Bob sleep together; oral/female and male receiving; fingering, p in v sex (protected); multiple orgasms) [i think i need a pastor]; minor thunderbolts* spoiler warning bc this is set after the film

Word count: 10.6k words (and I thought the last one was a long one, LOL)

Masterlist

[A/N #1: Got the idea for this on the drive home from my parents' place while listening to After Midnight by Chappel Roan, so here you go]

[A/N #2: thank you to @scuttle-buttle for cheering me on and reading through this!!! Dedicating this to you, babes🫰🏻]

The music was blasting over the speakers, and you could feel the beat in every cell of your body. The team had decided to go out that night, needing a break from training and recon-missions and the same old day-in-and-day-out of the last few weeks. While the guys had stayed back at the bar, Ava and Yelena had pulled you into the center of the dance floor, telling you to put yourself out there and have some fun for once. You knew that they were right. It had been a while since you forgot about work and everything that came with first being one of Val's shadow ops and then becoming part of what Val intended to become the new Avengers.

Even after a few months, the title still didn't feel right. It was just too loaded with expectations, with ideas and opinions about who you should be, what you should or shouldn't do. You guys weren't shiny and new. You were rough around the edges, with problems and your own past full of mistakes and regrets. You all had things you'd like to forget or wished to have gone up in flames with every little detail Val put in that vault.

Being called the "new Avengers" felt like stepping into footsteps not only way too big to fill, but also just the wrong shape to begin with. It was like trying to match the tracks of bears with those of lions. You were a different species of heroes - and even calling yourself heroes felt wrong somehow. You were too familiar with being the bad guys, with having your stories twisted, being used for whatever wrong someone wanted done without getting their own hands dirty. But now, you were supposed to be the ones stopping the bad guys, to fight the guys you were made out to be before.

So, this night out felt like the right call for multiple reasons. It was good for forgetting about work, but also for getting to know each other outside of work settings. You'd lived with them for months and knew everything about who preferred what guns, who would do what whenever you were out on missions but whenever you came home, you'd retreat into your own spaces, resting and trying to figure out where you all fit into whatever Val had in mind when she called the press on you and announced her new team of superheroes come to save the world.

~~~

Earlier that evening, while putting on that one dress in the back of your wardrobe, you could hear your mother's voice in the back of your head, telling you not to dress this provocatively. To be a good girl and cover yourself before the Lord's eyes. You felt the anger you'd repressed for so long bubble back up inside of you. Images of the time before you ran away from home came rushing back in.

The front lawns of the neighbourhood peppered with signs with psalms and verses written on them. Crosses in every room of the house you’d grown up in. The metal rods and mosquito nets outside the windows to “keep evil out” but, in all honesty, they were there to keep you from climbing out the windows in the middle of the night. Memories of everything your parents tried to make you believe about the virtues of life and how to be a pious girl and a good servant of the Lord.

You could feel the bile rise, thinking back to the person they had tried to turn you into.Their attempts to marry you off to some boy from the community. Michael Dawson. A good boy, named after the archangel. A god-fearing boy just barely old enough to drive a car. In the year before your parents had told you about their plans, you had barely exchanged two sentences with him. But still, it was blatantly obvious to everyone who looked at him and at the way he looked at Paul for even a second, that this probably wouldn’t have been the happy and sacred marriage your parents had envisioned for you.

When the blip first happened, it felt like you were set free from everything you hated so much. With your family gone, there was nothing holding you back from leaving the community while the rest turned to prayers and service. Just having turned 18 a couple of weeks ago, you’d grabbed the keys to your father’s truck and never looked back.

You caught a look of yourself in the mirror and thought about how far you'd come in the last 8 years. How much distance you'd put between your old life and this new one - regardless of how lost you still felt sometimes. You thought about how you moved to the big city and took up self-defense classes after a close call on your way home from work one night. How powerful you felt once you’d realised you loved to fight and get stronger both physically and mentally. That now, there was very little that you couldn’t get through because you didn’t have to rely on prayers anymore.

You pulled the dress down in the front, revealing more cleavage, and adjusted how your breasts sat in the built-in cups. The thought of your mother’s jaw falling to the floor at the sight of you in this get up, her hands doing quick work to bless herself, sent a smirk to your lips. You smoothed out the dress, letting your hands dance over the sides of your body while you admired yourself. The tightness of the dress, hugging you in just the right places, the skirt just long enough to cover the ass that you trained so hard for. Reapplying the dark red lipstick, you smacked your lips in a playful manner and ran your hand through your locks before leaving your room and joining the others in the common area of your shared apartment.

You could still hear the whistles Walker had sent your way, adding an approving 'looking good, [y/l/n]' after standing up straighter and looking you up and down. You rolled your eyes at him while you put your purse over your shoulder, and then adjusted the leather jacket thrown over your am.

"You clean up nice, too, I guess," you retorted and looked around the group.

Ava and Yelena had put themselves into their best party outfits as well, wearing a knowing smirk while putting up both thumbs, respectively. When your eyes landed on Bob, you could see a faint pink tint to his cheeks, and he quickly averted your gaze, nodding vigorously.

"Yeah, you look really nice... Really... nice, yeah!" He cleared his throat, the blush deepening a few shades. His jaw clenched and you smiled to yourself, having secretly hoped he'd like the way you'd dressed up.

When you'd first met him in the vault those few months ago, in the scrubs that seemed three sizes too big for him, he looked like a helpless puppy, his blue eyes so big and excited at what he'd stumbled into - literally. But then, when you saw what he was capable of, both as the Sentry and the Void and your interest in him grew. He was no longer just the sad, helpless puppy but something more intriguing. Someone with layers that you wanted to uncover one at a time.

After first moving to New York and into the Watchtower with the others, there weren't many chances for you two to interact, to get to know each other better. But when it became more and more obvious that he wasn't ready to be sent out into missions with the rest of the team just yet, you came up with the idea of rotating who would stay at home with him. The rest of the team welcomed the idea of it and so, whenever someone wasn't needed for the mission, they'd try and help Bob figure out how to channel his inner Sentry without also summoning the Void with it. Or they'd bake cakes or make dinner for when the others came back.

You'd stayed back with him two times at that point but every time you asked if he wanted to join you for a gym session or for a swim in the new pool, he'd come up with excuses. Saying he'd sprained his ankle the last time he was working out with Bucky or that he'd just done his daily laps in the morning and was looking forward to reading that one book he didn't have the chance to get to yet. The first time around, you figured he was just a little anti-social and needed some more time to get comfortable but then you heard about how Yelena had gotten him to punch the punching bag so forcefully that it came off the hinges and flew to the other side of the gym and how even Walker could convince him to try some new technique to compartmentalise.

When he declined your invitation to watch a movie the second time you stayed behind, you grew weary, scared that you'd done something wrong or that he just simply didn't like you at all. That the interest you had in him wasn’t reciprocated. But, seeing him blush at the sight of you all dolled up set the tiny bit of hope you still had ablaze once more. On the way to the bar, you caught yourself disengaging from the conversation, coming up with ideas or ways to get him on his own, hoping that he’d be more forthcoming once he had a drink or two in him.

~~~

The feeling of arms slipping around your waist brought you back to the bar and to the song you were mindlessly singing along to. Hands were moving down to your waist, holding onto you as you swayed your hips from side to side. Your eyes travelled down your figure, thinking that maybe it was one of the guys playing a trick on you but then you didn't recognise the tattoos winding up the left forearm and into the rolled up sleeves. Your head turned to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of you had come up behind you but you couldn’t quite make out who it was, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach.

Looking around for the girls, you saw that Ava and Yelena had gone back over to the bar, probably to get you guys some drinks. Also sitting at the bar, you made out Walker, Bob and Bucky - the latter engaged in a conversation with some girl desperately trying to get his number from the way she pushed her phone into his direction, a bright smile on her lips, despite the restrained expression on his face and him shaking his head repeatedly, pushing her phone back every time it made contact with his chest.

Wildly gesticulating with every fiber of his being, Walker was talking to Bob, who was staring into the glass in front of him. You weren’t sure if he was just lost in thought or if he had one too many, his face inattentive and his shoulders slumped. His gaze wandered over to you, as if he’d felt your eyes on him, and then to the guy behind you, his jaw clenching tightly. Just as quickly as his eyes had met yours, they were back on the remnants of whatever drink he had been musing before, his knuckles turning white in the dim light.

The arms around your hip pulled you back, bringing your attention back to the dancefloor, and you felt a very clammy shirt press into your shoulders before the smell of cheap alcohol mixed with even cheaper breath mints filled your nostrils. Your whole body tensed, when the guy’s right hand travelled back up your side and stopped just under your breast for a second, before moving to the front and up to your neck.

"Hey, Mama, you alone here," the voice slurred questioning, hot breath hitting your ear and neck, and sending goosebumps down your body. His hand was slowly wrapping around your neck and made you turn your head again. Out the corner of your eye, you could clock the name tag on his shirt, making out ‘Sam’ written in cursive stitches.

Feeling your throat close up from the stinging aroma of the cheap liquor he must've bathed in, you tried to push Sam’s arms off of your body, scratching at his skin. But his grip didn’t budge one bit, only growing tighter, his nails digging in through the fabric of your dress and into your neck.

Your desperate pleas for him to let go of you seemed to be useless, lost to the loud music coming from the speakers in every corner of the dance floor. But you couldn't get anything out above a feeble whisper, tears brimming in your eyes while snippets of the last time you went to a bar raced through your brain.

"Why are you so tense? Let's have some fun, baby," Sam pushed and started to grind into you from behind, his dick getting harder with every move, pressing into your behind.

Again, you looked around for the rest of the team, hoping someone would notice your struggle and come over to help. But Ava and Yelena were nowhere to be seen, and Walker must’ve gone out to get some fresh air with Bucky because they weren’t where you had last seen them either. The only team member you could still make out was Bob, sitting at the bar with his back turned to you, waving down the bartender for another drink.

Realising you were on your own in this one, you tried to turn around, to get some leverage on him and were just able to turn your face away when he leant down and tried to press a kiss to your lips.

“I told you to leave me be,” you repeated forcefully, your flat hand landing on his cheek in a satisfying slap.

An urgent cry left your mouth, then, and the force behind your shove grew stronger, pushing Sam away from you and making him lose his balance. He stumbled back a step or two before he caught himself again, glaring at you.

He pushed up his sleeves again and started to come at you, an evil sneer on his face.

"What's your fucking problem, bitch,” he spat and looked you up and down, stepping closer slowly.

“You dress like that, and then you turn into a prude when -"

He was cut off short when a fist met his jaw and threw him into the people surrounding you, a tooth and a spray of blood flying from his mouth. You looked at who had landed that blow, still unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.

To your right, there stood Bob, his mouth hanging open a bit and his eyes glowing a dangerous golden colour. You hadn't noticed him getting up from the bar and coming over, but you were deeply grateful for him doing so, scared of what would've happened if he hadn't stepped in.

When he realised what he'd done, he shook his head slightly, the blue returning to his eyes once more, and he got ready to fight. With his fists raised in front of his face, he waited for the other guy to get back up again.

“What do you want, you limp noodle of a man, huh? You just got lucky with that one, fella.” The other guy pointed at Bob before spitting blood onto the light-up dance floor and cracking his neck, walking up to Bob. When he was still a few steps from him, Bob threw another punch, this time with even more force behind it and knocking Sam right out. There was a dark air around him, blackness enveloping his fist and travelling up his arm right before your eyes.

“She told you to leave her alone, asshat,” the Void growled, his voice several shades darker than that of Bob.

Looking at the limp figure before him for a split second, the Void went back in, throwing punch after punch, the black hand glistening from what must have been even more blood. Scared of what he’d do to Sam, you tried pulling Bob off of him, whispering into his ear that it was enough and for him to come back to you.

“Bob, please. He’s down already”, you begged and finally got enough strength to drag him away. Cupping his face, you tried to get Bob to focus on you and the black started to recede from his arms, his bloody hand cradling your face in return. It took a moment for the blue to return to his eyes again, for his jaw to unclench and the deep frown to relax a little.

"Are you ok, [y/n]?” Bob’s voice had gotten softer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of lasting harm.

"Yeah, I think I just need some fresh air," you murmured and held onto his shirt, your legs feeling like jell-o all of a sudden.

Bob wrapped a protective arm around your back when he felt you dip against his stature and pulled you closer, his eyes going to somewhere behind you. He gulped loudly and you looked over your shoulder at what he’d seen.

"You two!" The security guard pointed at you and Bob, and then motioned for you to get out of there.

"Congrats, you just earned yourself a no-return ticket out of this bar," the guard added, and Bob started sputtering, trying to argue about how Sam had started it, how he was just trying to protect you and that Sam should be the one getting kicked out of the bar instead. Picking up the bloody mess that the Void had turned Sam into, the security guard started for the door, looking over his shoulder as if waiting for us to follow him.

"Oh, don't worry, he's going with you!" The guard pushed Bob towards the back exit, Bob's shoulders slumping a little before making his way out of the group of onlookers, pulling you with him by the hand. You intertwined your fingers with his, trying not to lose him while pushing through the mass.

"Our friends are still inside," you tried when you got outside, but the security guard wouldn't have any of it, telling you 'life sucks' and 'better luck next time' while propping Sam up against the wall of the back alley. Without another word, he made for the back entrance before the door fell shut on him, and then disappeared into the turmoil inside the bar.

Looking around the dark alleyway, Bob scoffed before turning towards you, an angry look on his face.

"What a dick!"

You just shrugged your shoulders and felt tears well up in your eyes again, the shock of the situation wearing down and the fear taking over once more. When you tugged at his hand, Bob looked down, realising he was holding your hand, fingers intertwined, and let go before scratching the back of his head.

"Sorry, I didn't realise..."

He wiped his hands on his shirt, the blood staining the white shirt he was wearing under the flannel, and apologised again. When the first tears started to roll down your cheeks, a sob left your mouth and pulled his gaze back to you. His eyes widened in shock and his jaw went slack again, his brows knitting together in a regretful frown.

"Oh, no... I didn't mean to... [y/n], please don't cry..." He came up to you and cupped your cheeks, looking into your eyes deeply before wrapping his arms around you tightly. "I'm sorry... I just get really clammy hands whenever I feel... overwhelmed… And well, the blood and all…"

The embrace was warm, his arms feeling like a protective blanket wrapping around you, shielding you from any more harm. You sidled up to him, relishing in the comfort the hug offered against the cold air of night-time New York in early December. You stayed wrapped in his arms for a second, silent tears rolling down your cheeks while you tried to gather yourself, listening to the faint sound of his heart beating rapidly.

When you heard the groggy groans of the figure behind you, you tensed again and looked up at Bob, his face breaking further when he saw your tear-stained cheeks.

"Can you please get me out of here," you begged, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and he nodded quickly before letting one arm fall down from its place around your frame and cupping your cheek.

"Yeah, sure. Just tell me where to," he affirmed, wiping away the latest tears with the pad of his thumb. When he realised that you were shivering, he shimmied out of his flannel, wrapping it around your shoulders and mumbling ‘here, this should keep you warm’ under his breath.

"Just take me home, please." You pulled the soft fabric around you tighter, the warm scent of cedarwood and vanilla mixed with his own warm smell enveloping your senses.

He nodded again and turned towards the exit of the alleyway, his right arm wrapping around your shoulder again while he led you towards the main street.

~~~

You guys spent the first few minutes of your walk in silence, not sure how to make conversation after what had happened.

That was until you were stood at a red light and Bob turned towards you, his arm having fallen from around you a few blocks ago.

"I'm sorry, I got us kicked out of the bar," he apologised and put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, the uneasy look from earlier making its way back onto his face, knitting his eyebrows together and making him pull his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You really seemed to have a good time until that fucker turned up," Bob went on and you shrugged, the fun from earlier already a distant memory in the racing tornado of thoughts wreaking havoc in your mind.

"It was alright", your voice was low and you kicked at the burger wrapping left behind on the sidewalk, hoping you'd be able to boot the haunting images of past trauma away with it.

"Maybe it's stupid, but I kinda wanted to dance with you up there", Bob admitted, looking off towards the traffic light on the other side of the crossing.

His fingers were mindlessly fidgeting with the brand label at the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit you had observed so often when you were around him. When his gaze met yours, the small smile playing on his lips sent butterflies to your stomach, a warmth you hadn't felt in ages rushing up your arms and down your back.

"You looked really beautiful, you know. In the lights, lost to the music. Like you were somewhere else entirely and you didn't have a care in the world", he added, a chuckle at the end of his sentence, and his eyes sparkled, reflecting the cool light of the headlights lining the street.

"I would have liked that", you admitted, offering him a warm smile in return before turning your attention to the changing traffic light indicating you were allowed to cross the street.

“You wouldn’t have enjoyed that for long though,” he replied, chuckling to himself again, before looking over to where you were walking by his side. “I am a really terrible dancer. Like… I’ve totally got two left feet. Just the thought makes me feel sorry for your toes.”

He struck a pose and wiggled his butt to imaginary music when he reached the sidewalk, looking over his shoulder at you with his bottom lip between his teeth and trying his best to look seductive.

This had you laughing loudly then, holding onto his arm for support and putting your head against his shoulder, your eyes closing in appreciation.

“Thank you! I really needed that right now, Bob,” you got out between laughs and grinned up at him, the butterflies in your stomach making you feel like you were 14 all over again.

“Always at your service, m’lady.” He bowed and winked at you before continuing his way down the street, pulling you with him by the hand.

~~~

“Ok, so, I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick, but how about we put on some music after and have that dance party”, you suggested, walking through the elevator doors and looking over your shoulder at Bob, who had an easy smile on his face, his cheek a healthy shade of pink from all the laughing.

He put his arms out and grabbed a hold of the lapelles of the flannel you were still wearing, pulling you back closer to him before wrapping his arms around your frame in a tight hug. You snuggled up to him, ignoring the bloody streaks on his shirt and buried your head against his chest.

“What’s that for,” you asked, looking up at him from under your lashes and trying to keep yourself from blushing at the softness in his eyes.

“I just felt like hugging you, that’s all,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “You looked so cuddly in the dim light, wrapped up in my flannel.”

The words left his mouth quietly, barely above a whisper and when he realised he’d said it aloud, his eyes grew wide, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in a thick gulp. After trying to find the right words to reply to this and coming up empty, you pushed up on your tiptoes and put a quick kiss on his cheek. Scared you took it too far, you wriggled out of the embrace and turned to the general direction of your bedroom, leaving Bob standing near the elevator, his fingers repeatedly running over the spot that you had just kissed, his eyes glued to where you had just stood and his mouth opening and closing rapidly.

“Remember, dance party in the living room in ten minutes,” you yelled over your shoulder and vanished in your bedroom.

~~~

You connected your phone to the speakers in the living room, sneaking up to Bob sitting on the couch and wrapped your arms around his neck, a giant grin playing at your lips.

“Ready to dance, Bob,” you whispered in his ear cheekily, drawing out his name and letting your hands run down his chest while your towel dried hair fell around you.

He grabbed your wrists and pulled you over the back of the couch swiftly, making you land with your head in his lap, his hand quickly moving to your hip to keep you from rolling off the couch.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he joked and pulled you up with him, his arm wrapped around you and letting his hand rest on the small of your back.

“Well, if you dance anything like what you showed me down on that street corner, I’m in for a hell of a time.” You pulled your phone from the pocket of the shorts you had gotten into after the shower and looked through your playlist for a good song to start with.

“Here, I think this will be a good one,” you mumbled, choosing ‘Me because of You’ by the Faim, and wiggled your eyebrows at him playfully, when the song started playing over the speakers.

“Ok, I think I can work with this,” he said, nodding his head and moving the coffee table off to the side to make more room for us to have fun. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck, starting with a simple step-touch and moving his shoulders to the beat of the song.

You studied him for a second, suddenly a little scared of what he might think of you if you just let loose and have fun. He motioned for you to come closer and you followed his request, stepping closer and trying to keep from laughing, when he faked licking his pointer and pinky and smoothing his eyebrows over.

“Come on, you can’t hold back now, [y/n],” he yelled over the music and pulled me closer right when the song said ‘dance with me, feel the beat, follow my lead’. He placed your hands on his shoulders and then put his hands on your waist again, starting to waltz with you for a whole two seconds before both of you burst out laughing.

“You wanted to dance with me. So, dance, love,” he added and moved his body to the beat again.

“I’m nervous,” you confessed, running your hands over the clean shirt he put on while you were in the shower, and looked at him, biting your lip restlessly.

“Close your eyes and just imagine I’m not here. You’re alone in your room where no one can see you. And then do what you do,” he tried, brushing a strand of towel dried hair out of your face.

“If it helps, I can close my eyes, too,” he offered and put his hands over his eyes, peeking through his fingers.

“Fine,” you grumbled and moved away from him a little, turning your back on him but then looking back over your shoulder to make sure he had his eyes covered.

When you saw that he really wasn’t peeking, you started to move and smiled to yourself, feeling the music take over your body and jumping up and down giddily. After a few seconds, you started to sing along and moved freely, turning around and shimmying your shoulders and nodding your head.

“Are you doing it? Are you dancing,” he asked, still covering his eyes but moving his hips to the beat.

You peeled his hands from his eyes and pulled him into the middle of the carpet, making him stumble over his own feet. He opened one eye, looking at your dancing figure, and you tried to hide the smirk playing at your lips. He joined in with dancing and pursed his lips, concentrating on his moves so as not to stumble over his own feet again.

When the chorus started to play for the last time, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer again, and started swaying with you, his head on top of yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours and then moved away from you, extending his arms before stepping in again. He threw your arms over his shoulders and stepped past you before turning around quickly, to repeat this spiel another time, though instead of simply stepping past you, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, swaying from side to side.

Bob sang along to the words, his voice in your ear as his head dipped down a little and then he spun you around and caught you in his arms again more masterfully than he had led on to believe before.

“Tonight, I’ve changed, yeah. I’m only me because of you.” He put his cheek against yours and hummed happily, picking you up and twirling you around.

When the song had ended, he held you in place, your forehead resting against his. His gaze was moving back and forth between your eyes and your lips, his breath having grown a little shallow. You could feel his hand travel up your side and then caress your cheek, his face coming closer until you could feel his shallow breath on your lips, the tips of your noses just millimeters away from each other.

Expecting him to close the last bit of distance, you closed your eyes and turned your head upwards a little, your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. The moments until he finally put his lips to yours felt like an eternity, millions of thoughts running through your brain, the anticipation of what it’d feel like to kiss him raising goosebumps across your body. When he finally closed the distance and kissed you, his lips were soft, moving against yours slowly at first and then you deepened the kiss, moving your hand to the back of his head. Your other hand ran up his chest, feeling his pecs flex under your touch.

When your teeth sank into his bottom lip, he let out a soft moan and you slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring it carefully and moving your tongue in sync with his. His hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt and he moved you back over to the couch, letting you drop into his lap when the couch hit the back of his legs and he sat down.

You straddled him, your left arm wrapping around him to hold onto the backrest to keep you from falling into him, while your right hand ran through the hair at the back of his head, pulling on it softly, when one of his hands moved up the outside of your thigh to your hip.

He pulled away from you for a second, trying to catch his breath, his mouth hanging open a little while he searched your eyes for any sign of regret. When he couldn’t find any but instead realised that your mouth had split into a bright smile, he chuckled cheerfully and kissed you again hungrily.

With the kisses getting more and more heated, you started grinding into him, the aching need for feeling him closer growing in the pit of your stomach. When you rolled your hips a little extra hard, he groaned deeply and the grip of his hand on your hip grew stronger, a pleasant pain running up your spine and making you throw your head back.

His lips went to your neck, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses on the soft skin and then he started sucking on the pulse point underneath your ear, biting and licking and driving you into overdrive. The fingers buried in his hair pulled on his locks and his growing bulge started to rub up against you just the right way when he bucked his hips in response.

“We… should probably…”, he started in between kisses and you nodded mindlessly, trying to get as much friction from grinding down into him harder.

“Fuck, [y/n], ok, wait…” He stopped you from moving your hips by wrapping his arm around you and pulling you impossibly close, and then made you look him in the eyes before going on: “I can’t do it like this… If I have you, I want all of you.”

You gulped at this, realising he wasn’t joking and felt your jaw go slack.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but I will not let this be how I have you for the first time.” His thumb caressed your cheek and he kissed you softly, his forehead falling to yours, probably fighting the urge to just have you right then and there.

“Then take me to your room, Bob,” you mumbled breathlessly when he pulled away again, nuzzling your face with his in a love-drunken state. You placed soft kisses all over his face, earning a little chuckle from him, when you moved down to his neck, his head falling back to give you more room to work with.

“[y/n], god, you drive me crazy,” he moaned and let his hands slip underneath your shirt, sending shivers down your spine from the tiny sparks his touch left on your skin. Letting out a ‘mh-hm’ in response, you ran your thumb over his bottom lip and kissed him again, your tongue slipping into his mouth easily.

His hands went down your back and held onto your ass when he picked you up in one smooth motion, your legs wrapping around his hips to gain more stability. Your arms snaked around his neck and a chuckle escaped your mouth when he stumbled over the couch on his way out of the living room, holding you in space with one arm while he steadied himself.

“How about we stop kissing until we’re actually in your bedroom,” you joked and he nodded, telling you ‘that’s a good idea’ before making his way over to his bedroom, his steps quick and assertive.

“Wait, we still have to turn off the music,” you realised when you were halfway down the hallway and Bob stopped dead in his tracks, sighing heavily. He looked back over his shoulder and you could see the cogs work behind his eyes, trying to decide what to do.

“Ok, you go turn off the music and I’ll get everything ready?”

Setting you down on the floor, he pecked your lips and then slapped your ass, making you jump a little and hurry back to the living room. You made quick work of turning off the music and grabbing your phone, eager to get back to Bob and what you were doing, running back down the hallway to where his bedroom was. Sliding in through the door, you stopped when you saw that Bob was on the phone with someone, holding up a finger to you just as you wanted to ask what was wrong.

“Oh, no, y’all can stay out longer. No… No. [y/n] wasn’t feeling too hot, so I took her home.” He looked at the floor for a second, scratching his head while trying to understand Yelena over the thumping music on the other side of the line. “I think she’s sleeping already. No… I don’t think she’ll mind! Go have fun, you guys,” he added and then ended the call after telling Yelena goodbye.

“Is everything ok,” you enquired, walking up to him and putting your phone on his desk, the screen lighting up and showing you had a couple of missed calls from Yelena and Ava. He matched you and put his phone down next to yours, before turning back to you and searching your face for a second.

“Yeah, they were just worried where we went and because they couldn’t reach us earlier.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and brushing the hair from the slope of your neck, adding a ‘so, where were we’ before running his fingers over the soft skin under your chin.

“Are they coming back already?” You asked, your head falling back when Bob started to kiss your neck.

“No, there’s this party at another bar they wanna check out.” He bit your neck playfully and then nuzzled the side of your face, telling you that the two of you should be in the clear for the next few hours. He picked you up again and walked over to his bed, dropping you in the middle of the mattress before climbing onto the mattress and kneeling down between your legs.

“Next few hours? What do you have planned,” you asked cheekily, your hands working on taking off his shirt.

“I’m gonna take my time with you, love,” he replied, helping you to get him out of his shirt and kissing you passionately.

Your fingertips ran over his abs and up into his hair again and you pulled him down with you, moaning when his hips settled between yours like puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.

“God, you sound so good when you moan,” he whined desperately, his hand caressing your cheek and then running through your hair. “You sound so much better than I could ever imagine.”

“You imagined how I’d sound?” Your voice was barely a whisper, too much anticipation and desire clouding your brain already. The building tension in your core was painful at this point and you could feel your arousal gathering between your legs.

“More often than I’d like to admit, yes.” His kisses were growing hungrier with every passing second, his hands running down your sides, pulling at the fabric of your shirt and digging into the bare skin of your legs. He wanted to feel your skin and memorise every inch of it, having wanted to touch you for months now.

“What did you picture,” you asked, flipping you over and straddling his hips again, pulling your shirt over your head and grinding your hips into his rhythmically. His eyes were wandering over your torso, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he sat up and wrapped his arms around you to work on undoing your bra. When he’d opened the clasp in the back, he slipped the straps down your shoulders, kissing the freckles that dusted your skin there.

“The way you’d sound… How you’d taste…” He pulled your face closer, his fingers on your chin, and placed his lips on yours again, this time slow and deep. His other hand came up to your right breast and cupped it, running his thumb over your nipple hardening from the relative cold in the room. “How you’d look taking me. The way your face breaks when I make you cum…”

He bucked his hips, his clothed erection pushing up into your clit and you gasped, running your fingernails over his abs, your head falling forwards to rest on his shoulder. You moved your hips with his, the layered fabric of your shorts and panties rubbing up against your core with every thrust of his hips. It had been a while since you last were intimate with someone, so you could already feel the knot in your lower stomach begin to tighten, your breath hitching when Bob’s tongue licked over your sensitive nipple before taking your breast into his mouth.

Your hand travelled further south and you lifted your hips, dipping your fingers into the waistband of his joggers, realising he wasn’t wearing any boxers underneath when you made contact with his hot skin. Trying to meet his eyes, you lifted your eyebrows in surprise and he shrugged, letting go of your breast with a popping sound.

“Hey, a guy can hope, right,” he tried to defend himself and smirked at you, when you pushed him down onto the mattress, while your other hand slipped into his joggers fully and wrapped around his hard length. He was bigger than you’d imagined, thicker too, and at the thought of having him inside of you, your pussy started to ache deliciously and eager.

You pumped your hand up his length slowly and his eyes rolled up into his head, his jaw hanging open slightly, a string of curses and whines leaving his mouth. Seeing him enjoy your touch this much, sent you into overdrive, and you moved off his legs, pulling down his joggers with you, before throwing them to the other corner of his room. His erection sprang free and you took in the sight before you, Bob leaning on his elbows, completely naked and looking sexier than you ever dreamt up.

Running your hands through your hair, you felt your cheeks heat up and hid your face in your hands, chuckling to yourself for a second.

“What? [y/n], what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong,” he asked, worry evident in his voice while he moved to sit up a little, his hands on your shoulders.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you started and took a deep breath, letting your hands fall from your face and meeting his eyes. “It’s just been a while and I… Well, I didn’t think I’d ever end up in this situation,” you added, your eyes darting over the smile lines appearing around his eyes and the dimple in his right cheek. “I think, it just hit me that this is happening, you know?”

He nodded, understanding you perfectly well, his thumb caressing your cheek before he kissed you. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he laid you down gently, settling between your legs. You deepened the kiss, running your left hand through his dark locks while your right hand travelled down his back and settled on his hips. You wrapped one of your legs around his hip and smiled into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his skin on your own.

“Like I said, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And we can take our time, there’s no rush. Not tonight,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting on yours between soft kisses.

“I want you, Bob,” you whispered, searching his eyes, the blue of them having darkened by lust. “I want all of you.”

His face split into a bright grin and he let his head fall to the crook of your neck, hiding his own nervousness by peppering your skin with kisses again. His left hand moved down your side and to the leg wrapped around his hip as he angled his hip a little, his erection brushing up against your core again. You moaned softly and tried to meet him better, your leg snaking around him more tightly.

“If we’re really gonna do this, then we’re gonna do this right,” Bob said, his voice darker than before and sending shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from you, his fingertips moving to the waistband of your shorts and he pulled them down your legs, your panties coming off with them. Bob tossed them over to where his joggers had landed and spread your legs slowly, taking you in and biting on his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling in the dim light from his bedside lamp. He let his fingers dance over the inside of your legs, drawing loose shapes on your skin from your ankles up to your hips and then grabbed one of his pillows from above your head. You lifted your hips and he put the pillow under your ass, settling between your legs and looking at you intently from under his lashes.

“You sure you wanna do this? You can say no or stop me at any time,” he assured you and you nodded, biting down on the knuckle of your index finger in anticipation, butterflies making somersaults in your tummy. He lowered his head and blew on you, earning himself a low whimper from you, the air feeling cold against your wet pussy. He ran a finger up between your folds and chuckled, sending vibrations through your core from how close his mouth was to your center.

“God, you’re already so wet and I haven’t even done anything.”

His finger slipped into your vagina with ease and the squelching sound that was heard by him pulling it out again, made the blush on your cheeks deepen. He pushed his finger back in and then curled it, making you moan his name loudly as he brushed your g-spot. He repeated this a couple of times while his tongue ran along the outside of your folds, slowly making its way inwards. When he finally ran the tip of his tongue up your folds and flicked your clit, your hips bucked, another moan falling from your lips, having him hum in response.

“You taste so good, babe.” He lapped at you and then slowed down again, the tip of his tongue circling your clit and then flicking it with a masterful tab, sending sparks up your spine and making your toes curl. Your fingers buried into his locks again and you pulled on them, pulling him closer in an attempt to get even more friction.

“Mhm, do you like that,” he asked, meeting your gaze and smirking cheekily.

“Yeah, feels good, Bob,” you moaned, your head falling back down and your eyes rolling back when he removed his finger from your hole and circled your pussy with the tip of his tongue. Then, he added another finger up, running them through your folds and back down towards your vagina before thrusting them in, this time a little more forcefully.

You yelped in surprise and pulled on his hair, your legs going a little numb. He waited to move his fingers for a second, looking down at how his fingers had disappeared in you completely and then pulled them back out a bit, curling the same way he did before, brushing over your g-spot again. When he’d found a good rhythm that had you breathing heavily, the knot tightening in your stomach, he put his mouth on you again and pushed you over the edge, your toes curling while your legs tensed around his head. One of your hands left his head to move to the bedsheets, gripping it hard as pleasure rushed over your body like a tidal wave.

“Fuck, Bob, you feel so good.”

You were writhing under him, Bob relentlessly licking up your juices while you clawed at his shoulders and rode the highs of the orgasm coursing through your body. The wet noises of his fingers pumping in and out of you filled your ears and you felt another wave of the orgasm rain down on you when his teeth scraped over your sensitive nub before flicking it again with his tongue. You could feel your walls clamp down around his fingers and then heard him chuckle deeply, before his arm pushed down on your hips, keeping you in place.

He kept at it, fingering you and eating you out, only coming up from between your legs when you started to come down from the high, your breath still rushed and shallow. You ran your hand through your hair, and looked at him, moving up your body, his lips glistening from your arousal and his spit mixed together. He put his fingers into his mouth and sucked your juices off of them, closing his eyes in ecstasy and the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smile, after he pulled his fingers out again.

“God, that was so hot,” he breathed, putting his lips to yours and kissing you hungrily. You nodded, deepening the kiss by slipping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. Your hand ran down his torso and wrapped around his length again, your thumb wiping over his tip and feeling the sticky precum leaking out of him. With your brain still hazy from your recent orgasm, you pushed him down onto the mattress and started peppering kisses on his neck, moving down to his clavicle and his chest, the nails of your free hands scratching over his chest, while the other one pumped his length slowly.

When you were on the same level with his dick, you looked up at him and opened your mouth, taking him in as far as you could, your hand still wrapped around the part of him that didn’t fit into your mouth anymore. You started bobbing your head up and down his length and his fingers ran through your hair, his hand cupping the back of your head and aiding you in keeping an enjoyable rhythm, while whines and moans fell from his lips.

“Oh, fuck. You’re better than I ever imagined,” he whined, his hips bucking and his dick hit the back of your throat.

Your eyes travelled back up his figure and you opened your mouth a little further, trying to take more of him. Tears were brimming at the corners of your eyes and your own arousal started running down the inside of your leg, so you moved your free hand to your clit, rubbing yourself while sucking him off.

After a couple more bobs of your head, Bob groaned loudly, his hips tensing and his grip on your hair getting harder. His cum spilled onto your tongue and you swallowed it, humming in enjoyment, while continuing the motion of your hand pumping up and down his length. Feeling another orgasm approaching from your own fingers between your legs, you moaned, some residual cum of his running out the corner of your mouth and dripping on his length.

Biting down on your lips, you looked up at him, his mouth hanging open at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He motioned for you to come closer, pushing your hand away from between your legs to take over while pulling you into his lap again. You rested your head against his shoulder, while his fingers were drawing circles around your clit, pushing you ever closer to the edge. You could feel that you were getting overstimulated already and whined, wanting to get the release you so desperately needed. Pulling his lips to yours and kissing him hungrily, you moved your hips a little to meet his touch, his fingers slipping into you once more while the pad of thumb brushed up against your clitoris.

“Bob, don’t stop. Please, I’m so close,” you whined, your face falling at the pressure building in your core.

“Come on, baby. Come for me,” he whispered into your ear and nibbled on your earlobe, thrusting his fingers into you deeper and curling them on their way out.

Feeling his tongue lick over your pulse point was enough to make you fall over the edge again, his fingers brushing your g-spot again and again, sparks flying between your bodies. Your nails dug into his back and you rode his fingers, moaning his name at the top of your lungs.

“God, I love it when you moan my name like that.”

He put you back down on the mattress, knowing you’d need the support of the bed beneath you, your legs having turned to jelly and shaking from all of the stimulation. Your chest was rising and falling quickly while you tried to catch your breath, absolutely exhausted from two big orgasms so close together.

“Do you need a little break,” he asked, laying down next to you and running his fingers up and down your sides. You turned your head toward his and the look on his face was so soft, caring and full of love, making your heart ache at being the object of his adoration. You nodded, still unable to form words, the last after waves of your orgasm having your ears ringing and your fingertips feeling numb.

Bob pulled you a little closer, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead, and placed soft kisses all over your face, telling you how beautiful you were. How lucky he was to be here with you at that moment. How he never thought this would actually happen.

“You know, I thought you didn’t like me,” you told him, your voice still barely a whisper, your fingers starting to draw circles on his chest while his fingertips did the same on your shoulder blade. “That you didn’t want to spend time with me when the others were gone because you secretly hated me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone as much as I like you,” he said softly, his hand cupping your face and making you look at him, before going on: “I’m sorry that I made you feel like I hated you, but it is clearly the very opposite.”

He kissed you then, softly and with all the love he felt for you. Your lips melted against his and a warmth spread in your chest, creeping up the back of your neck and rolling over your legs and into your tiptoes. This kiss was different, it wasn’t hungry or desperate but still intense in its own way. Even after everything the two of you just did, you felt closer to Bob now, his arms wrapping around you tighter and flipping you on your back again, your legs intertwined lazily and his broad chest like a shield keeping you safe.

You stayed like that for a little while then, making out and exploring each other’s body slowly, your touch soft and meaningful, as if you wanted to memorise every inch of the other’s figure. You couldn’t say how long you were just lying there, enjoying each other’s presence and forgetting everything around you. It could’ve been five minutes or it could’ve been an hour but it didn’t matter to you because you were right where you wanted to be. Wrapped in his arms, having his lips on yours and feeling his delicate touch on your body.

His lips ran over your shoulders, dusting the freckles with love, while your lips grazed his collarbone, your fingers gripping his ass cheeks and earning you a high pitched giggle from him.

“Are you ticklish,” you enquired, a cheeky smirk on your lips and he shook his head vigorously, trying to push your hands off of him.

“No, of course I’m not ticklish. What makes you think that?” He rolled his eyes and tried to put a little distance between you two, his hands swatting at you trying to poke his sides.

“I don’t know. That very manly giggle that just slipped past your lips, maybe,” you teased and his jaw dropped, so threw yourself at him playfully, making him lose his balance and taking you down with him.

“I don’t know what you're talking about. What giggle?” He grinned up at you and cupped your cheek, pulling you down to him and kissing you again passionately.

With your leg thrown over his hip, you could feel him getting hard again and you moved your hips, straddling him once more. You purred softly at his length pressing up against your folds and instinctively grinded down on him, coating the underside of his dick in your arousal. Bob’s hand gripped your hip and he stopped you from moving for a second.

“Wait, I’ve got condoms in the drawer over there,” he murmured, motioning to his bedside table, and his voice broke when you rolled your hips into his again.

“I’m on the pill, so,” you started, kissing him quickly and then added: “I’m good either way.”

He looked at you and for a second, his brows knitted together in a frown. He let his thumb run over your bottom lip and you stopped moving, lifting your hips a little before leaning over to his bedside table.

“I just wanna make sure nothing unexpected happens, you know,” he started to explain and you looked over your shoulder, opening the drawer slowly.

“Bob, hey. It’s ok, really!” Your hand looked for the packet of condoms and took one out when you found it, before turning back to him. “I’m glad you wanna be safe, love.” You cupped his cheek and smiled at him, placing a quick kiss on his lips.

You opened the shiny packaging and took out the condom, turning it over in your fingers to have it the right way around. Pinching the tip of it, you looked at Bob and asked him if he was ready. When he nodded, inching closer to you, you grabbed his length and put the condom on, pushing the rubbery material down his length easily. His hand came up to caress your cheek and he kissed you softly, his fingers burying in the hair at the back of your head while you climbed onto him, straddling his hips again.

With your hand still wrapped around his length, you guided his dick along your folds and then lowered onto it, moaning at the burning sensation of his thickness stretching you slowly. Bob’s jaw dropped and he groaned at slipping into you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip. You stayed there for a second, trying to adjust to the feeling of him filling you up so well and held onto his shoulders before you lifted your hips again slowly. The delicious pain of his size slipping in and out of you made your brain go foggy and you sank down onto him with more ease this time. Picking up the pace, you threw your head back and rode Bob’s dick, his right hand on your breast, kneading the tissue while his tongue worked on the nipple of your other breast. His left hand was on your hip, guiding you as you took him.

“Mhm, you fill me up so well, Bob,” you mused and bounced on him, the pain having turned to pleasure a few thrusts ago. His mouth let go of your breast and he pulled your face down, kissing you hungrily and he bucked his hips into yours and slipping in deeper with the next thrust, bottoming out. You moaned into his mouth loudly and let a giggle fall over your lips as you noticed the familiar feeling of your orgasm nearing.

He stopped moving for a second and turned you around, so you were beneath him and then he grabbed your right leg and moved it from around his hips to have it over his shoulder instead, changing the angle at which he thrusted into you.

Bob groaned against your mouth as he bottomed out again, his balls slapping against your ass with the next thrust and you let out a moan of his name, your nails digging into his back.

“Ugh, you’re so tight, babe. Feel so good,” he slurred and went to town on you, thrusting in and pulling back out, his bed groaning under his movements.

“You gotta tell me if I’m too rough,” he whispered into your ear, enveloping you with his form and leaning on his elbow while his other hand held onto your leg.

“No, it’s good. So good, Bob,” you assured, relishing in the feeling of him filling you up to the brim and stretching you with every thrust. You knew that you were close again, the knot twisting and tightening and you reached between your bodies, your fingers working on your clit while his dick slipped in and out of you at an exquisite pace.

He looked down at where your bodies met and whined, his forehead falling to yours. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room and you were glad that the rest of the team was still out, fearing just how much they would’ve been able to hear of what you two were doing.

“[y/n], fuck, you feel so good. I don’t know how much longer I can…” The movement of his hips got a little sloppy and you kissed him again, steadying him with a hand on his ass while you tried to meet his thrusts with your hip.

“It’s ok, babe. Come, Bob. I’m right behind you,” you purred into his ear and his hips stuttered, a low groan falling from his lips. You moved your hips, helping him ride out his orgasm and kissed his closed lids, when he suddenly thrusted into you harder again, pushing you closer and over the edge.

You fell with him, your third orgasm of the night sending lighting through your whole body. You clung to his body, biting into his shoulder and scratching your nails over his back, earning a wince from him at the pain that seemed to send him into a flurry. Your walls clenched around him as your orgasm progressed and he put his lips on your neck, riding out your shared orgasm, his breathing quick and shallow.

When he came down from his high, he sighed, an exhausted but gratified look on his face, and laid down next to you. You curled up to him, throwing your arm over his chest and putting your head on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart and his quick breath.

“Did I hurt you?” The question came suddenly and you looked at him, confused at where the concern was coming from.

“Why are you asking?”

“This was my first time since the medical trial,” he started and turned onto his side, wrapping his arm around your hip.

“No, you didn’t hurt me, Bob. Quite the opposite, actually.” You caressed his cheek and kissed him softly, before adding: “I enjoyed it very much, if you couldn’t tell.”

A proud smile pushed up the corners of his mouth and he shook his head, chuckling lightheaded.

“God, you’re an incredible woman, [y/n].”

503 notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 2 days ago

Text

Mark Grayson — Invincible Variants

♡ TW: nsfw, yandere, poly yanderes, captive reader, invincible variants in general, you've seen the show

♡ GN reader

You’re dead in every other universe.

It’s his fault.

He tries to save you, but he’s too late—every single time.

And in every universe, it’s what pushes him to embrace his Viltrumite nature. It’s his canon event. The moment he realizes he can’t trust in the weak constitution of human beings, it costs him too much, so he adopts his father's truth—things that drop dead like flies have the same value, meaning worthless.

So you can imagine the clusterfuck raging on in each of their heads when they find out you’re alive and well in the universe they’ve been told to wreak havoc in.

And you’re as pretty as the day they lost you. And teary-eyed and scared and cute, calling out for your Mark to come and save you. Oh fuck, how their cold hearts all melted at once.

The plan changed then. If this were the only world you were still alive in, then it was the only world they needed to conquer. And with eighteen of them, it wouldn’t be hard.

Or well, so it proved to be a little hard…

But the eight of them that survived killed Angstrom. Then locked your Mark up, thinking he could be convenient to keep.

It didn’t even take a week before Earth surrendered in full.

That wasn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s good that over half of them died—because sharing you between the eight of them is the real challenge.

It’s not something they’re used to. Fights break out daily. And they don’t care about the damage dealt. It’s like kids stomping on an anthill just for the fun of it, leaving thousands to die every time.

Feeling as though it’s your responsibility, you try your best to please them all. Coming up with schedules—how they can alter daily or even hourly if need be—but it all proves fruitless. All you end up doing is begging them not to fight—on your knees, bowing while sobbing, holding onto the edge of their cape, pleading with them to stay.

They seem to like that. When you lower yourself.

Most of them refer to you as a pet.

You remember Mark saying his father said he saw his mom the same way. You remember your Mark being disgusted by it. But even those of them who don’t refer to you that way still treat you like one, like something lesser, like something they’re letting live for personal reasons, not because you’re something that deserves to live.

The kinder Marks have a little more decorum about it. The superiority has really gotten to their heads, trying to spare you the understanding of how they truly see you, as if you can’t read between the lines. You don’t know if you dislike them more than the cruel Marks. At least they’re honest about it.

You’re starting to doubt whether your Mark is even still alive…

You’d cried for weeks on end to see him. And when they’d finally complied, they took you to the prison cell where they were holding him. You’d sobbed and kissed him and told him how much you missed him and how terrible everything had been without him, how you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

He’d played along well enough for a while—you hadn’t been able to tell. But at some point, the way he touched you just didn’t feel right.

He laughed once you understood it. Mocked you. Licked the tears off your cheek with a grin and said it was worth it playing your weak-willed wimp version of them just to see that pretty look on your face. A couple of the others came in after that—they’d all found it just as funny. And then they told you they knew of a way to cure your loneliness—after all, why have your wimpy Invincible, when you can have the elite?

One time, when you were being extra whiny, as they call it, they’d taken you up in the sky and used you to play catch.

Mark had taken you flying before, but he’d never ever dropped you. And so you’d screamed until your voice gave out, and then you’d just closed your eyes and prayed for death.

But that wasn’t the worst part of it, as you found out… No, the worst part was when they’d undressed you and started playing something different with you. In the air, thirty thousand feet above the ground.

They all might look like Mark, but none of them are anything like him—some more than others. Beyond just sadistic, they’re psychotic. No humanity left, just trigger-happy thrill-seeking maniacs. They don’t even fight each other over you—they fight each other for fun. Coming back with mangled legs and broken jaws. Because why not? It’s no matter. They’re healed within the week. They don’t care about the many lives they’ve left in their wake.

But you’d caught a foul cold after their skylarking.

They’re not used to facing consequences—didn’t know who to blame but each other. Didn’t know how to fix it either—all scared you were going to die. They never did it again after that.

That’s not to say your life became any easier.

The dynamics became ever more strange the more months that passed...

At first thy wouldn’t fuck you at the same time, then they would, but without acknowledging the others presence, then it became a competition to see who could fuck you best.

It’s not like that anymore.

Their narcissism has now evolved into a strange attraction towards each other. And it’s odd as fuck to be caught in the middle off.

They like watching each other fuck you now. Getting off on seeing themselves get off, using you more like a toy than a partner.

Any day now, and you’re sure they’re going to start kissing and touching each other.

Fuck knows what your role will be in all of it when that time comes.

♡ MISCELLANEOUS masterlist

740 notes · View notes

scarlet-bee · 2 days ago

Text

[Plain text:

[no entry emoji] Stop [no entry emoji] and [recycling symbol emoji] Reblog [recycling symbol emoji] to save lives [double exclamation mark emoji]

[ID 1: On the left is a bag reading,

UNRWA

"Wheat flour

Not for sale

طحين قمح غير للبيع

25 kg."

In the middle is a bottle reading,

Serej sesame oil

[blurry Arabic text]."

On the right is a bag reading,

"Sugar

سكر

25 kg."

Text at the bottom of the image reads, "These items are essential for us and their cost is $750. We cannot afford them." End ID.]

I won't forgive anyone skip this and don't help me and my kids. I depend on you you are my last hope to survive [5 loudly crying face emojis] [4 broken heart emojis]

16/5/2025

10:56Am

New update for the Modern Holocaust in Gaza [2 double exclamation mark emojis]

The last attempt for ceasefire is gone after Trump left the middle East without giving any hope about us so this is the end in Gaza [2 broken heart emojis] [2 loudly crying face emojis] [3 pleading face emojis] ((killing+starvation)))

We lost hope this time and they will kill the rest of us by bombing or by starving so please read this and share as much as you can [2 folded hands emojis] [pleading face emoji] [double exclamation mark emoji]

[ID 2: Donald Trump giving a speech. End ID.]

[check mark button emoji] Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #515) [check mark button emoji]

[ID 3 and 4: A child standing in a crowd, holding an empty pot. End ID.]

My full story [folded hands emoji] [broken heart emoji]

I'm Areej I was an English teacher and a creative writer at we are not numbers before war and everything change after October 7. Also I'm a creative writer at we are not numbers.

Dear my kind donors!

I am a mother of three children. We have lived through the war for a year and a half, and we have lost everything we own. My husband is a man who did not work. Before the war, I did not have a breadwinner or any source of income. During the war I didn't give up to teach so I volunteered and had good chance to help some students to get engaged again with English in a very creative way.

[ID 5: A baby with a large pink bow on their head. End ID.]

[ID 6: A child inside of a house, wearing sunglasses. End ID.]

[ID 7: A child inside of a tent, looking at a bird in a cage. End ID.]

[ID 8: A photo of four children, sitting next to each other and smiling. Below it is a recreation of the photo in the Studio Ghibli art style. There are 2 heart on fire emojis in the middle, between the two images. End ID.]

Please Save those innocent kids from war [pleasing face emoji] [double exclamation mark emoji] [folded hands emoji]

We are in tents for almost two years because our home was destroyed and my kids are starving now with no enough food [loudly crying face emoji] [double exclamation mark emoji] [pleading face emoji] After our several evacuation from place to another.Now we don't have a house after it was destroyed by missiles. I now ask you to help me rebuild my house. And buy basics for the daily essentials for my children and I need money so that we can stand up again and start again.

This war wasn't easy at all it has taken many friends at work, students and some of my colleagues at the university. They are almost ten souls I won't never forget . Their laughter, their presence, their love… all of it is gone, leaving behind memories that are both precious and painful. Every day, I carry the weight of their loss, but I also carry their spirit, which gives me the strength to keep going.

My lovely students before war [pleading face emoji]

[ID 9: A photo of several students, sitting on the floor, and giving a thumbs up to the camera. Below it is a photo of three students, holding a homemade poster of the butterfly's life cycle. Two of them are giving a thumbs up. End ID.]

My lovely home [2 broken heart emojis] [double exclamation mark emoji]

[ID 10: A photo of an undamaged building, and two photos of the building after being destroyed. End ID.]

Here’s what life in Gaza looks like for my family right now:

[house emoji] Safety: The uncertainty of tomorrow weighs heavily on us.

[crying face emoji] Loss: The absence of my students and my friends is really hurts.

[broken heart emoji] Dreams on Hold: The future feels so far away when survival takes all our strength.

Note to mention the other very expensive essential goods. I hope you will stand by me to get food

The crossings boarders are closed again these days and war return in Gaza. The crossing through which food enters has been closed for more than 30 days. We have nothing to eat, and even if we do, the prices are exorbitant. Some of the prices listed are:

1 kg of meat = $100 now there is no meat

1 chicken = 70$ there is no chicken

1 kg of fish = 100$ now it costs 200$

1 bag of flour = $200 now it costs 600$

1 kg of cooking gas = $150 now it costs 1000$

1 kg of sugar = $50

1 kg of eggplant = $20

1 kg of onions = $50

1 kg of tomatoes = $20

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line

Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

. $5 might not seem like much, but it could mean a meal, clean water, or a tiny bit of hope for my family.

. Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

To help me and my family you can donate here or at least you can share this post to people who can support us in gaz

To sump up I'm seeking for help, I'm trying to scrape together the $800 monthly rent, that's all I need each month for my kids and to get some food for us [folded hands emoji] [loudly crying face emoji] [broken heart emoji]

So Sorry For tagging you guys randomly but this is the only way to reach more people and to gain your attention please help me sharing my story to people who care about Palestinians [broken heart emoji] [2 folded hands emojis] [double exclamation mark emoji] [Palestinian flag emoji]

You can support my family here

Here [folded hands emoji] [2 wrapped gift emojis]

Or directly here

End plain text.]

⛔️Stop⛔️ and

♻️ Reblog ♻️ to save lives ‼️

I won't forgive anyone skip this and don't help me and my kids. I depend on you you are my last hope to survive 😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔

16/5/2025

10:56Am

New update for the Modern Holocaust in Gaza ‼️‼️

The last attempt for ceasefire is gone after Trump left the middle East without giving any hope about us so this is the end in Gaza 💔💔😭😭 🥺🥺🥺 ((killing+starvation)))

We lost hope this time and they will kill the rest of us by bombing or by starving so please read this and share as much as you can 🙏🙏🥺‼️

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #515) ✅️

My full story 🙏💔

I'm Areej I was an English teacher and a creative writer at we are not numbers before war and everything change after October 7. Also I'm a creative writer at we are not numbers.

Dear my kind donors!

Please Save those innocent kids from war 🥺‼️🙏🙏

We are in tents for almost two years because our home was destroyed and my kids are starving now with no enough food 😭‼️🥺After our several evacuation from place to another.Now we don't have a house after it was destroyed by missiles. I now ask you to help me rebuild my house. And buy basics for the daily essentials for my children and I need money so that we can stand up again and start again.

My lovely students before war 🥺

My lovely home 💔💔‼️

Here’s what life in Gaza looks like for my family right now:

🏠 Safety: The uncertainty of tomorrow weighs heavily on us.

😢 Loss: The absence of my students and my friends is really hurts.

💔 Dreams on Hold: The future feels so far away when survival takes all our strength.

Note to mention the other very expensive essential goods. I hope you will stand by me to get food

1 kg of meat = $100 now there is no meat

1 chicken = 70$ there is no chicken

1 kg of fish = 100$ now it costs 200$

1 bag of flour = $200 now it costs 600$

1 kg of cooking gas = $150 now it costs 1000$

1 kg of sugar = $50

1 kg of eggplant = $20

1 kg of onions = $50

1 kg of tomatoes = $20

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line

Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

. $5 might not seem like much, but it could mean a meal, clean water, or a tiny bit of hope for my family.

. Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

To help me and my family you can donate here or at least you can share this post to people who can support us in gaz

To sump up I'm seeking for help, I'm trying to scrape together the $800 monthly rent, that's all I need each month for my kids and to get some food for us 🙏😭💔

So Sorry For tagging you guys randomly but this is the only way to reach more people and to gain your attention please help me sharing my story to people who care about Palestinians 💔🙏🙏‼️🇵🇸

You can support my family here

Here 🙏🎁🎁

Or directly here

#palestinian genocide #palestine #d #boost request #cw color text #color text #*

100K notes · View notes

bucketbueckers · 11 hours ago

Text

WILD MOUNTAIN THYME

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

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

wc: 22.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of the vanilla variety,” she said snootily.

“My favorite,” you hummed.

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

“Baked pie,” you said gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A regret,” she murmurs finally.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For good?” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To you,” she says. “And to us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But not anymore?” you question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get to the point.”

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

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

“You love me,” she fires back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goddamn beautiful,” Joan agrees unsettlingly.

“Even through these walls,” Bert adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not leaving you,” she argues.

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

“Won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s really, really nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds real,” she shot back.

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

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

So maybe children came in all shapes and sizes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

bonus

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

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

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

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

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

But this? This wasn’t a coincidence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In this life, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #dallas wings #wnba #wnba x reader

281 notes · View notes

lezhuntrr · 2 days ago

Text

current fantasy is a lesbian who needs some easy money and happens finding an up and coming woman owned, lgbt porn studio and applying for a part time gig right away, just to show up for her second interview and orientation to find out just about all her coworkers to be, all the stars, the staff, almost everyone is trans. it’s not like she has a problem with it, she’s not that kind of dyke, it’s just… surprising! there’s a part of her that feels like making whatever excuses she needs and turning tail, but she prides herself on being open minded, so she just swallows her pride, presses her thighs together, and smiles as she listens to her new manager explain her role here.

…and just like that little pit of fear in her stomach was telling her, they’re just hiring her for her cunt. literally; her, along with the other two cuntgirls on staff, will be working as fluffers and lube dispensers to feed their tops libidos and keep them raring to go for their busy scenes. if a girl starts getting distracted, bored, or anything else soft part way through, it’s on them to slip between the other entertainers when the cameras are off and gently, sweetly thicken them back up. “intercrucal and other outercourse is the standard,” her manager says, “… though whatever works, works. oral is common, hand stuff, a little light play, whatever. but in the interest of being totally clear, it’s the novelty of your cunt that’s gonna be doing the most work for you. our girls are very happily familiar with each other, but cis dyke pussy is the one thing they can’t give each other, so we rely on girls like you to spice things up for them. other than that, our tops have their own tastes, so do your best to pick up on those preferences over time, save yourself some effort.” shes shocked enough that she can’t even think of what to say or how to politely refuse, so she just sits there for a moment with her new boss smiling down at her before a little bundle of forms are pushed into her arms and she’s sent further in to shadow a coworker before she can change her mind.

…and things go simply, and well, if not embarrassingly. they’re shooting a gangbang today, so when they cut and take breaks while getting ready to block new shots, it’s between the new cuntgirl and her coworker to nurse and work their cocks. she’s hardly willing to do much at first, but watching the vet here kneeling beside her, easing someone deeper into her mouth while slapping another girls dick against her face helps make the decision easier. she reluctantly reaches out to feel at the other stars dicks as they joke with each other and break the ice asking about her, her hands slowly easing into awkward, inexperienced handjobs. she mumbles out brief introductions and tries not to blush harder when she feels them pulsing and firming up in her fingers, and spends the next two minutes jerking them off and answering questions about herself that get more and more invasive until they’re rock hard. she was able to get up and out of the shot again, for now; but they’d do this two more times before they were done for today. finally heading home, she’s still scandalized and unable to get comfortable in her seat; mentally, she was prepared to do a scene or two after getting introduced to a co star, so it wasn’t that much of a shock. but just getting used like that, feeling their desire to do more to do hot against her skin, the way their eyes rolled over her, appraising her like meat… something about it got under her skin and went somewhere. even so… the pay was good, she’s doing even less work than she thought she would, doesnt have to worry about videos of her online, and everyone was friendly, warm enough. so she decides to stick with it for now.

and while her girlfriend isn’t thrilled about it, she keeps coming back and picking up hours where she can over the next few weeks. she opens up bit by bit and gets to know everyone else, learn names, settle into her place in the social system. which makes it easier to cede ground and do more when the stars start getting needier. it’s letting a girl fuck your mouth once when she really needed to get back on set, and then getting talked into blowing all the other stars one by one so they don’t feel left out. she’s not surprised when they start getting handsy; soon she’s getting bent over and having her thighs fucked daily. most of the girls love to keep it close and intimate, so any clothes she keeps on get sweaty and full of dick smell. she brings a fresh set to change into afterwards, but the sweat sticks to her anyway, and her girlfriend can only imagine what shes up to when out of sight. their tension settles into an uneasy silence and she makes a habit of heading right for the shower after work. they stop having sex with their strap on, too; she doesn’t fully realize it, but it just doesn’t feel as comfortable without another’s heat anymore. she chalks it up to circumstances each time, but she just can’t get wet the same way for the toy anymore.

it’s her third month there when she caves and lets one of them fuck her. it happens casually, carelessly, not even on set, just taken by the moment with one of the studs she got to know first there. complaining about poor scripts one minute, then get groped into the couch the other. she’d practice her technique with the other cuntgirls or a star not on scene sometimes, but she knew this wasn’t that, and she kissed back anyway. she wanted this, needed somewhere for all that built up sexual frustration to go. getting left half used again and again built up into hunger that she was getting tired of ignoring. when she felt how hard she was, it was her who spread her legs, no guidance needed. when they were panting into each others mouths, skin on skin, wet against each other, it was her who begged to feel it inside. before she knew it she was blissed out in her besties arms, letting the fight get fucked out of her as she shivers and gets dumber with every inch that gets lovingly worked into her cunt. her heart raced and she knew she should stop, but all she could think of doing was wrapping her legs around her mates hips and bearing this a little longer. so close and so dumb. she can’t handle it, having a girl who’s always been chill, collected and professional enough with her completely lose it in her cunt. she cums first, and then a second time quick afterwards as her studs getting greedier and hungrier with her thrusts, holding her fast and grunting into her mouth. using her cunt to stroke herself up to finish. and then she’s hot inside and out and spilling down her thighs before she can think responsibly again. she’s respectful and sweet when cleaning up and at work next, but sooner or later the other girls start to get word, and then she’s spreading her legs and offering up her cunt on the reg. she puts up a bit of resistance, gives herself some time, but soon enough she relents and just starts getting passed around almost every time she’s at work. she doesn’t regret it, with how much it taught her about what she really wants, but she still doesn’t know how she’s gonna explain the positive pregnancy test to her girl. maybe she’s better off going single and focusing on work for a while…

#self indulgent long post hour #trans supremacy #mine

208 notes · View notes

writingwithcolor · 2 days ago

Text

How do I avoid making white saviors out of a Black woman's rescuers turned found family?

Anon asked:

One of my Black MCs for the first “season” becomes stranded in a mostly white portion of the world, and is taken in by a shady white family. The entire community is somewhat shady and uncomfortable but she’s injured and doesn’t really have a choice. She does end up legitimately bonding with two of the white family, who later flee the community with her when monster/fantasy stuff starts happening that puts them all in danger. By the end of the season she’s reunited with her wife, another MC, who is Black and is with her for the rest of the story (I think, still storyboarding). However her and the other two white people have formed a very close, family like bond by the end of the season, and refuse to be separated from each other. Although they all help each other in different ways, I’m worried it’ll be like she “owes” the white people in her life, and that they are her saviors. I hope to remedy this by making it clear the white characters are flawed and have sometimes put her in danger due to blind spots, and also that while they love each other, they don’t necessarily “like” each other. However it seems like no matter what I do, it’s a thin line between friends and white saviors given they do have to give her medical care. Is there a way to make this distinction clearer?

From what you’ve described, the established relationship between the Black main character and her found (white) family seems to be pretty equitable. Although white people have literally saved her, it doesn’t come across as them being her White Saviors on its own.

It can actually be refreshing to have a Black woman character being in need of help sometimes instead of always doing the saving. As with all things, there is a need for balance, and you seem to be quite aware of that.

If you’re worried, add BIPOC characters of color

You say she is stranded in a mostly white portion of the world, so that there may be some People of Color around, right?. Might there be other community members that she has that help her, even at least initially, so it isn’t only white people that have taken her in, give her medical attention and care.

For example, you say she is injured. Perhaps they bring her to a doctor or skilled medic who is not white. As for creating bonds, maybe there is another non-white person that she befriends or that mentors her. I think even adding one of these elements is helpful.

What if some of the chosen family members were BIPOC? Perhaps through a marriage, a cousin, re-marriage? And not just family members that they also saved and took in.

Although they all help each other in different ways, I’m worried it’ll be like she “owes” the white people in her life, and that they are her saviors. I hope to remedy this by making it clear the white characters are flawed and have sometimes put her in danger due to blind spots, and also that while they love each other, they don’t necessarily “like” each other.

What you’ve described here is why I feel as if you have got a handle of things! She does not sound like she is worshipping the ground of her found white family members just because they saved her. It’s okay for her to be grateful and even thank them for their help in whatever way makes sense to her, but they should still stand on equal ground.

Example of a balanced scenario in which a character is rescued but gives back

The below situation involves all Black characters, but it may still help.

I recently read a story where the Black FMC, named Rielle, who lost her memory and was in a new world, was saved by a Black couple. From there, many town folks rallied around her and made her feel welcome and at home in their town.

For instance, they gave her:

Immediate medical attention and saved her from the danger they found her in

Emotional and mental support and friendship as she processed her reality

Food, shelter, clothing, etc.

In return, Rielle ends up working for one of the helpful townspeople, who takes on a protective grandmother-y role. Rielle also protects them by giving herself up to authorities that would otherwise do the people harm, showing loyalty and alliance to her found family. There is even a "return" in that loyalty as they absolutely did wish to let her go and even did her best to hide her and prevent it from happening in the first place, at risk to themselves.

Another great act of returned care is when she uses her healing powers to save a townsperson who was injured. In all this, she isn't just there existing to be saved the whole time. She is vulnerable at times, but also has agency.

(Book i'm referencing: "The General's Healer" by L.S. Bethel. This is a spin-off book, but I highly recommended her series "The King's Seer" in general!)

---

The fact that your characters are all flawed but love each other, and there is give and take, makes all the difference.

~Mod Colette

#white savior #relationships #black woman #interracial friendships #interracial relationships #family #asks

313 notes · View notes

enby-spacerok · 2 days ago

Text

I just really love that there's another person out here who feels so passionate about the excellent quality of this movie. This was probably THEE favorite movie for my younger sister and I to watch together when we were kids. In no small part because I was Nani and my sister was Lilo. In our case, our parents weren't dead, they were divorced. My mother was abusive but had custody of us because my father could not support himself and so wasn't a viable option for care. Even at 8 and 13 though we knew that if other people knew about our situation, we'd go into the foster system and probably wouldn't see each other again. So we lied.

We pretended it wasn't that bad. But we acted out. We were both treated like rabid dogs in our own respective age groups, but we were the only ones that truly understood each other. Our situation brought us closer. It also made us isolated. We didn't have a community. We'd been cut off from all our extended family. So I parented my sister the best I could, although not consciously. I remember acting out different scenes from the movie. Doing the voices. Making my sister laugh.

Yet I also vividly remember the ice cold fear I felt watching the scenes where separation was being threatened or happening. It cemented this feeling for extreme caution I had but couldn't put words to.

I also remember a night when my mother had kicked my sister and I out of the house (10 and 15 at the time), and we slept in my dad's van in a parking lot all night. My sister sobbed herself to sleep but i was electrified with anger all night. I remember promising myself that I would do whatever I could to keep things together, even though I had no idea what that would take

I failed though. We weren't taken away from our parents but we were eventually separated by way of me graduating high school. As I left she went into high school. Without me there things were so much worse. Lilo without Nani is a disaster. If I could have supported myself and her I would have for 4 years till she was an adult. We needed community though. I wished aliens would fall to earth in our backyard and save us. The cruelty of it all was what was being pointed out in the movie-- it didn't need to be this way if there were resources and support! I would have taken custody of my sister if I could have. Watching Nani inspired that thought and i considered it many times over several years. I didn't know how I could have ever done it on my own though...

I still love this movie. I watch it when I need comfort and I think about my sister every time I turn it on. 🌊🐠🥪

Fuck it, I didn't want to make a post on this but it's bugging the hell out of me so let's exorcize the thought.

Lilo and Stitch is an extremely good children's movie. I've been working at a daycare for over five years now, and out of all the children's movies I've shown to an auidence of twenty or so school-age kids (i.e. between the ages of 5 and 12), the only movie that's held their attention as well as Lilo and Stitch is The Emperor's New Groove, and the only one that's held it better is An American Tail. Of those three, Lilo and Stitch has won the vote of "what movie we will watch" the most. It not only entertains kids, but emotionally captivates them from start to finish, because it very thoroughly understands how to engage children on their level. It's a smart, tightly written children's movie.

The feat of story-telling genius it pulls of lies in its ability to reach both where children's imaginations want to go and where their lived real-world experiences lie - most children's movies focus on one or the other, but Lilo and Stitch dives deep into both. On the imagination side, there's Stitch's whole plotline of being a little alien monster being chased by other weirdo aliens onto earth because they want to stop him from running amok and causing havoc (which, of course, happens anyway in fun cartoony comedy/action spectacle). On the real-world side, you have Lilo's plotline of being a troubled little girl who has an abundance of very real problems that, like an actual child, she struggles to comprehend and deal with, as well as the many adults in her life that care about her to some degree but all struggle to fully understand her. Kids want to be Stitch and run amok and cause cartoony havoc. Kids, even the least-troubled kids, relate to Lilo, because all of them have been in a similar situation as her at least once in their lives.

Balancing these two very different stories, with very different tones and scopes to their respective conflicts, is a hard writing task, but Lilo and Stitch manages to do it in a way that seems effortless with one very powerful trick. The two plots are direct mirrors to each other, complete with the characters involved in each having foils in the respective plot. To break it down:

Stitch, the wild and destructive alien gremlin who everyone has labeled as a crime against existence, is Lilo, the troubled young girl who's viewed as a "problem child" by all the adults in her life. In both plotlines, Stitch and Lilo are facing the threat of being "taken away" from the life they know because they act out, and in both plotlines, we see that this is an unfathomably cruel thing to do to them and will not actually solve the problems they have.

Dr. Jumbaa, the mad scientist who made Stitch because making monsters is what mad scientists do, and who had no intentions of ever being nurturing or parental to anything or anyone in his life, is Nani, Lilo's older sister whose parents died when she was young and now is forced to act as a parental substitute despite not being mentally or emotionally prepared for that responsibility yet. Both Dr. Jumbaa and Nani are trying to get their respective wild children in line with what society wants them to be, and both are struggling hard with it because they in turn have a lot of growing to do before they can actually accomplish that.

Pleakley, the nebbish alien bureaucrat who ends up being assigned to help Dr. Jumbaa despite being mostly uninvolved in creating the whole Stitch situation, is David, the nice but mostly ineffectual guy who's crushing on Nani and wants to help her but doesn't really have much he can provide except emotional support. Ultimately Pleakley and David prove that said emotional support is a lot more helpful than it seems on the surface, as they give Jumbaa and Nani respectively a lot of the pushes they need to become better in their parental roles.

The Grand Councilwoman, who runs the society of aliens that is trying to banish Stitch forever for his crime of existing, is Cobra Bubbles, the Child Protective Services agent who is in charge of deciding whether or not Lilo needs to be taken away from her home forever for, ostensibly, her own good. Both are well-intentioned and stern, with a desire to follow the rules of society and do what procedure says is the most humane thing to do in this situation, but both lack the understanding of Stitch/Lilo's situation to actually help until the end of the movie.

Finally, we have Captain Gantu, the enforcer of the Galactic Council who is a mean, aggressive, sadistic brute but is viewed as a "good guy" by society because he plays by its rules (well, when he knows can't get away with breaking them, anyway), who is the counterpart of Myrtle, the mean, aggressive, sadistic schoolyard bully who is viewed as a "good kid" by other adults because she plays by the rules they established (well, when she knows she can't get away with breaking them, anyway). Both Gantu and Myrtle are, in truth, much nastier in temperament than Stitch and Lilo, but are better at hiding it in front of others and so get away with it, and often make Stitch and Lilo look worse in the eyes of others by provoking them to violence and then playing the victim about it - in fact, both even have the same line, "Does this look infected to you?", which they say after goading their respective wild-child victims into biting them.

The symmetry of these two plotlines allows them to actually feed into each other and build each other up instead of fighting each other for screentime. The fantastical nature of Stitch's plot adds whimsy to the far more realistic problems that Lilo faces so they don't get too heavy for the children in the audience, while the very real struggles of Lilo in her plotline bleed over into Stitch's plot and make both very emotionally poignant. When both plotlines hit their shared climax, they reach children on a emotional level few other movies can match - the terror of Lilo being taken away from her family, and the emotional complexity of that problem (Cobra Bubbles pointing to Lilo's ruined house and shouting at Nani, "IS THIS WHAT LILO NEEDS?" is so starkly real and heart-breaking), is matched and echoed in the visual splendor and mania of the spectacular no-way-this-is-going-to-work chase scene where Stitch, Nani, Jumbaa, and Pleakley all team up to rescue Lilo from Gantu.

The arcs of the characters all more or less line up. Nani confronts her own failures to be a guardian and parent to Lilo and resolves to do better and learn from her mistakes. Jumbaa, who through most of the movie protests to be evil and uncaring, nonetheless comes to not only care for Pleakley, but more importantly for Stitch too, and ends up assuming the role he never wanted but nonetheless forced himself into from the start: he is Stitch's family. Hell, the moment that reveals this is really clever - Stitch goes out into the wilderness to try and re-enact a scene from a storybook of The Ugly Duckling, hoping, in a very childish way, that his family will show up and love him. Jumbaa arrives and, coldly but not particularly cruelly, tells Stitch that he has no family - that Stitch wasn't born, but created in a lab by Jumbaa himself. But in that moment Jumbaa is proving himself wrong - because Stitch's creator, his parent, DID show up, and did exactly what happens in the story by telling Stitch the truth of what he is. It can't be a surprise, then, that later in the movie Jumbaa ends up deciding to side with Stitch, to help him save Lilo, and to stay on Earth with his child.

David and Pleakley go from being pushed away by Nani and Jumbaa respectively to essentially becoming their partners in the family. The Grand Councilwoman and Cobra Bubbles finally see how cruel their initial solution of isolating Stitch and Lilo from their family would be, and bend the rules they are supposed to enforce to protect and support this weird found family instead of breaking it apart. Gantu and Myrtle are recognized for the assholes they are and face comeuppance in the form of comedic slapstick pratfalls. And most importantly, Stitch and Lilo both get the emotional support and understanding they need to thrive and live happy lives as children should be allowed to do. It's like poetry, it rhymes.

It's a very precise, smartly written movie. It's a delicate balancing act of tone and emotions, with a very strong theme about the need for family and understanding that hits children in their hearts and imaginations. It's extremely well structured.

...

So it'd be kind of colossally fucking stupid to remake it and start fucking around with the core structure of it, chopping out pieces and completely altering others, with no real purpose beyond "Well, the executives thought it might be better if we did this."

#Lilo and Stitch #venting weird trauma i guess #animated movies can really touch people #to this day 20 years later i still cry watching that movie #it's so well made #beautiful animation and music #moving story #i don't want a live action remake #i want more beautiful unique stories that are full of realness!

31K notes · View notes

lily-bisque · 2 days ago

Text

continuation of this drabble. cw: dub-con, heavy degradation, bdsm, dacryphilia, loss of virginity, threesome, implied pressured drug use, angst, bully&stoners suguru and choso.

a/n: please tread lightly with this one. it is lowkey FILTH so read the warnings!

it was like two sets of beady eyes that followed you everywhere.

no matter where you went, you felt that prickle on your nape, the feeling of being hunted, lingering. at first, it was just an instinctive feeling to peer behind you and be met with nothing. you would shake it off and continue with your day like nothing was out of the sort. but soon, that feeling settled like a blanket over your core and turned from harmless to threatening.

whether it be in your lecture halls, eating alone in the cafeteria with foggy frames and a bento thermos of warm soup, or attending any of your out of school activities like heading to the local park, you felt it. not constantly, but it would come and go in waves when you were in public.

you couldn’t place the source, not for days. it followed you endlessly and you had begun to believe you were losing your mind. that somewhere along the way of being an anti-social and mousy girl, you’d snapped from the isolation.

that was, until you caught the two of them eyeing you from the corner of the school archives.

bloodshot and narrowed eyes, whispering something to each other in hushed tones that made your skin crawl.

it was them.

they had been watching you. no; stalking you, all this time.

you wanted to go up to them and give them a stern talking to, to leave you alone and stop whatever it was they were doing. they’d picked on you for months and it only let up after they’d forced you to attend some stupid party where they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

ever since, you thought you’d been free. but no, you were fatally wrong.

the remembrance of the way they’d find themselves by your deskside, peering over whatever book you were reading and plucking it from your hands to hold it up, asking you why on earth you were so adamant on being an outcast. you’d turn your head away, feeling your eyes brim with tears, until suguru would lift your chin with two fingers and look you square in the eyes.

“we’re only here to save you, darling. to save you from yourself.”

not only did their words ring in your ears and fray the edges of your psyche, but the looks on their faces had you trembling in steadily growing trepidation. expressions of feigned sympathy and mirth washed over them as they watched you stumble over your words, fiddling with your hands in your lap and averting the gaze of your classmates giving you odd stares as they listened in.

it was an introvert’s nightmare and they reveled in it.

you loathe them for it, for making you feel so small and vulnerable, choosing you to be the target of their inflated egos that needed to step on someone.

but right now, two things stopped you from stomping right over and cursing them out.

one, you were a sweaty, nervous mess that could barely string together two sentences when it came to them. you were known to be quite the hermit on campus, always a nose in your textbooks and attending literally no social events. so who were you to expect your body not to betray you and make an utter fool of yourself?

second, you had no proof that they were doing this, the stalking, that is. what were you going to do? randomly throw some blame on them without ever actually spotting them? no—you couldn’t go and second guess yourself because, in truth, your gut instinct had never failed you.

so, you were hopeless.

you returned to the dusty tomes on the shelf with a resigned sigh, shoulders drooping as you lost yourself in your pathetic thoughts.

you’d never stood up to them before, so what would change now?

suddenly, you felt a hand brush up against the small of your back. you registered that familiar scent of weed wafting into your nose, making you recoil and scrunch your nose.

another hand tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your chin and turning you towards them.

you were met with the tall figure of choso kamo, looming over you with his doe-like eyes tainted with a faint crimson hue. he had a pitiful expression coloring his pale cheeks with a pout of his lips. “has our princess missed us?”

before you had the chance to speak, suguru geto entered your field of view, casually propping a hand up against your head as you backed up against the library wall. “i think she has. that surprised look on her face as if she wasn’t ogling at us just moments ago.”

you stiffened. “i-i wasn’t ogling. just… surprised to see you here.”

suguru clutched his free hand over his heart, dipping his head even lower to match your eye line. “you wound me, darling. you think of us too dumb to visit the library?” he queried, tossing an entertained glance at his counterpart who only chuckled low.

“no! don’t put words in my mouth,” you squeaked out, casting your gaze down at their shoes as you could barely allow yourself to crane your head up to look at them, your stomach suddenly feeling incredibly light as your mouth went desert dry.

“well, it’s quite the shame that you hadn’t missed us. because we missed you, didn’t we, suguru?”

“how could we not after she was practically throwing herself at us at the party before ditching us. you know, blue balls is a shit thing to endure, and even shittier to fix it yourself.”

you felt your heart stammer, hands clutching into fists at your sides as you stilled.

choso leaned in, one hand caging you in on the side that suguru wasn’t blocking, his breath fanning against your neck before he placed a chaste kiss against it. and unfortunately, your body betrayed you in that moment, releasing a soft whimper as he bit your earlobe. “too bad we had something to show you, angel.”

his tone was low and husky, sending a chill dancing down your spine that it took you a moment to unclench your thighs and register what he’d just said. “w-what’d you want to show me?”

the two of them dropped their hands in unison, exchanging a look as choso shoved his hands into his pockets while suguru ran a hand through his hair.

“it’s a surprise, love. you want to find out, come over to my place tonight and i’ll show you what we’ve got ready for you.”

–

you don’t know what possessed you to be standing in front of suguru geto’s house right now.

he’d plugged his number into your phone, and vice versa, without even asking before the two left you stranded in the library, still shaking from whatever hold they had over you, a vex hanging heavy over your head.

the last few hours you spent contemplating exactly how you’d curse them out, scribbling down notes and talking to yourself in the mirror until you were winded.

and, despite the best of you, you found yourself dolling yourself up for the occasion. you blamed that solely on the fact that you wanted to look your best when you cursed them out and condemned the two to hell.

minutes before you’d arrived, you got a notification telling you that you’d been added to a groupchat and opened it.

6:47 pm – xxx-xxx-xxxx: this our sweetheart?

6:47 pm – suguru: leave her be, cho. you wanna scare her off again?

6:48 pm – xxx-xxx-xxxx: good point.

you couldn’t believe them, not even knowing how to respond as you fumbled at the door step, erasing and typing out a reply before the door propped open.

you hadn’t even knocked yet.

“you made it,” suguru breathed out. but you were barely registering a word, eyes flitting over his outfit that had your breath hitch. he was wearing a black hoodie and grey jeans, though he looked to be fresh out of the shower, his raven tresses cascading lackadaisical down his shoulders, water dripping from the tips.

“i did,” you whispered, clasping your hands in front of you after you stuffed your phone into your clutch.

he smiled knowingly, taking the time to admire your look. “looks like someone got all dolled up for the occasion,, and you don’t even know what your surprise is.”

you shook your head and knitted your eyebrows up at him, the first sign of annoyance you’ve ever tossed in either of their directions. “what?”

before suguru could ridicule you anymore, a familiar mess of brown hair appeared in a white cotton tee and black slacks, in the midst of tying his hair up into two buns. “if it isn’t the bookworm. you actually showed.”

you scoffed and the two men could barely hold back the evident shock on their faces. “are you going to let me in or what?”

choso tilted his head, studying your vastly different demeanor before stepping out of the way. “come right in, sweetheart.”

rolling your eyes and steeling your quivering resolve, you pushed past them and into suguru’s house. it was massive, and you’d heard of the ragers they’ve thrown here. though, you didn’t know how to imagine it outside of the party scene aura it radiated through gossip you overheard.

it was incredibly clean, decorated in a monochrome scale to the numbers, and there had to be a handful of bedrooms he wasn’t using.

nepotism.

“gonna keep staring or you wanna hear about that surprise?”

you turned around, glaring at suguru who was sending you an unreadable expression; you couldn’t tell if he was humored or bored.

“forget the surprise,” you retorted back, shuffling through your bag to pull out a stack of index cards. not your best option, but you had a pattern of going dizzy-minded around them.

they watched you shuffle through them until you settled on the correct sheet, confused what this act of yours was.

clearing your throat, you began reading them off. “hello, choso, suguru. i’m here today to, uh,” you squinted at your handwriting that was dotted with tear marks that smeared the ink during your fit of frustration just a few hours ago. “i’m here to address your behaviors over the past semester towards me.”

choso crossed his arms over his chest as he rubbed the lobe of his ear, as if what he was hearing was all in his head.

“you’ve ridiculed me, you’ve made fun of me, you’ve mocked and stalked me. and i’m done with it, all of it,” you pressed on, eyes glued to your card. you did everything in your power to speak at a loud enough volume that could possibly come off as intimidating.

suguru took a step forward, hands resting casually in his pockets as he peered down at you like you were nothing worthy before him. you ignored that familiar feeling you’d been feeling for months and continued on.

“i-i have done nothing to the either of y-you and i don’t understand why you’ve made me your victim.”

choso had to stifle a laugh as he, too, took a step forward, the two of them inching towards you like you were their prey, a hungry glower in their eyes.

“i’m only here to say that i’m no longer putting up with it, a-any of it. i’m done being bullied by the t-two fo you, find someone else to make fun of it or else.”

suddenly, the shuffled cards were plucked from your hands, choso eyeing them in his hand and skimming through them. “or else?”

you could feel your stomach lurch at the sight, suddenly wishing you hadn’t added on that last part.

“what, you gonna threaten us?” suguru imparted, running his tongue over his lower lip as he eyed you carefully.

you were silent, simply wide-eyed and darting your focus between the two men looming over you.

“not much without your little cards, hm?” choso questioned, reaching up to twirl a strand of your hair with his finger, just how he always toyed with you like you were his doll.

you swallowed hard, your fingers trembling by your side as suguru placed a hand on top of your head to stroke your hair, humming in thought as he mulled something over.

the fact that they didn’t even question the stalking portion you added onto your speech was evidence enough.

“we’ll stop,” he whispered, earning an odd glance from his friend before he continued. “if you let us indulge in the surprise we prepared for you. come all this way and you won’t even humor us?”

your pulse was roaring in your ears as you could barely tear your eyes from his piercing gaze, biting your lip subconsciously.

you don’t know what caused you to forget all of your bearings in that moment when you agreed.

“okay.”

–

they led you down a corridor, which led to descending stairs in suguru’s house, winding and coiling until you reached the basement. you wondered if they were going to kill you here for a moment, realizing you hadn’t told anyone where you were.

were you literally and figuratively spiraling to your demise?

you didn’t have any friends, nor did you keep in daily contact with your parents.

no one would know where you’d disappeared off to.

“she’s shaking, suguru,” choso chuckled behind you, cocking his head as he found the display oddly cute.

“i think she’ll be shaking when she sees our surprise for her too.”

something nasty twisted in your gut, your fight or flight instincts triggering, yet unfortunately you’d always been a freeze kind of person.

suguru walked to a door at the end of the hall, pressing a couple of numbers into a keypad before pushing it open.

a red hue spilled form the doorway as he opened it and you were met with a fairly dim, neon crimson room. your feet were planted, wondering if the last meal you’d ever eat was the ramen cup you’d downed before you arrived, that is, until choso pushed you in.

“so scared. baby, we’re harmless,” choso chuckled, heading over to a door at the side of the room before stepping in and leaving you and suguru alone.

you clasped your hands before you, heart palpitating as the stifling tension was nearly suffocating you.

“not gonna take a look around?”

“what?” you immediately squeaked, glancing over at suguru who leaned against a wall with folded arms, studying you quietly. when you registered what he said, you did in fact glance around to take in your surroundings.

the two walls on opposite sides of you were lined with shelves and objects resting against them. you adjusted your frames, taking a couple of steps forwards and squinting your eyes as you made out exactly what they were.

toys. sex toys to be exact. peering to the middle of the room, there were harnesses tucked away against the ceiling and below it was a small platform with cuffs on them.

your eyes widened as you took a step back, tripping over your heel and landing in a pair of burly arms, the scent of cannabis wafting into your nose.

“like what you see?” choso whispered into your ear, licking a languid stripe across the crown of your ear that had you shuddering.

pushing off of him, you turned around and scoffed, staring at them with wide eyes.

“where the fuck did you bring me?”

suguru chuckled, low and patronizing like always. “i’m getting the feeling you’re not liking your gift. unfortunately, there’s no gift receipt, sweetheart.”

incredulously, you laughed and waved your arms around, motioning at your surroundings, feeling as if you’d finally lost it. “your present to me is a sex room?”

suguru pursed his lips, coming to your side and placing his hands on top of your biceps, then turning you to the shelf just beside you.

“not sure if you’re a virgin, so we can start off real small. got this itty bitty thing for you, and we can work your way up,” he coolly whispered into your ear, breath tickling you and making your thighs quake. “‘till you can take us.”

“you’re fucking disgusting,” you spat, thrashing in his grasp and pulling away.

“oh don’t play hard to get, dear. we know all about the way you spend your evenings.”

you focused on choso, cocking your head and feeling shocked at your outbursts so far as you’ve never been one to speak up to them. “oh, please. how exactly do i spend my evenings.”

the two of them glanced at one another, then back at you, then down at your skirt. your head bounced back in confusion as you blinked a couple times, registering what they were implying.

how on earth would they know how you spend your evenings?

“s-so are you going to explain, or just keep staring at me?” you pushed, praying that they were just bluffing.

but, oh. were you so incredibly wrong.

“saw your little reddit post. about how you can’t stop getting off to your bullies and feeling ashamed by it.”

you could feel your mind slur and become lightheaded in an instant. choso began to explain your post in incredible detail as if he had it committed to memory, the way you had your hand down your panties in your dorm room and moaning out the names of the two guys who made your life a living hell. suguru simply stood there, the image of an incredibly proud man, watching you crumble.

it was over. they were going to expose you and ridicule you until you were six feet under. you could feel the bile rise in your throat, your hands resuming their trembling at your sides as shame shook your core.

how on earth is the nerdy loser the most disgusting pervert out of them all? you could hear the whispers and rumors now, your eyes brimming with tears at the thought.

choso broke you from your reverie, shrugging his shoulders as he finished his thorough analysis. “don’t worry. we’ll keep your little secret safe, princess.”

you lifted your gaze from the spot you had it trained on the ground. “w-what?”

choso hummed, stepping towards you and bringing his hands to your cheeks. you flinched like he’d burned you, but that didn’t stop him.

“we think it’s… cute. our little docile geek is a fucking degenerate.”

you scowled at that, moving to pull away but he held you there.

“why not let us help you?” he whispered, biting his lip as he played with your hair, as if it grounded him. “i know those hands of yours can’t satiate you like we can.”

and then you felt a hard chest press against your back, sandwiching you between the two men just like they had you on the couch. suguru’s hands snaked down to your midsection, pulling your ass flat against his pelvis. you could feel how hard he was, the bulge pressing down on the small of your back.

“like a favor. you help us, we help you and keep your secret. it’s a win-win situation for all of us and you get a little extra,” choso added, caressing your cheek gently before running a thumb over your bottom lip.

and that perverted part of you responded when you whispered out a whiney “okay.”

the two men had you undressed within moments, then strung up in the air spread eagle with your body bare to the world.

heat covered your body as they worked in tandem to prepare things for you, things they discussed in hushes conversation that you weren’t privy to.

was this your best decision? no. but it was far too late now and you’d prefer if the two boys kept true to their word.

they passed blunts between each other, exhaling the billowing smoke into the air and you watched as it disappated, something akin to dread settling in your core.

what on earth did you get yourself into? what if they told everyone about this, how the nerd was toyed with by not one but two guys. you’d be ridiculed until graduation.

“want a hit?”

“what?” you whined out, feeling your stomach lurch as choso eyed you carefully.

he chuckled at your worry before placing it into your mouth. “suck.”

you inhaled automatically, not meaning to take such a large hit as it spread into your lungs, making you cough until it stung your eyes and burned the lining of your nose.

“there you go,” he drawled out, biting his lip as he admired your bare form. “should calm you a bit.”

“i’m fine,” you bit out, wheezing as you attempted to steady yourself.

“suit yourself,” he shot back with a reluctant once-over at your quivering figure, returning to suguru and you were left to your thoughts again.

although, he wasn’t lying. your mind that was a muddled mess of anxiety was coming to rest as the effects of the weed settled in your mind, making it the slightest bit hazy. the smell was pungent, but you were thankful for the simple reprieve.

“having fun, angel?” suguru quirked, walking over to you and watching as you gave him a bleak stare. he adjusted your sliding frames, pushing them back up and leaning in to pepper soft kisses along your neck.

you heard soft clicks before something hard pressed against your nipples. you glanced down and let out a shaky whimper at the clasps he’d placed on them.

your arms suddenly twitched, wanting to move and run them through his hair as he works on your skin with his mouth, but was promptly stopped by the well-done restraints.

choso fiddled with a speaker off to the side, then pressed play on his playlist he's prepared for this moment. funny enough, the first song that played was quite fitting–she’s my collar by gorillaz, matching the black leash clad on your neck.

suguru’s hands groped your breast, his hair tickling your bare skin as you whimpered and whined in his grasp.

choso found purchase standing behind you and tying your hair up with his rubber band, just so he could begin to decorate bruising hickies across your nape.

it was all too much, you felt their hands gripping and teasing you everywhere, your thighs quivering from the simple touches.

“we haven’t even started yet,” suguru chuckled, pinching your clasped nipple between his fingers. “she’s like a little bitch in heat.”

“s’ how i like them, though. that fucked out and starry-eyed look they give me, makes me so fucking hard,” choso chuckled back to his friend.

you hated how disgusting but turned on it made you feel, how they spoke about you as if you e squashed between them.

suguru’s slender fingers found your bare cunt, a digit sliding between your drooling folds and collecting your slick. “and she’s already dripping, cho.”

choso’s warm breath tickled you as he bit into your shoulder, gripping your ass in his hand.

a dextrous digit of suguru’s began to toy with that sensitive nub down there, making your body bow into his form, hands shaking in the restraints, biting your lip as you muffled your sounds.

“wanna know how she sounds,” choso groaned, a hand of his dancing up your side to fondle your tit. “when she’s moaning out our names.”

suguru sped up his motions, two fingers rubbing tenderly against your clit as your body wracked with pleasure. and soon enough, you could feel choso’s finger pushing against your tight hole.

“bet she’d take us like we were knives killing her, tight cunt she’s got,” he added before pushing a digit in.

you gasped out, eyes widening as they continued their assault of love bites dancing across your chest. it was all overstimulating and you could feel them all over, their greedy hands gripping and pulling and tearing at anything you’d give them.

and you gave it up to them, squirming in their hold and letting them test out whatever they were curious about. if that spot could make you cry out or how hard they could bite against your previously unmarked skin.

and when suguru passed his friend a dildo prepared with lube, you knew you were going to be in tears by the end of the night. but they loved it.

they slurped up every tear you gave them as if they’d earned it. weeks of plotting and watching you finally handed to them, the delayed gratification damn near overwhelming as their slits leaked pre.

the small pink plastic cock pushed past that first ring of resistance, making you flinch hard enough you were sure that your wrists and ankles would be bruised by sunrise.

"so fuckin' tight," suguru scoffed, watching as it slowly disappeared into you. "what, you a fucking virgin?"

you kept your mouth shut, along with your eyes, hoping the embarassment that flushed you was enough evidence.

"no fucking way," choso sighed out in awe, the tent in his boxers only growing tighter. "you're the most perverted girl i've ever met and you've never even had sex before?"

you bit your tongue, shutting your eyes to brace yourself from the impact of their verbal abuse. hearing it from their lips was all the more ridiculous.

"you just keep surprising us, sweetheart," suguru chuckled, pressing hard enough down on your clit that you headily gasped out his name. "mmm, there we go."

choso continued drilling you with the dildo, brushing right up against that sweet spot you were never able to pinpoint yourself. suguru took the chance to consume your moans, planting a wet kiss against your mouth and shoving his tongue down your throat.

you could barely breath through it, eyes rolling back into your skull as the two of you swapped saliva. with the hand that wasn't rubbing your bud of nerves, he cupped your cheek to angle your head just right, making you gag on his pink muscle.

"like a fucking toy," he groaned into your mouth, and you could feel his clothed cock press up against your abdomen, the outline so massive it made your stomach flutter. choso’s pushed against the small of your back, the size one to rival with suguru’s.

you didn’t want to imagine what they looked like bare and erect.

you felt so pliant and maleable under their grasp, as if they could mold you into anything they pleased. a rotted part of your psyche was crumpled and smashed, quiet voices whispering to you that this act made you theirs.

their quiet victim that never spoke up to their degredations? their fuck-toy they used whenever they pleased?

so be it. that's what you were going to be.

you chest began to heave as suguru's mouth moved in tandem against yours, practically sucking the air from your lungs. the rapid pace of choso's wrist drilling that toy into was unrelenting.

soon enough, stars blotted out your vision and a flash of white painted everything you could see, your ears ringing as you screamed out into suguru's mouth, your orgasm being pushed over the precipice.

your body stilled, every muscle contracting, until you fell limp, slack in the restraints.

the two boys were no longer kissing you, no longer touching. a part of you was afraid to open your eyes, fearing that this was all some sort of dream the dark and deep recesses of your mind cooked up.

yet, when you parted your wet lashes, you were met with their figures quickly ridding themselves of their clothes.

choso tossed the dildo to the side, working to undo the restraints while suguru grabbed what looked to be a box of condoms and lube.

"think you can take us both on suguru's bed upstairs?"

174 notes · View notes

zstartrixxx · 12 hours ago

Text

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 '𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐔, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍'.

ʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ ˣ ᵛᵃᵐᵖꜝʷᶦᶠᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: If being loved by a vampire means carrying eternity within you, what you have with Remmick is incarnate: his poison lives in your flesh, you are blood of his blood, a creature of his making. And because you are a part of him—a fragment that broke free and passed into you, sometimes even a sliver of his ancient soul trapped inside that dead body—everything you feel, he feels, and vice versa. Fleeing the imminent extinction of these lands, you and Remmick seek refuge in each other once more, bound together. Eternally, for he would never let you sever this tie—unless he were dead. Past and future memories knot inside you. Here, now—all blood and teeth—you fuse with your maker, your sacrament, your eternal groom. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: this particular piece was a deeply interesting and special writing experience for me: not only did i get to explore the hivemind concept, but i also played more freely with language and the essence of remmick as a character. so let me make one thing clear: it’s never my intention to distort the film’s canonical portrayal, but rather—through poetic license combined with the possibilities of fanfiction’s universe, PLUS the way i’ve absorbed and interpreted the character—my version of remmick (at least in my fics) might not be as literal as the original script. that said: here we have this scenario with a wife, which i initially imagine takes place before the film’s events, but the specifics of when, how, and where she was transformed are entirely up to your interpretation (before his arrival in the us in 1911? somewhere between the early or late middle ages? the modern era? europe, asia, or africa... let your imagination run wild ;) i’ve also paraphrased/incorporated certain very specific lines and moments from the film. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +16 CONTENT. i think there's a lot of angst here and reader melancholy, so keep that in mind. use of some words in gaelic, i had to resort to good old google, if there is something wrong please tell me. remmik here it's (super) protective, almost toxic; hivemind concept explored, lots of internal dialogue, some gore (explicit description of blood and bruises), vampirism (blood consummation), and a slight sexual innuendo thrown in. 𝐖𝐂: 6k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"turn to me, and love me like you lacerate; just hold me down like i don’t need air." (air, shedfromthebody)

Your skin burned like Hell itself, which was kind of funny to think about: back when you were human, you loved spending your days under the hot sun, lying on the grass in the late afternoon and gazing up at the cloudless sky, where strange shapes would form just for you. You wasted away the days at the lake, naked, floating between water and sunlight, between cold and heat, simply existing.

Now, all you could feel was the searing pain ripping through your skin, sizzling in your ears like meat in a frying pan. Weak, you tried to run, but your legs wouldn’t obey, and your feet tangled with every step across the dry land, scattered with dead corn leaves. The rustle of the leaves irritated you, but what truly drove you mad were the screams echoing from behind, drowning out any coherent thought, merging with the heavy air that entered your lungs that no longer breathed. And that felt like a death sentence: not only the sun was paralyzing you, but also the distorted sounds that confused you, like a wounded animal, utterly disoriented.

You stopped in the middle of the cornfield, glancing around, trying to stay grounded, trying to reconnect the thread of thought between the two of you, searching through the suffocating haze for Remmick’s voice, calling him with panic and urgency, desperate for him to come save you. You looked at your shoulders: raw, scorched, smelling the acrid scent of burnt flesh rising from your own body. You shut your eyes, trying to find him, your voice lethargic: “Remmick… Remmick.”

Your vision began to darken, your body no longer felt like your own—it felt like it was floating, detaching, as if your soul—or what was left of it—was slipping out of you. Just like you’d felt a piece of yourself dying the last time you glimpsed sunlight through your human eyes, maybe ceasing to exist in that land would feel the same. All you had to do was slowly close your eyes, embrace the darkness once again, surrender to the searing fire that would extinguish you—and that would be it. You opened your eyes slowly, staring at the mighty sun before you: scorching, like your mother’s hugs, your grandmother’s kisses. Like Remmick’s grip when you were still human. Your entire body burned, tiny flames piercing through you, tears of blood trickling from your eyes. How long had it been since you felt even remotely human? All you had to do was give in, speak the one name that echoed in your mind, etched into your blood.

Remmick.

In poison and blood, within you. He was you and you were him. Remmick.

‘—Remmick, if you can hear me one last time, know that I—’

“Got you!” his voice came, rough and wounded, behind you. Firm hands grabbed you by the waist, your body partially covered by another, pressed against Remmick’s rigid frame. He whispered against your ear: “You’re safe, mo chroí (mu khree / my heart). Come with me.” He pulled you even tighter against his scorched body, shielding you like a protective shell, guiding you with quick steps into the heart of the cornfield. In the distance, the furious screams of some villagers echoed behind you. But despite the world turning into hell around you and everything seeming like the end, you felt safe in his arms.

Remmick looked back, staggering, using his sharp senses to search for any possible escape for the two of you. His left eye was swollen from the punch he took, combined with the sun’s deadly effect, and even with limited vision, he managed to find a way out from the horde chasing you.

You couldn’t stay upright. The sun’s weakness made it feel like your bones were nothing but dust beneath your scorched flesh. Tears of blood stung your eyes and soul, or whatever was trapped inside that immortal body, sharing a collective mind with Remmick and so many others before you. It longed desperately to escape this life and finally rest. But Remmick wouldn’t let that happen—oh no, let the pagan gods or the Christian God himself punish him with the harshest tortures if he did. You could feel that wrathful pain mixed with ancient rage flowing from him, harshly projected in flames and poisonous blood from him to you, as he nearly threw himself on top of you like a (scorched) leather jacket just to protect you. Madness. The voices grew longer, more indistinct, the hateful chorus fading, as Remmick, with his one good eye, searched for shelter.

Then, as if by magic, fate, or just the luck of some devil who still wanted to see you both wander through God's vast lands, there it was—a house beyond the edge of the cornfield. The perfect shelter. ‘Living food, darkness... —Remmick, don’t get your hopes up.—’ you thought back, replying to your creator’s voice with a sarcasm that didn’t quite match the moment. As always, he laughed—loudly, though the laugh came with dry, desperate gasps. He laughed. Even all fucked up, more than you, sizzling in pain and crying in despair to stay alive, he still found humor in his own misery.

“You’re getting real cheeky, huh, my little thing?”

“You’re the one who taught me to be like this, Remmy,” you managed to say, despite the bitter taste of blood rising in your throat—extremely unpleasant when it was your own blood boiling inside you. Remmick glanced over his shoulder, noticing for now that you were safe. He looked forward again, at what seemed like a mirage of a desolate wooden shack, dark, with the door and windows shut. It looked uninhabited to you. ‘—Love, don’t be so hopeless. Of course, there’ll be someone in there to be dinner. Or rather, lunch, given the time.—’ his voice cut through again, tugging you sideways, his hot and battered hand grabbing your forearm, where deep layers of your dermis were starting to show, making you let out a faint whimper. Remmick gave you an almost hurt look, immediately releasing his grip.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine. What’s a squeeze compared to almost melting under the sun, right?”

“You’re something else...” he muttered in disbelief, though his voice was laced with distress and anguish—a soft hint of the pain he was enduring. —If he died, you’d go with him by extension, in the worst possible way.— That was what was running through his disturbed mind, making you wonder whether you’d ever have a happy ending under those conditions. Remmick quickened his pace, and you followed beside him, feeling like the path to the house was more of a road to Hell than a material refuge. You were starting to believe it was a mirage and the Devil was waiting on the other side to welcome you both into his lap. ‘—Pathetic, darling. Pathetic.—’ ‘—Just like you, sweetheart.—’

Remmick ignored your retort, dragging himself up the steps, changing his expression as he began to shout for help. A wounded animal, fatally injured, a hoarse rasp clawing out of his throat, begging for help, pounding on the door with force. The sun’s haze was poisoning him—and therefore you—draining what little strength was left, forcing your bodies to absorb the foul smell of rotting flesh; even if your lungs didn’t breathe, they still had the cursed privilege of smelling. And even as supernatural beings, defying all human logic, you were still condemned to be inside those fragile bodies, exhaling the scent of flesh, blood, bone, thick saliva, venom, and a unique perfume your walking corpses carried. Not decay, but something more… floral? And that specific scent, like night-blooming jasmine in a graveyard or a dried rose in your garden, grew stronger as the mortal flesh imprisoning your immortal soul deteriorated.

Remmick kept pounding on the door and maybe—just maybe—with a little more effort, he’d become the first vampire to break the universal law by forcing his way in without being invited. He looked at you, distressed, his expression one of real pain. You pulled away from him, walking to a window layered in thick dust, wiping it with your palm. The cold, gritty surface scratched your sensitive skin even more. You peered inside and confirmed: ‘—There’s no one. It’s empty.—’ Remmick looked at you, almost dumbfounded, hearing your inner voice. He turned to the door, where simply twisting the doorknob opened it. The air inside was cold and stagnant, dust and mold, old wood and moth-eaten fabric, with an unwelcoming scent—but still, it carried that unmistakable smell of an uninhabited place. No human warmth or familiar energy.

Remmick was so relieved he dropped to his knees, like a devout soul who, tired of resisting sin, finally accepts divine punishment in good faith—arms open, body surrendering as he let himself fall into the house. You stood beside him, watching with a mixture of mercy for the poor wretch who was suffering, and with that sharp pain—hating, in a way, to share with him the memory and the collective sense of it all, because his pain was also yours.

Remmick crawled inside. You followed him, on your feet—weak, but standing. You looked one last time outside, toward the distance beyond the cornfield, where, by some divine mercy, those who had hunted you seemed to have gone. Just above, the burning afternoon sun pulsed like a condemning god, seated upon his sky-blue throne, mercilessly casting down his punishments upon you, poor wicked creatures.

You shut the door with a long groan, echoing the moan of the vampire now lying delicately at your feet—a strange sound between a whimper and the whine of a frightened dog. His hands were stretched above his head, face pressed to the floor, writhing from side to side, somewhere between fragile and furious at being forced into such a wretched state.

Through your mind, you could feel him tearing:

‘—These monsters will pay. As soon as the sun sets, I’ll hunt them one by one, haunt them in their homes, show them my wrath and my cruelty. Blood, blood… blood.—’

Your mind was now lapsing into a time far older than you, to a moment when Remmick’s humanity had been broken by the vampire’s curse—when the strangers came and took his land, his name, his faith. His prayers were converted, and all he saw before him were silver crosses and plaster Jesuses while he was taught the Lord’s Prayer. All of it disturbed you deeply. He clung so tightly to his roots that it made you feel everything: the fire of the scorched land, the spilled blood, the faithful ones he later killed one by one, the lands devastated by plague and by gold.

You closed your eyes, trying to impose your memories over his—to interrupt the bond that was bigger than either of you. You tried to think of blooming gardens bathed in sunlight, lazy afternoons of picnics and reading under trees, nights of endless dancing and joy.

Remmick stopped thrashing. His shoulders stilled, and his whimpers faded as he was slowly filled with his own memories, gradually regaining his strength and sobriety. He propped himself up on his arms—once feeble and lethargic, with bones eroded and flesh still scorched by burns—then raised himself and looked at you, a crooked smile forming on his lips:

“You’re always taking care of me, a aingeal.” (ah ang-yal | my angel).

“I was just trying to make you stop with those nightmares disguised as memories. I’m aching all over.” Your voice was somewhat harsh, despite your weakness, as you leaned your body against the wall, between the door and the window, where dust managed to dimly filter the sunlight. You were safe from the condemnation of the light.

Remmick rested his head. A look of sadness, lit by the darkness in his pupils, stirred something in your heart that no longer beat.

“I can’t let go of who I once was… even after all these years, there are pains that scar between our flesh and our soul, binding us to them forever…”

“I know. I know—” you smiled, somewhere between honesty and levity, trying to stay upright, feeling your body pulse and bleed, crying for healing. Remmick was in considerably better shape than you, even in his sorry state—his cotton shirt filthy with mud and dust, torn and bloodied from burned flesh; his pants tattered, shoes worn through, one bruised eye set into cadaverous skin with a polished hunger. He was enduring. The dark gifts made him far stronger than you. “—I’m just not in the best condition to relive those pains with you, not when mine are a little too real right now.”

Remmick nodded, drinking in your words, staring at you with glowing, coppery-red eyes—dim yet luminous—finally seeing your pain. His face twisted with worry and a flicker of anger as he staggered closer:

“Mo ghrá geal” (muh grah gyahl | my bright love), “they really hurt you, didn’t they…”

Then, Remmick recalled the grim scene when one of the townsfolk had found your hiding place—a house just as old and decrepit as the one you now sheltered in. The two of you were lying there together, side by side, entwined like tragic lovers, waiting for death—and maybe that had been part of the attraction, for just a few more seconds in that eternal rest, and you would have had a truly tragic end. Remmick remembered the moment the light from a blocked-out window was smashed through and the burn that followed. He opened his eyes instantly. You were still locked in your unshakable sleep when they grabbed you by the arms. He had fought men wielding torches and harvest tools. Then you saw it through his eyes: your body being pulled away—a blur. And you felt his fear and desolation as he fought off the frantic villagers to try and save you.

Then the man’s voice rang out again, clear and strong, a wounded hand touching your face with surprising gentleness:

“We almost didn’t make it out of there… If it had been closer to sunset, not a single one of those bastards would’ve made it—”

“Remmick.” His name traced your lips and tongue, thorny like the man himself. “They’re not to blame for acting the way they do—just like we, flawed murderous animals, once acted. They too have the right to want to destroy us. Wasn’t it you who taught me that human truth? That’s how we lived before we perished. That’s how we’ll go on existing, as long as we do.”

“Existing.” He clicked his tongue, and a sudden shadow passed through his eyes. For a second, his mind grew too clouded for you to read, to hear—but the visceral rage boiling in his venomous blood, oh, that you felt, bitter as it burned your dry throat. Dryness began to crack your lips. It weakened your warm body even more and made you feel the dark delusions start to crawl through the corners of your mind; that’s what happened when you weren’t fed—no matter how exceptional your self-control was, and even if you could resist without the human liquor for days, when you were in that state of true death, your body nearly collapsed.

Remmick dragged his pitiful, suffering gaze across your face. Around your minds, words in ancient Gaelic spun like ancestral chants—he was thinking about something beyond you.

His hand slid up to your face, grabbing your hair from behind, gripping it as he gently pulled it back, exposing the soft, burned, but still velvety skin of your neck. The cradle of your sacred blood—from where he had once drawn your human warmth into himself and given you, in return, the venom that turned you into him. And even though your heart no longer beat as before, when he first heard it, and your blood wasn’t warm enough to quench his thirst anymore, it was the vampire’s opium.

Remmick always thought of that comparison when he grazed his fangs lightly against your skin before penetrating it to anesthetize himself in your ecstasy:

‘—Your blood was sweet and warm when your heart throbbed between your ribs. But now, with my lymph and the poison of my being, it tastes better—bittersweet, undead. Our blood.—’

It made you moan and whimper.

Your hands pressed against his chest, palms open, trying to push him away from you:

“Remmy, are you sure about this?” you looked at him uncertainly, trying to find in him the assurance for the act.

Remmick didn’t answer you with words—not the kind spoken aloud:

“As weak as we are, there’s no one here, my love. Either we drink from each other, or we die like strays in this godforsaken place. Feed on my blood before you cease to exist…”

It wasn’t a request anymore by the time he was already pulling you closer to expose your neck, pressing his rough lips and sharp teeth against you, piercing the skin like needles.

Remmick held onto this belief that he didn’t need to ask much of you, because as you were one mind, everything he wanted was what you desired too.

Your eyes closed as you felt your flesh torn by his fangs—hard against your skin, like a stiff piece of leather being pierced by a sharp knife—until it reached where the blood, crawling weakly through your body, began to emerge in thick sobs, filling his mouth with your syrupy, bloody liquor. You were consumed by the burning and the sensation of ecstasy the act gave you, your body floating in the hands of the man who groaned with primal pleasure at being nourished by your life source.

Remmick also held the belief that since you carried his seed—that divine-profane gift of eternal life within your blood—through the consummation of acts and the laws of an ancient soul, you were part of a whole that pulsed with life. His life, yours, and those who would come after you both, all connected through that cursed and blood-stained lineage.

You squirmed restlessly in his hands. His claws were already out, tangled in your hair, scratching your waist as he held you as close as possible, bound to his pleading kiss.

Remmick whispered to you in thought:

“Mine, mine, mo mhianta (muh vee-an-tah / my desire), my life, my blood…”

—like a prayer, a rosary he recited bead by bead, his body burning as he inevitably felt his venom enter you.

“Remmick—” your voice was pure wine of death, your nose the iron scent of flesh, your mind a stupor of souls that preceded you, strange voices you had learned empirically, faintly recalling the vampire Remmick who crushed you between teeth and acid; “—I think that’s enough, my love.”

Remmick let out an exasperated groan that vibrated against your mark, sucked a final portion of blood vigorously, licked the flesh slowly, then rose, revealing his face intact and free of wounds, his chin smeared with your crimson iron honey, eyes shimmering like copper pearls between iron and bloodlust. He smiled at you—there was heavy panting from paused lungs, a fresh breath, an almost spiritual renewal of his being.

“You are so delicious, blood of my blood, that it’s impossible not to want to drain your last blessed drop.”

He laughed—cursed and amused—raising his wrist to his own lips, biting it as if biting a pomegranate that exploded between his teeth, flesh and juice dripping at the corners of his mouth already stained with your blood; he extended his open wrist to you like bread to the dying, an offering to his god, waiting with generous eyes burning in the insane passion of his soul for yours.

His mouth salivated with the yearning to take it for himself, to drink from that wine that intoxicated you once and every time you drank it—in nights of lust where you feasted on the delights of the flesh, it intoxicated you.

There were sparks in your chest that burned from Remmick’s venom in your body, making you remember when he took you for himself, forever; Remmick appeared like a chorus behind you, chasing you through the darkness of forests and ancient buildings, ruins of nights wandering without meaning, inviting you to let him enter you repeatedly, giving him what he wanted, feeding the beast with your youthful joy, the beating heart—that which he had lost centuries ago, perhaps millennia. Life.

And once, proving that his love for blood and pain was greater than all lust or pleasure given to you, he offered you his ultimate love: he penetrated you with teeth and curses, buried memories imposed on you, suffocating you, watching you die before him, rot like a flower once beautiful and vibrant, now dry and hardened. Watching you rise with bright eyes and his bestial thirst, laughing and dancing with him, celebrating your new self. Or was it a piece of him, while you were trapped between so many layers of the one who created you?

And yet there you were, looking at him with veneration and anguish, taking his wrist with your misshapen fingers, claws that extended in excessive knots, placing your mouth against the torn hole that poured that offering of his flesh.

Oh, Remmick had your flavor too.

Sweet death he exhaled, primal sex and poisoned wine.

Feeding you slowly, bringing through that damned mortal sap your salvation.

You felt yourself revive, whining softly against his wrist, looking with complicity as Remmick watched you with the pleasure of pleasures on his face: parted lips, arched brows, eyes sparkling with desire and ardor. You smiled back, returning that passion, a hiss escaping from his mouth, pleasure bending between the memories shared through blood. His mouth detached from the bite’s embrace, a dull snap of flesh pulling away, the vampire’s blood dripping in sticky, thick drops like a whip on the wooden floor, a small pool of that iron blood separating you both.

He tilted his head back, satisfied, with a jubilation of pearl-ruby teeth, saying full of himself:

“Now we’re better!” He laughed between his teeth, while you felt his blood slide through you, healing the stigmata on your skin, slowly and pleasurably renewing you—him crawling between your bones and flesh, burrowing deeper into you as he pierced you with those eyes.

Remmick drew closer, your hands returned to normal, fingers caressing your now-soft skin, leaning down to kiss your lips with the sweetness of his honey staining them crimson, whispering through your mind:

‘—All we need now is rest, and once night falls, we can celebrate this moment together.—’

Eternal promises. As always, typical of him.

You welcomed him with open lips, tongue caressing his, you and he merging—blood and saliva, venom and the growls from the depths of your thirsty throats, your hands tangling into each other, desperate grips of bodies that loved each other through finite eternity.

…

In your dreams — or in that cathartic state of complete darkness of rest — all you had in your mind were the outlines of dreams of humans who had wandered through the eternities beside Remmick. You were a peasant in Irish lands, an English priest with golden teeth, a mathematician in Arabia, a physician from Prussian soil, a single mother prostituting herself in the streets of Whitechapel; everything and everyone. You were a pagan elder turned faithful parish priest. A hopeful young woman turned the vilest of executioners. Everything and everyone — and him.

Him.

Emerging in red, blue, purple, and black, from the shadows, blood dripping from his chin, stealing souls and stories like a devoted collector, a historian digging through pages and pages for what might fill his own gaps. Remmick pulled you by the hand like a savior — or a beast. That blurred in the shadows and forms, as he brought you into the light.

The light of consciousness, of being awake, of knowing night had finally fallen and you could once again wander among humans.

You opened your eyes with a sharp blink, seeing through a timid penumbra lit by a single candle — who knows where the hell Remmick had found it — exhaling, while he gently caressed your face, the tip of his finger tapping lightly against your nose, a serenity on his face that, under the warm golden light, almost seemed human. You smiled, rubbed your eyes, and let out a vocal exhale — a human habit you’d kept not to feel so detached from your nature — wetted your lips, surprised by the nudity of the man sitting at your side on that old bed, hard mattress, rickety frame that had served perfectly for your rest.

At the window, beyond the drawn curtain, a few wooden planks nailed to keep sunlight out were now opened, allowing the pale-silver glow of a Full Moon to shine on you. Between the bluish-gray mingling with the candle’s yellow-red, his slender and muscular body — shaped by the years when he was just a man of the land, using his bare strength — stood naturally before you.

His face, smiling at you tenderly, was damp, drops of water clinging to his nose, ears, and chin. A scent of dried flowers and soap wafted from his pale skin. His voice was soft:

“Come with me, a aingeal,” (ah ang-yal | my angel), “let’s take a bath to wash off this infernal day.”

Laughter spilled from both your mouths — irony mixed with ease — as his hand gently pulled you up, guiding you barefoot across the wooden floor, echoing down a narrow hallway toward what must have been the bathroom. Remmick nodded toward the wooden bathtub. Beside it, atop a chair, several candles were stuck upright with their own melted wax, casting a flickering light beside the moonlight that poured silver through the window.

“I cleaned it a bit before using, fetched some water from the well, and luckily found some flowers and a dried-up bar of soap lying around. Seems like the people who lived here left in a hurry — there’s still canned food and clothes in some closets. Let me help you!”

He placed the candle on the chair and undressed you, slipping off your dress and tossing it aside, smiling at your nudity, placing his hands at your waist as if admiring a statue sculpted by his own hands — a creation of his creation.

“Sit down. I’ll bathe you...” he said in a velvet tone, guiding your body into the cold water, which wrapped around your skin as he began to rub it with water, fragrant flower petals, and diluted soap.

And there you sat, still, watching him care for you — though you knew well what he was thinking.

‘—The hunt, the revenge against those who inflicted pain on us and—’

“Remmy…”

Your hand found his, pulling him from the depths of his thoughts, gripping the hand that tended to you, “...stop, at least for now. Just think of something else.”

“What else could I possibly think about?”

“In other things, I don’t know, think about music, about dance, about me...”

“I don’t need to think about those things because they’re already in me, darling. It’s almost a pleonasm, as that old professor we ate once said, remember?”

“The one we ate? What an absurd thing to say!”

“Sweetheart, seriously?” Remmick tilted his head to the side, a mischievous little smile playing on his lips. He stopped rubbing the dried blood off his neck to look at you with cynicism. “You, of all people, who loves sinking your teeth into those juicy necks that show up for us!? You, blood of my blood, my own creation, poison of my poison who...” he paused, narrowing his eyes, his voice coming out in a thin whisper, “loves sinking those pretty little teeth of yours into the most unusual places!?”

A daring finger touched your lips, slipping between them, lightly scraping your canine with its nail. You stared at him calmly, studying him in that unashamed nakedness, amused by you. Rolling your eyes, you pushed his hand away from your mouth.

“Pathetic. That’s what you are sometimes.”

“I love you too, my darlin’.” He chuckled through his teeth, returning to wiping the bloodstain from his skin, focusing on the act. Even in that silence made of voices loudly spoken, your minds were speaking through images, memories flowing back and forth in a stream of consciousness, undulating like the water that surrounded your body, tracing that eternal conversation you both had. Deep down you knew he wanted to go out hunting, to get drunk on fresh human blood, and then return to this shelter, take you in his arms and possess you in the most animalistic way possible. But on your end, you still felt his venom lingering through your body, the blood that had served as both nourishment and healing still casting a haze over your senses. Ancient blood from someone who had lived so long it carried stigmas. Strong, dense, defiled, concentrated.

Remmick finished scrubbing you, stood up from your side, and left the room, staying outside for a few minutes, leaving you immersed in the water and the moonlight. Thinking. For a moment, your mind seemed to detach from his, floating through the corridors of your own being—you saw yourself among humans, walking barefoot, feeling that burning thirst in your throat, the bile of anger tormenting you even as your melancholy made you ethereal; sucking foreign blood, capturing life stories for yourself. Remmick reached out a hand to you—a claw—with the ghastly smile of all the dead, always whispering to you: “Mo mhianta” (muh vee-an-tah / my desire), in your mother tongue. Remmick… Remmick. The one who created you and now was you too, part of your desires, part of your life, part of your soul. Would you ever be able to break away from that guiding thread? From the one who offered you both death and life? Would you be able to disconnect and be just… you?

Remmick emerged from the darkness of the house, carrying a bundle of clothes in his hands, wearing a pair of soft-fabric pants, his torso still bare. He smiled with those secrets he could hide from you between his lips:

“No, I believe that if one day you no longer belong to me, I’ll probably be dead.”

“Reading my thoughts again?”

The question was practically rhetorical, laced with a certain bitterness you couldn’t hold back. Standing before you, the vampire handed you the clothes.

“I am them. Even when you try to escape through the corners of your thoughts, I’m there.” Remmick smiled, sharp teeth glinting, a suggestion shining in his eyes like a beast ready to kill.

“Come on, love, the night is a child crying to be fed.”

“Smartass,” you hissed through your teeth, rolling your eyes. When you rose from the bathtub, your eyes suddenly caught sight of two figures approaching in the distance. Remmick didn’t even need to be warned—he was already spying from the corner of the window, his thoughts starting to hiss like a rabid wolf growling, thirsty for blood and slaughter. He turned his face toward you, a sharp smile while his eyes tiled the blood of the defeated. His tongue was a blade between needle-sharp teeth:

“We shall have a special feast, my love!”

…

The house was dark.

Its scent was of dust and stagnant wood, dry and moldy. In the background, you could catch the smell of melted wax. No noise. When that couple stepped into the house, shotguns in hand, eyes wide with fear, all they wanted was to play heroes for the little town—hunt the monsters that had been parasitizing the area and receive applause for their brave deeds. Fueled by fear and pride, they wanted to hold in their hands the heads of those two who had earlier been hunted and, for some reason, had disappeared; and there they were, in that shack abandoned for weeks—maybe months—eyeing each other with unease.

The woman said, glancing around the first room, a lantern serving as a flashlight:

“I don’t think it was a good idea to come here at night…”

“Nonsense, woman—we’ll catch those monsters before they go messing around with anyone else,” the man shrugged, walking toward the hallway, the woman right behind him—until she heard a little noise beside her, at the open door.

The man kept walking, oblivious to his wife, heading toward the back of the house, finding a side room with its door ajar—he pushed it open the rest of the way with the barrel of the shotgun, the wooden door creaking slowly, revealing a bed.

And a woman lying on it, back turned. Naked.

A shiver ran down his spine, his breath grew heavy, heart pounding against his ribs, and beyond all that, a wicked voice called him to approach her—that nest of lust and desire. Ignoring his partner, he let curiosity and depravity take over. He lowered his weapon, step by step, now close to the woman’s body, his hand trembling as it reached toward her, while the other held the lantern swaying noisily at his side, its yellow light flickering across the sleeping body.

“Have mercy on me!”

A high-pitched scream came from deeper in the house. The man startled and turned, dropping the lantern to the floor, where it shattered and sparked into flames. He raised his weapon again, spinning around—only to find a man behind him.

Eyes glowing with an inhuman red glint.

A macabre grin stained with blood painted his chin, his neck, his bare chest.

A rustle behind him made his knees weaken with fear; a cold gust of air fed the fire now licking at the wooden floor. He looked over his shoulder and saw you awake—eyes just as luminous as the monster in front of him, thick saliva dripping from your chin.

As he tried to scream, a hand clamped over his mouth—metallic blood flooded his tongue.

A tear welled up in his eye.

The vampire’s voice in front of him rasped out, bestial and raw:

“Shhhh… Shhhh… Don’t cry now. Didn’t your mother teach you it’s wrong to mess with someone else’s woman?”

And he laughed—demonic—gripping the man’s throat, nearly choking him, as you remained behind, salivating for the living blood pulsing through his arteries. Remmick looked at you from the side, tilting his head, his voice undulating between the three of you like a serpent shaking its venom:

“Darling, your wife was delicious! I hope you taste just as good for my wife!”

The man screamed with all the air in his lungs, while Remmick offered him up like an animal for ritual slaughter—offering him to you. And you took him from behind, draining him with the ease of mortality—no pity, no hesitation.

Remmick watched you with affection and admiration, something growing inside him with the euphoric pleasure of a successful hunt. When you finished draining the man, his corpse now at your feet, he held out his hand to you.

You took it, letting him lead you out of that room to the front of the house, where the open door allowed the silvery light to touch your naked body, your face covered in scarlet—just like his. Remmick cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with his soul reflected in your eyes:

“My girl, how do you feel?”

“Perfect. Just a little… overwhelmed. I think it’s the thrill of the hunt.”

“Good—” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a wet, filthy kiss—saliva and blood, soft tongue brushing pearly teeth. When he pulled away, a string of bloody spit still connected your mouths.

“—'Cause now, you’ll let me take care of you, darlin’. The way you deserve.”

You felt him penetrate you through the soul, his hands pulling you close into the kiss of the dead upon your lips, speaking to you through your minds:

‘—Let me take care of you, darling, let me take care of you, let me show you how good I can be for you…—’

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: maybe it deviated a little from the initial concept of the request (idk), but this one was by far one of the fanfics with Remmy that i enjoyed writing the most, it's side-by-side with my fanfic involving priests, religion, Christian guilt, vampirism, remmick and other little things…

#[★] zstartrixxx #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick fanfic #remmick sinners #remmick #[⋆♱⋆] zstar fanfics #jack o'connell fanfic #remmick × you #remmick × reader #[R] zstar fanfic request #[🦇] zstar jack o'connell #Spotify

215 notes · View notes