startseeingstars

[startseeingstars]

if it's good enough for you, then it deserves to be made. don't let anyone else decide if your story is worth it or not.

[startseeingstars]

I v drunk and miss Rory :c

[startseeingstars]

10 people id like to get to know better.

thankyou @chainsawgvtsfvck for the tag 🥹💞

Last Song: True Lovers - Holy Holy 🎶

Last book: King of Greed - Ana Huang (⭐️⭐️⭐️) currently on King of Sloth - Ana Huang

Last movie: Paranormal Activity 7 👻

Last TV show: RuPauls Drag Race All Stars

Last thing I googled: home remedies for nose piercing bump 😩 (my new piercing hates me)

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: my men and women? Sweet and spicy. My food? Savoury

Favourite colour: black or purple or pink I can’t choose 🥺

Current obsession: Fourth Wing, Rory Culkin (always) and the way my son just learned to say ‘moo’ 🐮

Looking forward to: tonight! I’m going to Trixie Mattel’s Solid Pink Disco. And then this weekend my bestie and I have our ‘friendaversary’ in a hotel room where we plan on drinking cocktails, eating good food and watching chick flicks in our pjs. 🥹

No pressure tags!: @blackdollette

[startseeingstars]

Clay Roach story is completed! Sorry it took so long to finish the last few chapters. I’ve been busy writing an original book ☺️❤️

I have Clyde and Marcus stories in the works and will be posting them soon! 🥰

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH23 🎶 Raw - Thornhill 🎶

TW - smut

Clay emerged from the shower, steam still curling off his skin and little droplets falling against his bare shoulders as he entered the bedroom. It was dark, but there was a warm, comforting glow and his eyes were immediately drawn to the bed.

Specifically, to you—in a sheer black chemise that accentuated your figure perfectly. Your breasts were practically spilling out of the skimpy fabric, and he suddenly realised his mouth had gone dry.

You looked up at him with a soft gaze, heat blushing your chest and neck as anticipation and anxiousness mingled together in your stomach. Clay raised an eyebrow, and the licked his chapped lips before the corner of his mouth turned upwards.

“My birthday isn’t for a couple months, babydoll.” He tossed the towel aside and you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before repositioning yourself on all fours.

“I just thought our first time could be special.” You admitted shyly, trying to hold his gaze confidently, even as your heart hammered in your chest.

If felt silly—you’d done everything but fuck, so it seemed so insignificant, but to you—it meant everything. It meant finally giving yourself completely to another man. To Clay. Not just your body, but your heart and soul.

You crawled forward and met him at the end of the bed, where he dipped down slightly and took your face gently in his hands. His stormy eyes were a mixture of lust, adoration and something deeper that made your heart skip a beat.

“You don’t have to do this, baby.” Clay’s heart clenched, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the possibility that he could finally have you—finally call you his—or if it was because he was afraid you’d change your mind again. If you did, he would respect it, as always—but he couldn’t deny that each time it happened, it ripped him up inside, even if he knew it had nothing to do with him.

“I want to,” You whispered against his lips, pulling him in just enough that he caught the scent of your intoxicating perfume. “I want you to take me,” you continued softly, taking his hand from your face and kissing his palm, his wrist. Then, you placed it on your chest, right above your heart.

Clay almost shuddered at the contact—at how fast and hard it was beating beneath the palm of his hand. It made his own pulse flutter. “Take all of me Clay,” your voice was shaky with unspoken emotion, and his eyes flicked back to yours. “I’m yours. All yours.” You breathed, and he couldn’t resist you any longer.

Those words—your shimmering eyes—it unleashed something within him that he didn’t even know existed. His lips crushed into yours, stealing your breath. Clay moved forward, pressing you gently against the mattress as his tongue licked your lips and begged for entrance. You complied happily, warm anticipation pooling deep in your stomach.

Clay’s hand skimmed over your body carefully, caressing each curve over the fabric of your skimpy outfit, appreciating it as his cock hardened. He loved touching you, feeling you beneath him—it was intoxicating in all the right ways, and he was addicted. Even months in, he could barely go a day without caving to the cravings that only you and your body could satisfy.

His mouth trailed down your body, kissing and sucking, leaving you a puddle as he worshipped you. Finally, he reached your stomach, and then your core. His gaze met yours as you glanced down, and the dark lust filling his eyes spread a shiver through you. You needed him, but you knew he’d tease you first—he always did. The bastard loved to watch you squirm, whimper and beg him to let you cum. You loved it, too, even if it was frustrating in the heat of the moment.

Teeth grazed the flesh of your thigh as he tugged the panties down, and you swore you heard him growl a little when he saw your pussy. Glistening and already so wet for him. He’d barely done anything, but you were always so willing and eager. It definitely inflated his ego, and he loved it.

In a swift movement, the panties were gone, but when Clay hovered over you, confusion swept over you for a moment. His eyes glinted darkly, and he commanded, “Open,”

You obeyed, opening your mouth as he stuffed the fabric inside of your mouth. You hated the feel of the fabric on your wet tongue, but the notion was so hot that it didn’t matter. Your eyes were wide with surprise, and the sight made Clay’s cock twitch as he returned his face to your core.

Clay’s nose brushed against your clit as he inhaled your scent. A second later, his tongue plunged as deep inside your pussy as it could go. Your muffled moans filled the room and it took everything in him not to grin while he tongue fucked you the way you loved.

Clay lapped at your core like a man starved, groaning in pleasure and sending little vibrations through you. Your hips grinded against him, bucking desperately for more friction, but he denied you, pulling away.

He spat on your pussy, and a dark chuckle escaped him as he sat up, taking in the sight of your needy cunt as you squirmed, already so close to cumming for him.

Precum drenched the tip of his cock as he pulled it out of his boxers, and your beautiful eyes glazed over at the sight. He knew you wanted a taste, but he needed to feel your pussy stretch around his cock—finally fuck you so deep into oblivion that neither of you would be able to think straight for days.

He sat up, removing the damp fabric from your mouth as you inhaled deeply.

His eyes softened slightly as he took in your face. Your big eyes were half-lidded, and your bottom lip was between your teeth. So fucking beautiful.

He stroked his cock with one hand, and pushed your legs back to your chest with the other. “Ready for me, beautiful?” It took every ounce of control in him to pause and make sure you were okay. Every selfish instinct he had was screaming to ram his cock inside of you and claim you—but he loved you, and no matter how bad he wanted you, he needed you to want him back just as much.

You nodded slowly and rested your hands on his neck. His skin was soft, and a tiny slip of a moan escaped you as he rubbed his cock to your soaked pussy. Finally.

Every ounce of stress and anxiety you’d felt seemed to melt away as your fingers tangled in his hair, and he locked in your gaze. Then, he caved, burying his cock deep into your cunt in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Clay groaned at how tight and warm your pussy felt as he stretched you out. “Mine,” he grunted, easing out slowly as you closed your eyes. That single word sent sparks through your entire body, and your breath hitched.

“Yours, baby,” you whimpered sweetly, right before he slammed back into you again. He was so big, and felt so incredibly good. The ball of heat in your stomach was already expanding, threatening to burst with ecstasy at any moment, but you desperately wanted to hold off.

Clay began to savagely fuck in and out of your tight pussy, groaning and gritting his teeth. You felt too good. He wanted to blow his load inside of you, on your face, down your throat, on your ass, on your tits—fucking everywhere.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathed heavily, staring down at you as you grabbed and kneaded at your tits, putting on a show for him. “Dirty fucking pussy was made for me, huh?” He pounded deep inside you, then held his cock there while he swivelled his hips. Your hands ran up his arms, nails digging into his skin as you moaned little agreements.

“Let me fill up this pretty cunt with my cum,” he commanded, and you nodded, helplessly as he fucked you raw.

His thumb found your clit and you gasped as he circled it gently, teasingly as he fucked his cock in and out of you. “Oh, oh, God—“ you gasped but it was too late to warn him. Cries exploded from you as a soul-shattering orgasm ripped through you and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Your pussy clenching and pulsing around his dick sent Clay over the edge, and he released a tortured groan as his own climax rocked him. Ropes of his thick, hot cum filled your pussy, overwhelming both of your senses.

Clay panted, breathless as he slowly removed himself from you. Instantly, you felt his cum dripping out of you, and he laid beside you, intense eyes unwavering from yours. You reached down, fingering your soaked hole before bringing the fingers to your lips and sucking them clean. Clay let out a shaky, breathless laugh, but the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he enjoyed the little show.

You smiled as his hand held your side and he pulled you closer, burying his face into your neck. He kissed gently, and you sighed contentedly.

“You are like a fucking drug,” he murmured, nipping at your neck, making you giggle.

“I approve of this addiction.” You countered, gasping as he bit harder and began sucking your neck.

“Good, because I’m gonna fuck you so much you’re gonna have to beg me to stop.” He promised and a jolt of heat was sent straight back down to your core.

He pulled back slightly and took your face in his hands, crushing his lips to yours again desperately. You tried to keep up, but you were still so shaky and lightheaded from your first orgasm that you struggled. Clay bit your lip impatiently, and you gasped. “I fucking love you, Myah.”

Warmth spread through you for an entirely different reason, and you met his gaze—those familiar icy eyes, soft with so much emotion. “I love you, too, Clay.”

EPILOGUE: 🎶 Nerv - Thornhill 🎶

You kicked off your shoes at the door, stretching out your sore shoulders as you walked through the small space.

Clay was hunched over the desk, pencil moving in smooth, practiced strokes across the paper. He didn’t look up when you came in, too focused on whatever he was working on, but the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly.

You stepped behind him, ruffling his hair just to annoy him. He grunted, ducking his head, but didn’t swat you away like he used to. “How’s it coming?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

He sighed, tapping his pencil against the edge of the desk. “Professor’s got a hard-on for realism,” he muttered. “And I’m pretty sure I just drew this guy’s nose sideways.”

You hummed, taking in the half-finished sketch—something for his latest art assignment at the community college. You ran your fingers lightly over his forearm, tracing the ink that decorated his skin, your work woven into his like a second story. His sleeve was nearly finished now, a patchwork of meaning and memories. Pieces of his past. Pieces of you.

Clay glanced at your hand, then at your face. He smirked. “Admiring your work, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta appreciate it,” you teased, tapping a finger against the healed ink. “Still think this one’s my favourite.”

“You would,” he said, rolling his eyes, but you didn’t miss the way his smirk softened.

You wandered to the kitchen, grabbing a cold non-alcoholic beer from the fridge. Clay’s voice followed you. “Ma made your favorite for dinner.”

You paused, the can cool in your hand. Something in the casual way he said it made warmth curl in your chest. Three years. Almost to the day. Three years sober, three years learning how to be good to each other. Therapy was less frequent now, but the work never really stopped. The trust, the faith in him—it had been earned, built brick by brick. Even his mother saw the difference this time, and in her own strange way, she had accepted you.

Not just as Clay’s partner, but as family.

You turned back to him, taking a slow sip of your drink. He had stopped sketching, watching you now with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“You good?” he asked, brow raising slightly.

You set the can down and leaned against the counter. “Yeah,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I really am.”

And for once, you weren’t just saying it.

You barely had time to toss your clothes into the laundry basket before you felt Clay’s presence behind you. A shiver ran down your spine as his hands found your hips, his grip firm, possessive.

“C’mon, dollface,” he murmured against your neck, his breath hot, sending goosebumps down your arms. “You didn’t think that little hello out there was the real greeting, did you?”

Before you could respond, he spun you around, pressing you back against the bed with just enough force to make your breath hitch. His dark eyes flicked over you, lingering, hungry. “Been missing you all day,” he admitted, his voice low, rough, like he’d been holding it in since you left that morning.

You were just about to shower, but it could wait. It wasn’t like you needed persuading. Three years in, and you two were still fucking like rabbits—when you could at least. These days, you were both busier.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “Yeah?” you teased, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Clay hummed, eyes darkening as he pushed you onto all fours. His palm ran over the curve of your ass before delivering a sharp slap that made you gasp, heat pooling low in your stomach. “That’s for making me wait,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

You shot him a glance over your shoulder, breathless, daring. “And if I keep teasing you?”

Clay smirked, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your spine before dragging his tongue along your skin. “Then I guess I’ll just have to remind you who you belong to.”

With little warning, Clay ran his tongue along your cunt, and you moaned, sinking into the mattress. He toyed with you in every way he knew you loved, flicking and swirling his tongue like it was second nature.

Every now and then, a sharp sting would pull you out of your little haze, and you whimpered. His tongue suddenly stopped, and you heard and felt him spit on your ass. Clay grunted as he eased his cock into the tight hole, and you groaned, pussy clenching around nothing as you kept relaxed for him.

“So good for me, babydoll.” He gritted out, pumping faster now.

“More,” you demanded, aching to feel more full than you already were.

“Greedy bitch,” he spat, but he complied, reaching down and sinking several fingers into your sopping cunt easily. You cried out in pleasure, feeling Clay’s free hand wrap around your hair and yank your head back.

“Who’s little slut are you?” He growled, tears watering your eyes as you succumbed to his full control.

“Yours,” you choked out, and he tugged your hair again, eliciting another cry.

“Yeah, take my cock so fucking good,” he groaned and you tried moving back into him to match his thrusts. “Good girl,” he praised. You were so unbearably close.

“Please,” you whimpered a cry and Clay’s fingers disappeared from your pussy, sending another hard spank over your ass.

“C’mon, doll, you can last longer, can’t you?” He taunted. “Or does my cock feel to good ruining this fucking tight fucking hole?” His breath was shaky, and you knew he was close too. Bastard.

“Cum in me,” you begged. “Please, Clay—fill me, I need it.” You cried, and he groaned, thrusting into you even harder and deeper than before. Within seconds, his cock was pulsing as he emptied a warm load into you, and your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate as you teetered on the edge of your own climax.

Clay knew—and he shoved his fingers back inside your cunt, curling as he kept his cock buried into your ass to keep you full.

He loved the noises you made as you came, especially on his fingers—there was something about it that he couldn’t resist, and feeling it now as your plush walls swallowed his fingers, he relished in the feeling.

“Fuck.” He laughed hoarsely as he removed himself from you. You collapsed into the bed and he wrapped his arms around you, cradling you like he always did as your bodies recovered. “Never fucking leave me,” he breathed, planting a soft kiss onto your shoulder. You grinned, and giggled slightly.

“Not a chance, trouble. You’re stuck with me.” You assured him.

XXX 🎶 Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood 🎶 XXX

After a quick shower—where Clay couldn’t help but press you against the tiles for a few stolen kisses—you both got dressed and headed across the hall for dinner. His mom’s apartment smelled like roasted garlic and herbs, and the familiar scent made you smile.

As soon as you stepped inside, the sound of tiny feet pattering against the floor filled the space. A small, curly-haired toddler came barreling toward Clay with a wobbling run, her big blue eyes lighting up the second she spotted him.

Clay crouched down, scooping her up with ease. “Hey, trouble,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft curls. She squealed in delight, tiny hands grabbing at his slightly stubbled jaw. “Miss me?”

Indy—short for Indigo, though neither of you ever really used her full name—giggled, patting his cheeks. “Dada!” she chirped, her little voice making your heart swell.

You reached out, smoothing her curls, and she turned to you with the biggest grin, her chubby arms reaching for you next. Clay handed her over with a smirk, watching as Indy nestled against you.

His mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “She’s been waiting by the door for the last ten minutes,” she said dryly, though the fondness in her voice was unmistakable. “Girl’s got her dad wrapped around her little finger.”

Clay scoffed, resting a hand on your lower back. “Yeah, well, I think we all know who she really takes after,” he said, tilting his chin toward you. “Same attitude and everything.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth blooming in your chest. Your family was unconventional, far from perfect, but it was yours. And as you held Indy close, feeling Clay’s gaze on you, you knew—despite everything, despite the struggles, the setbacks, the fights—you wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

And suddenly, you were very grateful you ran out of weed on your first night in the building.

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH22 🎶 Disintegrate - Moodring 🎶

The room was silent except for the sound of your sniffles and the faint hum of the TV in the background. You sat curled up against Clay, your knees drawn to your chest as his arm rested loosely around your shoulders.

You’d really tried to give him all of you. For whatever reason, he could have you in any other way, but when it came to sex, you just… froze.

He hadn’t said anything since you’d pulled away, tears spilling down your cheeks as the weight of it all—Will, Clay, and your own fractured heart—became too much.

You hated this. You hated how complicated it was, how much guilt you felt. You knew it was all in your head. Will would want you to be happy, and move on with your life. Hell, he and Clay would have gotten on like a house on fire. Maybe not at first, but eventually. You just couldn’t seem to break free of the chains holding you back.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, barely able to look at him. “I wanted to, but I just… I couldn’t.”

Clay shifted beside you, leaning back against the couch as he let out a dry laugh. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s what I need. You apologizing for having a soul.”

You glanced at him, surprised, and his eyes met yours, sharp but not unkind. “Seriously,” he added, running a hand through his hair. “You think this is about me being mad or something? Give me a little credit. I’m not that much of a jackass.”

You bit your lip, tears still threatening to spill. “It’s not fair to you. You’ve been through so much, and now I’m dragging you into this mess of mine. You deserve—”

“Stop,” he cut in, his tone firmer this time. He turned to face you, one hand gripping the back of the couch as he spoke. “Don’t give me that ‘you deserve better’ crap. You know what I deserve? A decent cup of coffee for once. To smoke without my Ma lecturing me when she does it herself. Not some fantasy perfect girlfriend who’s got it all figured out.”

You blinked at him, stunned into silence. It was the first time you’d heard him call you that. Girlfriend.

He softened just a bit, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I’m not exactly a prime catch either. I’m a recovering addict with zero life skills. Pretty sure my resume just says, ‘Professional Fuck-Up.’ So maybe… maybe we’re both a little fucked. But I’m not going anywhere.”

His words hit something deep in your chest, and a fresh wave of tears escaped. You tried to wipe them away quickly, but Clay noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered, leaning closer to you. “Don’t cry. I can’t— You know I suck at this emotional support stuff.”

A weak laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Clay seized on it like a lifeline.

“There we go,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s the face I like. Not the whole sobbing mess thing—though, you know, you still somehow make it work. Which is annoying, by the way.”

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him lightly, but your smile lingered.

Clay’s smirk faded into something softer, and he reached out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Listen,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I know it’s not easy. I know you’ve got Will in your head, and… I’m not trying to compete with a dead guy, okay? But you’re not betraying him by being here. You’re allowed to be happy… or whatever the hell I make you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the guilt you’d been carrying for so long threatening to spill over again. “I just… I don’t know how to let go,” you admitted, your voice breaking.

“Then don’t,” Clay said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to forget him. Just… don’t let him keep you stuck. You’re not living in a cemetery, Myah.”

His words hung in the air, raw and honest, and you felt something shift inside you—something fragile, but real.

xxx 🎶 Same Soul - PVRIS 🎶 xxx

You slipped your key into the lock, hesitating for a moment before turning it. Your heart was beating a little too fast, and the bag of gifts in your hand felt heavier than it should have. This wasn’t just another night. You knew that as clearly as the blush spreading across your cheeks.

The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, the familiar scent of Clay’s cologne mingling faintly with the fabric softener you insisted on using. You thought it was sweet — you’d mentioned you like the scent once and he’d begun using it daily.

He was sprawled on the couch, one socked foot propped on the coffee table. His sketchpad rested on his stomach, and a faint smear of graphite stained his fingers. The glow from the TV flickered across his face, but he wasn’t paying attention to whatever was on. His focus was on the page, pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

When he looked up and saw you, his lips tugged into that crooked smirk that always made your stomach flip. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he set the pad aside. “Thought you ran off or something.”

“Just running errands,” you said, holding up the bag as evidence. You felt his eyes lingering on you as you shrugged off your coat, suddenly hyper-aware of how the chill from outside had left your cheeks flushed.

“What, did you miss me?” you said, setting the bag on the counter.

His lips twitched into a half-smile, but he didn’t answer, just shifted to sit up. His sketchpad slipped to the floor, and he barely glanced at it. “What’s with the bag? Steal something?”

“Stuff.” You tried to sound casual, but you felt like your face was giving you away.

Clay arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Stuff, huh? That’s not mysterious.”

You laughed softly, brushing past him and setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. “You’ll see soon enough.”

When you turned back, he was leaning on the armrest, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His hair was messy from running his hands through it, and his jaw had a bit of stubble that he’d probably shave in the morning. Everything about him felt familiar yet electrifying, a contradiction you couldn’t explain.

“You alright? You seem sorta… flustered or something.” He asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” you said, the word coming out a little too quick. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, that’s dangerous.” His crooked half smile tugged at your heart as you watched him run a hand through his growing hair.

You rolled your eyes, but hesitated as your nerves fluttered. About how badly I want you. About how scared I am of letting myself love you. About how tonight, I’m hoping to face both.

“Christmas stuff,” you said instead, forcing a small smile. “Speaking of, I got a gift for your mom.”

Clay blinked, sitting up straighter. “For Ma?”

“Yeah,” you said, pulling out the robe and slippers to show him. “Figured we could say it’s from both of us.”

He stared at the gifts for a moment, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

“I wanted to,” you said, stepping closer. “She deserves it. And so do you.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, something unspoken passing between you. Clay rubbed his jaw for a moment. He hadn’t even thought about getting his mom anything, let alone something thoughtful. “Thanks. She’ll… she’ll love it.”

As you sat down beside him, pulling your legs up under you, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Maybe I am,” you said, leaning back. “Or maybe I’m just full of Christmas spirit.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re full of something alright.”

You felt your chest tighten at the warmth in his voice. For all his sarcasm and sharp edges, there were moments like this, where you caught a glimpse of something softer beneath.

“So, where’s my present?” Clay smirked mischievously and you rolled your eyes.

“Who says you’re getting one? Pretty sure Santa knows what you’ve been up to this year.” You grinned teasingly, poking fun at him.

Clay’s smirk widened as he leaned in, his grip firm but not rough as he pulled you against him. “If anyone’s made Santa’s naughty list this year, it’s you, doll.” He said, his voice low and thick with that suggestive tone that suited him so well.

“Maybe Santa will send me something hard to fill my stocking,” you teased, but had to bite a laugh at the cheesy line.

“Yeah?” His nose brushed yours, his lips so close you could feel the heat of his breath. “Lucky for you, I got something hard right here.” He muttered, before finally closing the distance and kissing you.

His lips were warm, soft despite the roughness of his hands as they slid up your arms. You kissed him back, letting yourself melt into it for a moment before you pulled away, earning a groan of protest.

“Tease,” he grumbled, his hands still on you, holding you in place.

You grinned, stepping back just enough to tease him. “Later,” you said, your voice light and playful. “You’ll have to wait for your present. Patience is a virtue,” you quipped, smoothing your shirt like you weren’t just seconds away from losing all self-control.

“Yeah, well, I’m fresh out,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He watched you for a moment, his gaze softer now, almost nervous. “So… you want your gift now?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You got me something?”

His expression faltered for a split second, like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said anything. “Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Whatever he’d gotten, you could tell it wasn’t just some throwaway gesture. But before you could ask him about it, he was already standing, reaching for your hand with a hesitant glance your way.

Clay led you to the spare room, his hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you inside. “Alright, don’t freak out or anything,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not, like, a big deal or whatever.”

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, immediately hit with the soft glow of candlelight. Your eyes landed on the new shelf mounted on the wall. It was simple but perfect—framed photos of Will, a few small candles flickering underneath, and even a space for the little trinkets and mementos you’d held onto over the years.

Your breath hitched, and you brought a hand to your mouth as tears welled in your eyes. “Clay…”

He stood awkwardly to the side, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the floor. “I, uh… figured you didn’t really have a spot for this stuff. Thought maybe it’d help, y’know? Keeping him close, or whatever.” He shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the heavy moment he’d created.

You turned to him, tears spilling over. “This is… Thank you.”

Clay’s face flushed, and he rubbed at his neck again, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah, well. Don’t get all sappy on me. It’s not like I built the shelf or anything—I just stuck it up there.” He glanced at the photos, then back at you. “I just… I don’t want you to forget him. Or feel like you have to. Will, he… he clearly meant a lot to you.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity in his voice.

“And honestly,” he added, his words a little rushed now, “I’m kinda grateful for the guy. I mean, he looked out for you, right? Kept you safe. Took care of you. And yeah, it sucks he’s not here, but… if he was, I probably wouldn’t have met you.”

You let out a soft, tearful laugh at his awkward delivery, and he gave a weak shrug. “Not saying I’m glad he’s gone or anything, just… you get what I’m trying to say, right?”

When you nodded, Clay exhaled, relieved, then tried to lighten the mood. “Good. ‘Cause I really didn’t wanna explain this whole sentimental crap twice. Not really my thing.”

You wiped at your cheeks, smiling as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Seriously, though,” he added, his tone softening again. “You’re stuck with me, doll. And I’m not about to compete with a dead guy. So… this seemed like the least I could do.”

[startseeingstars]

💋💋💋

From Kate’s IG story x

[startseeingstars]

hi will u continue clay's story

Hi!! Yes I am soooo close to finishing it. I’ll have it posted within the next few days ❤️❤️❤️

[startseeingstars]

I actually can’t deal

From Kate’s IG story x

[startseeingstars]

🥹

From Kate’s IG story x

[startseeingstars]

if you’ve jerked it to my fics— happy valentine’s day. come get ur flowers: 🌹💓💋🪻💞💋🌸💕💋🌺💗💋🌷💖💋🌻💘💋🌼💝💋💐🩷💋🌹💓💋🪻💞💋🌸💕💋🌺💓💋🌷💗💋🌻💖💋🌼💘💋💐💝💋🌹🩷💋🪻💓💋🌸💞💋🌺💕💋🌷💗💋🌻💖💋🌼💘💋💐💝💋🌹🩷💋

[startseeingstars]

I wish I was that lamp.

From Kate’s IG story x

[startseeingstars]

Pookie!

From Kate’s IG story x

[startseeingstars]

The truth of it 🤣

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH21 🎶 Gotta Get Away - The Offspring 🎶

The days that followed were hard. Withdrawal was ugly, and Clay was in the thick of it again—shaking, sweating, pacing the apartment like a restless animal. He’d go through waves of irritation and exhaustion, snapping at nothing and everyone, then collapsing into quiet despair.

You stayed patient, even when it tested every ounce of your resolve. You knew this wasn’t Clay lashing out at you—it was the sickness. The addiction clawing at him, trying to drag him back under.

One particularly rough afternoon, he was pacing the living room, his hands trembling and his breaths shallow. “I can’t sit still,” he muttered, his voice raw and frayed. “I’m crawling out of my fucking skin here.”

You watched him for a moment before an idea sparked. Standing, you crossed the room to grab your sketchpad and a pencil. You flipped to a blank page, sat down at the table, and began to draw.

“What are you doing?” he asked, still pacing, though his steps slowed slightly as his eyes flicked to you.

“Sketching,” you replied simply, not looking up.

“I can see that,” he said, his tone sharp. “Why?”

“Because it helps,” you said, your pencil scratching against the paper. “When my mind’s all over the place or I feel like I can’t focus, this grounds me.”

He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Good for you,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his tone.

“You could try it,” you offered, glancing up at him.

He scoffed. “Yeah, right. I can’t even hold my hands steady, and you want me to draw a damn picture?”

You shrugged, returning your attention to the paper. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just something to get your mind off everything else.”

He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I haven’t drawn anything since… I don’t even know when.”

“Then it’s about time,” you said with a small smile, sliding a spare pencil and another sketchpad across the table toward him.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, reluctantly, he sat down across from you. He picked up the pencil, turning it over in his hands as if it were some foreign object.

“What am I even supposed to draw?” he asked, his voice edged with irritation but also a hint of vulnerability.

“Whatever comes to mind,” you said, your tone gentle. “Doesn’t matter what it looks like.”

Clay grumbled under his breath but pressed the pencil to the paper. His first few strokes were hesitant, shaky, but he kept at it. Meanwhile, you continued sketching beside him, keeping the atmosphere calm and quiet.

After a few minutes, he let out a frustrated sigh and dropped the pencil. “This is stupid,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his sketchpad.

He pulled it back, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s not done.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile.

Reluctantly, he slid the pad over to you. It was rough and unpolished, just a few lines and shapes that didn’t seem to form anything coherent, but you could see the effort in it.

“I like it,” you said, meaning it.

Clay rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not,” you said firmly. “This is a start. And that’s all that matters.”

He looked at you, his jaw tightening, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—determination. It wasn’t much, but it was there, and that was more than you’d seen in a long time.

Slowly, he picked the pencil back up. You smiled softly, returning to your own sketch. Together, the two of you sat there, the silence punctuated only by the sound of pencils on paper. For the first time in days, Clay wasn’t just floating in the current of addiction—he was fighting it. And that promise to try? It wasn’t just words anymore. It was real.

xxx 🎶 All I Wanted - Paramore 🎶 xxx

The therapist’s office was quiet except for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. You sat on the plush chair across from her, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you tried to find the words to explain the storm of thoughts swirling in your head.

Your therapist, Dr. Lange, asked gently. “How have the nightmares been lately?”

You shrugged slightly. “Still getting them,” you sighed, twitching your thumbs as you recalled the one from last night. Clay had heard you from the living room sobbing in your sleep. “They’ve been more emotionally intense than scary.” You admit. You know exactly why— Clay.

“It’s been… complicated,” you continued, your voice tentative. “I thought I had grieved Will, but these sessions have made me realize how much I’ve been carrying all this time. And now, with Clay…” You trailed off, unsure how to articulate the knot in your chest.

Your therapist, Dr. Lange, tilted her head slightly, her expression calm and open. “What about Clay?”

You sighed, leaning back in the chair. “I love him. I do. But I don’t know if I’m ready for what that means. Or if he is. And part of me is terrified that once he’s better, he’ll realize I’m not… enough. Maybe he deserves someone without all this baggage.”

“Why do you feel you aren’t enough?” Dr. Lange asked, her tone gentle but probing.

You hesitated. “Because I can’t fix him. I can support him, but I can’t be the reason he gets better. I’ve learned that much. And I want him to be happy, truly happy, but…” Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard. “I want him to be happy with me. And what if he’s not?”

Dr. Lange nodded, taking a moment before responding. “It sounds like you’re carrying a lot of fear about the future—fear of abandonment, fear of inadequacy. But relationships aren’t about fixing someone or being fixed by them. They’re about mutual growth. What would it look like for you to focus on your growth, separate from Clay’s?”

The question gave you pause. You hadn’t really thought about it like that. “I guess… I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe I’ve been so focused on him that I haven’t given myself enough space to think about what I need, too.”

Dr. Lange nodded again, her expression thoughtful. “It’s okay to have doubts, especially when you’re both navigating such significant challenges. But it’s also important to recognize that love doesn’t have to mean certainty right away. It’s okay to grow into it, to figure it out as you go.”

You mulled over her words, your heart heavy but your mind beginning to clear.

The air in your apartment felt heavier than usual when you walked through the door, almost as if the walls themselves had absorbed your anxiety and were radiating it back at you. Clay was in his usual spot on the couch, sketchpad in hand, pencil gliding across the paper with a kind of absentminded focus. He glanced up when he heard you, his expression softening as he set the pad down.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and warm. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure if that was true. Shrugging off your coat, you moved closer to him, your eyes catching the sketch he’d been working on. It stopped you in your tracks.

It was you. But not just you—every line, every shadow captured something deeper. The softness of your expression, the curve of your lips mid-thought, the way your eyes seemed to hold secrets even you didn’t fully understand.

“Wow,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Clay, this is… beautiful.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his neck. “Yeah, well, I had a good subject.”

You traced the edge of the page with your finger, admiring how much he’d improved in the past few weeks, but the weight in your chest pulled your gaze away. Clay noticed immediately.

“Alright, spill it,” he said, setting the sketchpad aside. His tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious, scanning your face like he was trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. But there was no point in lying—not to him. “My session was… heavy today,” you admitted, sinking onto the couch beside him.

He shifted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah?” he prompted, his voice softer now. “What about?”

“Will,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “And… you.”

His brow furrowed, and his hand instinctively reached for yours. “What about me?” he asked, his tone careful, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

You sighed, running your free hand through your hair. “I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of future I want. What kind of future we could even have. And whether or not you… want to be in it.”

His reaction was immediate—his grip on your hand tightened, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief. “How thick are you?” he asked, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and hurt. “Of course I want you.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the rawness in his tone.

“Don’t you want me?” he asked, the question softer this time, his usual confidence giving way to uncertainty.

You nodded, the movement instinctive, but your mind was spinning. “I do, I just don’t know how to move forward without feeling like I’m betraying Will.” You sighed. “But I do want you, Clay.”

Clay’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was bracing himself. And then, with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken, he leaned closer.

“So prove it,” he said, the words a dare and a plea all at once.

You didn’t hesitate. Your lips crashed against his, and the world seemed to fall away.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was raw, desperate, a battle neither of you wanted to lose. His hands found your face, pulling you closer like he needed you to feel how much he meant this. Your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring yourself as the kiss deepened, every ounce of doubt and fear melting into the fire between you.

The weight of the kiss lingered long after you pulled away, leaving both of you suspended in the silence that followed. Clay’s hands stayed on your face, his touch tender, but his gaze searching, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see. It was a side of him you weren’t used to—unguarded, unfiltered. And it terrified you.

Clay’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at the floor. “You think this is about replacing him?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the pain evident.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I know you’re not him, and that’s… that’s why this is so hard.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability there, the uncertainty. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know how to move forward without feeling like I’m leaving him behind,” you admitted, your voice cracking as tears threatened to spill. “And it’s not fair to you. But every time I let myself start thinking about us — it’s like there’s this part of me screaming that I’m disrespecting his memory, and all the love he poured into me.”

Clay ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You think I don’t get that? You think I don’t have my own voices screaming at me every second of every day? Telling me I’m not good enough for you, that I’ll screw this up, that I’ll drag you down with me?”

His words hit you hard, and you looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time since the conversation had started. The man in front of you wasn’t just battling his addiction—he was battling himself, every single day.

“You don’t drag me down, Clay,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “I thought I’d be alone forever and turn into one of those old ladies you see pushing her cat around in a stroller.”

He scoffed, though there was no malice in it. “Just one?” You rolled your eyes at him and nudged him playfully, feeling the tension lessen slightly.

The weight of his self-doubt pressed on your chest like a vice, and you squeezed his hand tighter. “Seriously, I can’t imagine life without you anymore,” you said firmly, even as a persistent tear finally spilled over. “But I don’t know if I’m ready to give you all of me when there’s still so much of me tied to someone who’s not even here anymore.” Your heart clenched. Even now, admitting aloud that Will wasn’t around anymore pained you.

Clay’s expression softened, though the hurt in his eyes remained. “I’m not asking you to forget him,” he said quietly. “I’m just asking you to let me in.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and you realized that maybe the guilt you felt wasn’t just about Will—it was about being afraid to let yourself be happy again. To let yourself love someone else.

You didn’t respond right away, but when you leaned forward and kissed him again, it wasn’t desperate or frenzied like before. It was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the emotions you couldn’t yet put into words.

Clay kissed you back, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulled you closer. But when you pulled away, resting your forehead against his, he spoke again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you have to meet me halfway.”

You nodded, the tears still falling, but for the first time in a long time, the knot in your chest loosened, just a little.

[startseeingstars]

Maybe it’s Fate - Samuel Lafferty (UTBOH)

CH15

The sharp ring of the phone shattered the quiet of the morning, dragging you out of a deep sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, you were disoriented—uncertain of where you were. Then, the reality settled in, and you realized you were in the cabin, the fire still softly crackling in the corner.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced over at the shelf where the phone sat. Sam, already awake, was sitting up, untangling his limbs from yours in the sheets. His tense posture told you this wasn’t just an ordinary call. He reached for the phone without hesitation, his movements fluid yet cautious.

The seconds stretched out as Sam answered, his voice low and careful as he spoke into the receiver. You couldn’t hear the words on the other end, but his expression softened with every passing moment.

After a few more exchanges, Sam hung up the phone, his gaze meeting yours. You saw the weight lifting from his shoulders, the tension in his jaw fading as he sat back with a deep, almost relieved breath.

“It’s Allen,” Sam said, his voice rough with a mix of exhaustion and relief. “Dan and Ron have been arrested. It’s… it’s safe to come home.” He paused, his eyes softening as he added, “He found Sarah and the kids. They’re safe.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying seemed to lift from your chest. You exhaled slowly, the relief washing over you like a flood. The danger was finally over.

You sat up, your heart still racing with the realization. Sam was safe. The kids were safe. You were safe. You were going home.

“We’re really going back,” you said, the words tasting bittersweet, unsure of how to feel in the moment. You’d spent so much time with Sam in the past few days, working through your fears and guilt, and now it was time to face the consequences of everything that had happened.

Sam nodded, his face a mixture of resolve and hope. “Yeah. We’re going home. Together.”

A quiet smile tugged at your lips. “Together.”

The day passed in a blur as you packed the last of your things, each movement slow and deliberate as if you were savoring the peace you’d found in the isolation of the cabin. Sam moved quietly beside you, just as focused, just as unsure. The road back home felt both comforting and uncertain, the weight of what lay ahead looming over you both.

But as you climbed into the truck and started the drive, the weight of the past few days seemed to settle into the rearview mirror. What mattered now was the future, the safety you both had fought so hard to reclaim.

And as Sam drove, his hand brushing against yours on the seat, you couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, despite everything, you were finally heading toward the life you both deserved.

xxx

Sam killed the engine and turned to you as he pulled into your driveway, his hand still holding yours. The comfort of your presence settled around him, but there was still an unease, a heaviness, that clung to him. It was the same feeling he’d been carrying since everything started unraveling with Brenda’s death, the lies, and the broken promises. But now, the end of it seemed so close.

You both stepped out of the truck, and before you could even reach the front door, Allen was there, his expression raw with relief. His arms opened, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, his breath shaky against your hair. The sense of finality—of survival—flooded through you, but so did the weight of all that had been lost.

After a long moment, he pulled back, looking at you with a sad but grateful smile, before turning to Sam. Without hesitation, Allen pulled him into the same tight embrace. Sam let himself soften in his brother’s arms, finally allowing the emotion to break through the tough exterior he’d been wearing for so long.

Allen stepped back, wiping his eyes quickly before speaking. “I found Sarah. She was at a motel. She—” Allen paused, his eyes clouding as he searched for the right words. “She told Dan and Ron about you being here. That’s how they found you. But, Sam… she knew how dangerous they were, and she left. Took the kids and disappeared.”

A deep, almost pained sigh escaped Sam as his shoulders relaxed a fraction, the tightness in his chest lessening just a little. “She left?” he asked, his voice quiet, unsure.

“Yeah.” Allen’s face was still drawn with grief, but there was an undercurrent of hope. “She’s safe. She’ll agree to a divorce, but… only because she feels like she has to. She wants out of the Lafferty name. And, her condition is that the kids’ last names change. To her maiden name.”

Sam’s heart lightened a little more at that. He had never wanted this life for them—never wanted his kids tied to the name of a family so broken.

“You’re sure?” Sam asked, the question lingering in the air.

“I’m sure,” Allen confirmed. “She’s doing what’s best for them, for herself. She wants out.”

The relief on Sam’s face was undeniable. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was something. It was a step forward.

“I’m glad,” Sam muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

There was a pause, a moment where the weight of everything hung in the air. Then, Allen stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to stay in the cabin for a while,” he said. “Sort things out… figure out how to live again. You two need time, too.”

Sam nodded, grateful for his brother’s understanding, and you could see a quiet gratitude pass between them. Despite everything they had been through, the years of tension, of mistakes, Sam’s family still had its moments of solidarity.

Allen’s figure disappeared as he walked away, heading to his car. You and Sam stood there, side by side, letting the quiet settle over you for a moment. It was hard to truly understand that things were beginning to fall into place—finally, after so much chaos. But as you stood there, looking at Sam, you knew that while the road ahead would be difficult, you were no longer alone. Neither of you were.

“Thank you,” Sam said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “For sticking with me. Through all of it.”

You smiled, offering him a soft touch on his arm. “You don’t have to thank me,” you replied gently. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Sam let out a shaky breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to smile, even if it was faint. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Together.”

And for the first time, it felt like everything would finally be okay.

xxx

It had been a few months since everything started to settle, and Sam had found a peace he hadn’t known in years. The fire of his past convictions had burned out, and he was rebuilding—slowly, carefully. His extremist views had faded, leaving behind a man who had come back to his roots, back to the faith that had once grounded him before everything became so complicated.

When he returned from dropping the kids off at Sarah’s, it was one of those rare moments of quiet that Sam truly savored. There were still challenges ahead—Sarah had agreed to share custody of the children, but it had been a long road to get there. She hadn’t made it easy, and though she’d never say it, Sam could feel the weight of her bitterness whenever their paths crossed. Still, seeing how the kids adored you—the way they lit up when they talked about you, the way Jenny had taken to baking your cookies—it softened Sarah’s stance, just enough for her to give in for their sake. Sam respected that, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Walking into the house, Sam immediately felt the shift in atmosphere. It wasn’t just that the house was tidy—it was the comfort of knowing you were there, a constant, steady presence that he was beginning to lean on more and more. As he stepped inside, he saw you finishing up a few last touches, straightening up the cushions on the couch. Your warm smile greeted him as always, and in a way, it felt like home again.

“I thought you’d be getting some rest after the drive,” you said with a playful tone, walking over to him. You held out a warm cookie, fresh from the batch Jenny had made earlier, and Sam couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“Is this a test of my willpower?” he teased, taking the cookie with a grateful smile.

You shrugged, your eyes sparkling. “Not at all. I just figured you could use something sweet after dealing with Sarah. And I have to admit, Jenny’s version of my recipe is… actually better.”

Sam chuckled, taking a bite. His eyes lit up as he chewed, the taste reminding him of simpler times, of comfort and warmth—things he hadn’t allowed himself to fully enjoy in so long.

“She did a great job,” he said, his voice soft with a mix of pride and amusement. “You’re going to have to teach her more recipes. She’s got a natural knack for it.”

You smiled, leaning against the counter as you watched him. “I’d be happy to,” you replied, a hint of sincerity behind your words.

Sam took another bite of the cookie, looking over at you. The past had left its scars, and there were still plenty of challenges ahead, but standing there with you, something felt right. His gaze softened as he set the cookie down on the table and stepped closer to you.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “For everything. For being here. For… being you.” He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear gently as he looked at you, eyes full of adoration.

You blushed slightly, the warmth of his words filling the space between you. “It’s nothing,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’re in this together, remember?”

He smiled at that, taking a deep breath, as though finally letting go of a burden he’d been carrying for too long.

“Together,” Sam echoed, his voice filled with quiet resolve.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sam allowed himself to believe in the possibility of a future—a future built not on the weight of his past mistakes, but on the steady foundation of those around him. And in that moment, he knew that no matter what came next, as long as he had you by his side, everything would be okay.

As you got ready for bed, you checked your calendar and realised your period was a few days late. Suddenly, your stomach twisted, and you glanced at Sam. He was buttoning up his pyjama shirt, the glow of the bedside lamps filling the room with a warmth you had only come to see with his presence.

You shook your head slightly. The idea that you could be pregnant was absurd. You’d made your peace that you’d never have children - and you were okay with that. Now, with Sam, you’d taken on three, even if it was a step parent role.

Still, a gnawing doubt tugged at you, and you wandered into your bathroom, silently digging through your cupboard for a spare test.

As you pulled the box out, the memory of Brenda discovering she was pregnant flooded your mind. Your heart clenched tightly at the joyful memory. She was such a wonderful mother. One you could only aspire to be to Sam’s children.

You struggled to push away thoughts of her as you took the test. As you sat waiting for the results, you wished deeply that she had been there with you. Almost as if she heard you, the box fell off the counter. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you giggled softly to yourself. Maybe you were imagining it, but suddenly, you could feel her warm presence. It gave you the slightest bit of comfort as you took a deep breath and turned over the test to reveal the results.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed as you walked out. His eyes shot up to yours, curiosity written in his face. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.” His voice was calm, but you could hear the edge of worry through it.

You blinked at him, still in shock. He stood quickly, taking your face in his hands. His heart began to race as he felt the wet tears on your cheek, and finally he saw the redness of your eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Your lips trembled as you looked up at him. “I-I’m pregnant.” The words barely came out a whisper, and Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t that.

Suddenly, a huge grin plastered across his face and he laughed in disbelief. He pulled you into him, holding you tightly as your arms wrapped around him to steady yourself.

“This is amazing,” Sam breathed out, and felt your own pulse begin to calm.

“Really?” You whispered, almost uncertain. But Sam nodded, leading you over to the edge of the bed. You sat and watched as he pulled something from his bedside table.

His eyes darted to yours and he took a deep breath. “I’ve been waiting to find the perfect time to do this. I know everything is still being worked out, and there’s a long way to go, but Nora,” He paused, kneeling before you on one knee as your eyes widened. Your pulse quickened again and the air got caught in your throat.

“I love you more than anything. I have since the day we met. I want to make up for all the time we lost. I want to give you everything your heart desires. Be the man you need me to be, and more. I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life dedicated to you and our family. I only want forever with you, Angel.” His voice was certain, and though he stumbled slightly through his words, you saw him then—the Sam you’d met years ago—the one you’d dreamed would come back to you, and here he was.

“I should have asked you this years ago, but, Nora … will you marry me?” His eyes met yours, wide and almost desperate. You didn’t even bother to look at the ring he was holding out. You simply nodded, feeling tears well in your eyes as he grinned with relief.

You sank to your knees in front of him and embraced his warmth, clinging to him like you’d dreamt of for years, but he was there—he was real. He’d come back to you and for a moment, you found yourself thanking God.

“I love you,” you sobbed and he laughed slightly, pulling back to wipe away your tears. He had a few of his own, and you wiped them gently away with your thumb before pressing your mouth to his.

Sam’s heart had never felt so full. Things may not have been picture perfect, but everything felt perfect in that moment, like this was where he was supposed to be all along.

EPILOGUE:

The baby’s cries woke you, and you stirred from your restless sleep. Before you could even sit up, Sam was heading out the door to tend to her.

Your heart swelled, and you smiled as you heard him in the room next door, cooing and lulling your baby girl back to sleep. Before long, he returned, climbing back into bed beside you.

“Is Bee okay?” You murmured sleepily, and Sam nodded.

“She’d spat out her pacifier.” He explained, pulling the sheet back over himself as he nestled in close to you.

“You don’t have to get up every time, love.” A tinge of guilt clouded your gratefulness. Sam had been so supportive and hands on since you’d given birth two months ago. Bee—short for Brenda, had become the light of your life, and you were excited to honour your best friend’s memory by being the best mother you could possibly be.

“I know, but you need rest. Besides, it eases my conscience,” He sighed as he laid down, facing you. You stroked his face gently as he continued. “Sarah did everything with the other kids alone. And while I can’t make it up to her, I can make sure you don’t experience that same neglect.” His words were warm, and your heart squeezed at his thoughtfulness.

“I love you. You’re an amazing Dad, and an incredible fiancé.” You assured him, and he offered you a small smile.

“You’ll always have the best of me.” He whispered before pecking your nose softly. His hands wandered beneath the warmth of the sheets and his fingers rested on your bare hip. He pulled you closer and you rested your hand on his chest, his warmth and heartbeat pulsing beneath.

“Do you think God brought us back together?” You asked quietly. He inhaled, then met your tired gaze.

“Maybe it was fate.” He smiles, nuzzling his nose gently against yours. His lips connected with yours and he held your hand over his heart, as if handing it to you. “Either way, we were made for each other. Now, go back to sleep, Angel.” He whispered gently against your lips. Too exhausted to fight, you sighed and closed your eyes, taking in his familiar scent and letting it soothe you.

He was right. Whatever it was—God, the universe, some other reason—it didn’t matter. This is where you belonged. Where he belonged. This was fate.

[startseeingstars]

Maybe It’s Fate - Samuel Lafferty (UTBOH)

CH14

Soft warmth peppered your skin until your inhaled deeply, stretching out your aching body. Sam’s sweet kisses on your shoulder and back had been the perfect way to rouse you from your deep sleep. You felt his hand on your waist, squeezing lightly as he pulled your ass back to graze the hardness of his cock.

“Mmm,” you smiled and pushed back into him and wriggled your hips slightly. “Good morning,”

“Very good morning, Angel.” He murmured, voice filled with husk from sleep. “I dreamt of you again,” he muttered, pulling you closer as his lips planted kisses against your neck. “You didn’t disappear,” He whispered.

You rolled over, pushing back on his chest lightly as you sat up. “I’ll never disappear,” you reassured him gently.

Effortlessly, you swung a leg over his waist, and his eyes flashed with surprise for a moment before deepening to something darker—lust.

You leaned forward, pressing a long, soft kiss to his lips. It was passionate and fiery, but slow—perfect as you awoke from your sleepy state. It sent chills through you as Sam’s hands roamed your skin. You craved their warmth, not only for the cool air that nipped at your exposed skin, but for the feeling of his palms against you, claiming you.

You straightened slowly, maintaining his hazy dreamlike gaze as you reached behind you. He was hard, but you grinned at the realisation he could be harder. And you wanted to feel him spring to life inside of you.

Your core already wet, you pressed back onto the head of his cock as he stretched and placed both hands behind his head.

A little moan escaped your lips as you coated him in your own slick, and he smirked. “I’m not even inside you yet, Angel.” The teasing in his voice sends a thrill through you.

You wiggle your way down onto him, just taking the head of his cock inside your aching pussy. He inhales deeply through his nose at the feeling, and a smile dances across your lips. Suddenly, you slam your ass down—taking all of him in one swift movement. Sam growls and a small dark smile curves his lips.

You can immediately feel his cock hardening and growing bigger inside of you. As you swivel yours hips and bounce lightly, he lets our little groans that sound like heaven to your ears. His cock is filling you up, and fuck, it feels so good.

Sam reached out with both big hands, cupping your breasts and rubbing his thumbs over each of your perky little nipples as you pleasured yourself on his girthy cock.

“Feels good, Angel?” He raised an eyebrow, before licking both his thumbs and returning them to your sensitive nubs.

You shuddered at the contact and nodded. “Y-yes,” He pinched your nipples roughly and you yelped, staring down at him in surprise—only to be met with a glint of dark excitement in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Angel. Did that hurt?” His voice was taunting, but it was so fucking sexy. You'd never seen this side to him, but it was so captivating, sending jolts of warmth to your core. You nodded at his question, nipples still stinging from the harsh pinch.

He leaned up, soothing them with his tongue. It swirled and flicked over them as you adjusted to the new angle of his cock. You rocked your hips, grinding and enjoying the new friction his new position offered your clit. He moaned into your breast before trailing his hot mouth up your chest, to the crook of your neck where he began licking and sucking.

Pressure and heat were building rapidly in your lower stomach, and you knew you were close. Sam reached around with one hand to cup your ass and guided your pussy into a faster, harder rhythm along his cock. He grunted and his chest began rising and falling faster. He was close, too.

“You are so fucking perfect,” he gritted out in a husky voice.

Oh, fuck. You craved the feeling of him pulsing and sputtering his hot cum inside of you again—needed it like you needed air.

“Fill me up, Sam.” Your voice was pleading—pathetically so, and his grip on your ass tightened.

“It’s all yours, Angel.” He panted, and your core tightened around him desperately as your whimpered. Light danced across your vision as pleasure enveloped you from all sides.

“Every. Last. Drop.” Sam grunted before he let out a guttural moan and bucked beneath you. His cock spasmed out of time with your throbbing cunt as you both rode out your orgasms, intensifying the high as he filled you with his hot cum.

You shuddered and relaxed against him. Instinctively, his hands roamed your back gently and he rubbed small circles into your skin as you came down from the clouds.

You pressed a long, sweet kiss into his neck and he smiled. “I love you so much.” You whispered.

Sam squeezed you tighter to him, like he never wanted to let you go. “I’d say something sweeter than ‘I love you, too’, but I think you drained all the brain function out of me.” He laughed and you giggled.

The rest of the day was filled with games, and an absurd, ungodly amount of fucking.

Sam took you in front of the roaring fire while the heat nipped at your skin, ate your pussy on the kitchen counter—which delayed lunch, but neither of you cared. But your favourite was outside, when you’d gone out there to gather more firewood together.

He just couldn’t help himself, and even bundled up, he could see the curves of your figure beneath the fabrics. He needed you—then and there. And he took you for himself, right against the tree. He had been scared that your face would get scratched up from the bark of the tree, so he’d cupped your face as he fucked you from behind—unlocking yet another dark desire within him. You got so wet when he was rough with you, eagerly meeting his thrusts with your own, like you were made especially for him.

You came all over his cock, and the feeling alone sent him spiralling into his own release. Even then, he fucked into you another couple of thrusts, just because he could. Though, when he pulled out and saw red tinging his cock, all traces of lust were replaced with guilt.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice trembled and you shook your head slightly, adjusting your clothes. “Nora,” his voice panicked and he cupped your face gently, meeting your gaze with wide eyes. “Did I hurt you?” He repeated and you sighed.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m just sore. We’ve had more sex in the past 24 hours than I’ve had in the last decade.” You laughed and Sam seemed to ease slightly, but not enough.

“Besides,” you started, wrapping your arms around his neck as you grazed his long nose against yours. “I think I like it when you’re rough with me.” You assured him in a sweet whisper. The words soothed him, but somehow breathed life back into his already spent cock.

“I don’t think heaven could get better than this.” He whispered huskily, groping your ass roughly as you gasped.

“Samuel,” you shoved him off of you teasingly and giggled.

This side of him wasn’t something you expected, but it certainly wasn’t something you ever wanted to disappear. He was so… comfortable. And it meant a lot to you that he felt comfortable enough with you to unleash his darker side.

The way his eyes shimmered when he was worried he had actually hurt you, told you all you needed to know. He loved you, and would never truly hurt you. This was all in the name of pleasure, and sometimes, pleasure could be pain.

This was the only kind of pain you welcomed from him. Delicious, sinfully hot, and sweet.