#Either way... What's once there it's always there

[ventismacchiato]

17 stuck with you — jealousy jealousy !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

content warning: oblivious idiots

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT: YOUR POINT OF VIEW

When you and the others returned from the island, you walked into the dorms to find everyone either drunk or in the process of getting there. When Yae asked what everyone wanted for catering, the unanimous answer was alcohol—until Jean reminded them they’d need food too.

You’d had a drink or two and were playing a halfhearted game of cards on the floor with Venti and Aether. Nobody seemed interested in going to bed. Getting drunk was the perfect way to forget the stress of the show.

Scara sat near the door, absentmindedly pulling out blocks in the game of Jenga Fischl had set up beside him. The atmosphere was surprisingly calm…for now.

Then Mona stood up from where she’d been teaching Yoimiya how to make a drink and plopped down next to Scara. He didn’t look too thrilled by the move.

“So, Kuni?” she slurred.

You froze at the name. Scara had made it clear that nobody but you called him that.

“Don’t call me that,” Scara muttered, his voice flat.

“Aww, why not? I thought I meant more than that,” Mona teased, clearly influenced by the alcohol.

“Can you go bother someone else?” Scara shot back.

“Don’t be like that!” Mona huffed, nudging him with her shoulder. “Want a massage? You used to love my massages.” She said the last part while looking directly at you, her hand casually caressing Scara’s shoulder. You quickly looked away, trying not to make it obvious that you were listening.

Scara removed her hand from his shoulder, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Mona didn’t let it go.

“Why won’t you just pay attention to me?” she whined, leaning closer.

“Can you not?” Scara finally turned to face her, his voice sharp. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

At this point, the whole room was trying to act like they weren’t paying attention, but it was clear they were all watching

“I just wanted to talk—” Mona began, but Scara interrupted her.

“I mean, what are you doing on this island?”

“I came to win you over,” Mona said, as though the answer was obvious.

“You’re the one who broke up with me,” Scara huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Mona took a long swig from her drink, unfazed.

“I didn’t want to,” she sighed, her voice thick with alcohol. “I would’ve stuck it out if your mom hadn’t… well…”

You felt a flush of heat spread across your face at the mention of Scara’s mother. You weren’t the only one who noticed; Childe, Aether, and Kazuha exchanged glances, each looking more uncomfortable by the second.

Scara grabbed Mona’s glass from her hand, his fingers tight around it. “You should shut up.”

Mona, however, was too far gone to be deterred.

“How could I not take the contract? You know how bad my old management was. I had no choice. It was either that or you. You know how it is.”

It was only when she noticed the entire room was staring at her that a little sobriety seemed to return. She clamped her palm over her mouth and stared at Scara, wide-eyed.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to say that,” she mumbled, her voice the most sincere it had been all night.

Scara didn’t answer. He just stared at the ground, his face unreadable, while Mona rambled her apology. The rest of the room shifted awkwardly, unsure if they should intervene or just let it pass. You could feel your heart race, had that been the real reason for their breakup? You had always thought Scara had ended things on his own terms. 

Mona reached out for him, but Scara stood up abruptly, stepping over the scattered Jenga blocks on the floor as he moved toward the door. It creaked open, letting in a cold gust of night air before slamming shut behind him.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then, Mona stood, swaying slightly, and started after him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Kazuha murmured, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the door shutting once again.

“Did you guys know about all that?” Venti asked, turning to Aether.

“Since it’s out in the open, yeah,” Aether sighed.

“We need to stop giving her drinks,” Lumine muttered under her breath.

“I’m kind of worried about Mona going after him,” Childe said, rising from his seat to peer out the window. “Knowing Scara, he might drown himself… or her.”

“I’ll go be a witness to the murder then,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Childe gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you made your way out the door.

You didn’t know why you felt the sudden urge to follow him. It had always been about trying to surpass him before. But tonight…tonight you just wanted to catch up to him. To be equals.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

The bench is cold beneath him and the sea breeze is a sharp slap against his face as he stares out at the crashing waves. It’s quiet but it does little to distract him from the turmoil in his chest. His fingers curl around the cigarette, the thin paper already loose from where he pocketed it earlier. He twirls it between his fingers absently, trying to focus on the motions instead of his thoughts.

The urge to light it is almost unbearable. He can almost feel the familiar ache, the way the smoke would crawl its way down his lungs and quiet everything inside him. It would help him forget. At least for a little while. 

But he promised he wouldn’t. 

Your words echo in his head like a soft, repeated prayer, something that clings to him even when he’s alone. He knows if he takes that drag, it’s one more step back from everything he's trying to hold onto. One more thing he’ll have to explain to you, and he can’t stomach that right now.

So instead, he flicks the cigarette into the sand, watching it settle there like a tiny, forgotten thing, and then turns his gaze back to the sea. His breath hitches in his chest. If it isn’t the lack of nicotine that’s bothering him, it’s something else. Something sharper, older.

Something that happened more than a year ago. 

Mona’s slurred words made the memory hit him with the force of a slap. It wasn’t her betrayal that stung, not really. He knew the two of them were never that serious. But it was the fact that she had chosen his mother over him. The fact that his own mother had paid her off like it was nothing. 

Mona had once been sweet back when they first met. Her determination to be an idol had reminded him of you in a way. Maybe he was just searching for a piece of you in anyone he could find. 

“Scara?”

He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s her. He can smell the alcohol before he hears the soft, slurred voice, and when he finally looks up, there she is, weaving on unsteady feet, her hair tangled around her shoulders, eyes glazed.

She’s drunk.

God, what a fucking mess.

“I—uh—can I sit?” She hiccups, and despite himself, he shifts slightly to make room on the bench, the muscles in his back tense, coiled, but his body obeys the unspoken politeness he’d long been taught.

Mona doesn’t wait for a response. She just slumps beside him, her hands gripping her knees like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says after a long silence, the words coming out in a rush, broken by more hiccups. “I didn’t mean to say it to everyone. I swear, I didn’t. I was just—I was just trying to make you… jealous, or something.”

Scara doesn’t say anything. He can already feel his patience wearing thin, his hand tightening into a fist. He knows where this is going.

“You know how I get when I drink,” she continues, her voice small, vulnerable in a way that makes his gut twist. She leans into him, her breath warm and sour with alcohol. “I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I thought... maybe it’d make you care more. Maybe it’d make you feel something for once, you know?”

He stares ahead, trying to focus on the horizon, trying to avoid the heat of her body next to his, the smell of liquor clinging to her like a second skin. She’s slurring more now, and with every word, the tension in his chest grows heavier, pressing down until he’s almost suffocating.

He can feel her swaying beside him, her body suddenly lurching forward as she clutches her stomach. He reaches out instinctively, used to her being like this, his hand awkwardly rubbing her back just to keep her from falling over. She feels so fragile in his touch, but that fragility doesn’t excuse the way she’s always tried to pull him back into her drama.

She leans in, too close again, her words spilling out in a rush like she's been holding them back for too long.

“You know...” she starts, her eyes dark and unfocused. “I only started acting out because you wouldn’t pay me any attention anymore. You were always complaining about YN. Always.”

She lets out a short, frustrated laugh, and then hiccups, her face flushing. “I know it wasn’t love, Scara. I’m not stupid. It was just a stupid distraction wasn’t it, from whatever you felt for them.”

He looks over at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Even if you didn’t realize it back then, I did. Even if all we had was physical you can’t deny it worked. We were good at that. So yeah, I got a little carried away. But if you hadn’t been so busy chasing them around, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

He can’t even find it in himself to deny it. After he had started dating her you’d started avoiding him for one reason or another. Maybe you thought everyone would get the wrong idea.

But it killed him. 

“That doesn’t mean you can just run off and take the first offer my mom gives to you,” he snaps, his tone cutting. “If you really didn’t like the way I treated you that badly, you could’ve left. You could’ve walked away. No one was holding you here.”

He shakes his head, frustrated they were having this talk now of all time, “But you didn’t, did you? You stayed. Because you knew being with me—even if it wasn’t love—would give you the eyes on you that you wanted so damn badly.”

“You’re right,” she admits, the words coming out quietly. “ But I didn’t know what else to do. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”

Scara scoffs at that. 

“It didn’t look like it. All I saw was someone who was more interested in being the center of attention than me,” He shakes his head, turning his back to her for a moment. Honestly, he could keep going. But they were only having this conversation because she was drunk. There was no point, he was over it. 

He exhales sharply, his tone flat when he speaks again, as if he’s just given up.

"Yeah, okay," Scara mutters, voice distant. "It's fine. It’s not like you’ll even remember this tomorrow, anyway.”

It’s the only thing he says, just to make the whole thing stop. He knows she’s looking for something else. An apology, maybe, or some kind of validation. But he’s too fucking tired to give her that now. And it’s not like he’s going to receive one.

"Really?" Her voice rises in a way that makes him want to shove her away. "You're fine with it?"

He doesn’t respond, though now he’s just waiting for her to puke all over him. The sound of the ocean lapping against the shore is the only thing filling the silence, until she’s leaning in closer, her breath hot on his ear, her face too close.

“You know,” she whispers, her words slurred and soft, “I wouldn't mind going back to what we had. Just for a night.”

Before he can stop her, she’s pressing her lips to his, soft and insistent, her body leaning into his as though this is what she’s been waiting for all along. Her mouth is warm, her hands finding their way to his chest, and for a moment, Scara’s heart stops. 

Not because he wants it, but because he doesn’t.

He’s frozen, a quiet alarm ringing in his head. This isn’t real. This isn’t what he wants. Not from her. 

Even if it was only for a few seconds, the moment stretches too long until he can finally pry her away from him. And when he does finally pull back, his hand is shaking. 

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice tight with something: frustration, anger, confusion, maybe a little bit of pain. “Don’t try to fix this with... that.”

She blinks at him, confused, the haze of alcohol still clouding her eyes. "But... but I thought... we could—"

He stands up abruptly, cutting her off before she can make this worse. "Just... don't." The words hang in the air, heavy with finality.

She looks rather pitiful sitting on the bench like that, and he almost feels bad. Almost.

“You should just go,” he says, his voice flat, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

But then, as he turns to leave, he sees you.

In the distance, walking towards the kitchens, your figure framed by the fading light. Seeing you makes something inside him twist. He starts to wonder why you’d come out soon after he stormed off. The idea of you coming back, walking over to him like you actually care. Just that thought is enough to loosen the tight knot in his chest. He didn’t even realize how much he was holding his breath, waiting for it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine you doing it. He almost expects it, but the longer he stands there, the more he realizes it’s just a fantasy. He watches you for a moment, then his stomach drops when he realizes if you were out there you must’ve walked by him. 

You had seen the kiss.

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

Your feet moved before your brain had a chance to tell you no. It was a strange instinct, one you didn’t quite understand. You’d never been one to comfort Scara. You’d been at odds with him for as long as you could remember, enemies in every sense of the word. 

But after what you’d learned about his mother just the thought of him being alone, struggling with it, gnawed at you. You wanted to check on him. You needed to check on him. 

The island was massive, and Scara wasn’t exactly known for his athleticism, so you figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find him. Still, your mind raced as you walked, trying to come up with something, anything, that would make him feel even a fraction better. What could you say to him that wouldn’t sound patronizing, or worse, awkward? You weren’t even sure you could help him, but you had to try.

And then, there it was.

The beach. The bench. The figure slumped against it. Scara. The cigarette in his hand. You’d found him.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to steady yourself. This wasn’t a time to lose control. But before you could take another step, your eyes caught the familiar outline of someone else. Mona. She was walking toward him, wobbling a little as she approached, and suddenly the moment felt off.

You stopped in your tracks, half hidden by a few tall bushes nearby, your body suddenly rooted in place. You should’ve turned around and gone back to the party. Scara was clearly occupied. He would be okay, right?

But no. Your eyes stayed locked on the two of them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away.

Mona was standing next to him now, her chest heaving slightly from hiccups, and her words were slurred as she spoke. Scara wasn’t saying much, but his hand moved, almost instinctively, it seemed, to rub her back, slow and careful. As if he was...comforting her. You felt your pulse quicken, a strange sense of something building up in your chest, something like a heavy weight pressing down on your ribs.

A normal person would’ve walked away, turned around and walked back to the party, chalking it up to nothing more than two people talking, nothing more than Scara being himself. But you were never normal when it came to Scara. So instead, you stayed rooted in the shadow, just watching like some creep. The words you had rehearsed in your head seemed meaningless now, overshadowed by the confusion swelling inside you. What was happening?

And then, without warning, you saw it.

Mona leaned in, her lips pressing against Scara’s.

The world tilted on its axis. You didn’t even know how to react at first. A cold knot of jealousy, something sharp and unexpected, wrapped around your chest, and you felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. 

Scara, someone you’d considered your mortal enemy, the person you had spent years fighting against, was kissing Mona. She wasn’t even trying to hide it, her hands clinging to his chest. Just the sight was enough to leave you standing there, paralyzed. 

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

It was a mantra you were repeating in your head. But the jealousy gnawed at you in a way you didn’t understand, the sting in your chest a sharp reminder that maybe you cared a lot more than you’d ever let on. You’d always been jealous of Scara throughout the years, that feeling was something familiar. But this was something different. Your stomach is twisting with something you couldn’t name. Something that hurt to acknowledge.

Oh.

Oh.

Without even thinking, you turned away, stepping back into the shadows, your feet felt heavy beneath you. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Or you did, but you couldn’t even voice it. 

Scara was kissing Mona. Your Scara. Your Kuni. And you were standing there, like a fool. 

If you had run after him a bit faster would you be the one he’d be kissing? That wasn’t the problem, though. No. The thing that bothered you the most was the way it made you feel like an outsider. The way it reminded you, in an almost painful way, that you weren’t the one he turned to for comfort. 

That was how it had always been. Always. It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You didn’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you when he was angry, or the way he tried to hide his vulnerabilities. Maybe it was the constant back-and-forth, the challenge. Maybe it was the fact that he was always there, whether it be to hit you with a snarky remark or laugh at you when you fell second to him again. He’d always been there.

But you cared. And that made you want to punch something, or scream, or both. You’d never imagined a day when you would care about Scara in any way other than annoyance, or the irritation of seeing him always one step ahead. 

Suddenly, your feet moved as fast as they could to get you out of there.

The walk from the beach to the kitchens feels like it takes longer than it should. The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. 

You step into the kitchens, the cool air inside a sharp contrast to the warmth of the night outside. The lights are low, casting shadows over the countertops, still littered from the dishes from earlier. A clink of glass catches your attention first, and then a familiar voice. 

“You finally made it in here.”

You stop, looking up until your eyes land on Heizou. His casual smile is the same one he always had, though there's something softer in it tonight, like he’s been waiting. He’s got a glass of water in his hand, and you realize he must’ve been looking for you. He’s the last person you want to see right now, but he doesn’t seem surprised by your presence.

“You didn’t go back to the party,” he continues, setting the glass down on the counter. “I figured you might be hiding in here. You don’t look like you’re in the mood for another drink.”

You’re about to reply, but he catches you off guard by speaking up.

“Are you okay?” 

You pause. It’s a simple question, but for some reason, it feels heavy. Before you even know what’s happening, the words just spill out.

“No, I’m not okay,” you start, your voice a little more brittle than you intended. 

“I just... I just watched him. Scara. I saw him with Mona. It’s like everything I’ve been trying to avoid came crashing down in front of me. I don’t even know what to feel. It’s just... why is everything so complicated? Why does he have to make things so complicated?”

Heizou doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t look at you like you’re insane for spilling everything. He just watches, his calm expression making the chaos in your head even more prominent.

“Is that really what’s bothering you?” he asks softly, the faintest hint of concern in his eyes.

You blink, realizing that you’ve been ranting and completely unaware of how you’ve been projecting everything onto him. Heizou seems to sense it too, because next thing you know, he’s stepping closer, his presence warm and steady as he leans a little into the counter beside you.

“Hey,” he says, his tone gentle. “Come on. You need to relax.”

Before you can protest, Heizou wraps a reassuring arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. He places a hand lightly on your head, urging you to lean into him. You hesitate for a moment before giving in, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His body is a familiar comfort, though you didn’t expect it to be this comforting tonight. In the quiet of the kitchen, you realize how exhausted you are. 

“You know,” Heizou says, his voice quiet but teasing, “I have no chance now, do I?”

You blink, not fully processing his words. “Huh?”

Heizou laughs softly, caressing his hand over your cheek, “Still as oblivious as ever, huh?”

You feel your brow furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Heizou’s fingers brush through your hair gently, like he’s trying to sort through his own thoughts. “It’s him, right?”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your heart beating a little faster. “What? No. I—”

But before you can finish, Heizou cuts you off, a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, I saw you two kiss on the show. The hot tub.” He pauses, studying your face for any shift. “It was... something, wasn’t it?”

You feel your stomach tighten, the thought of the kiss now a distant, uncomfortable memory. “You know that was fake, right?” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”

Heizou’s eyes stay locked on yours for a long moment, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He nods slowly, but there’s a slight edge to his tone. “Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.”

You swallow, the words suddenly feeling sharp. Your chest tightens, and you know you have to say something. You didn’t want to hurt Heizou’s feelings after he came all the way out here. 

“No. It didn’t,” you say, your voice firm but tinged with something that feels more like a lie than you want to admit. “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”

You don’t notice at first, but Heizou’s smile falters just the tiniest bit. “Yeah. Sure,” he says, his voice warmer now, almost wistful. 

He doesn’t say anything else, but the silence between you both stretches out, heavy with unspoken understanding. You feel a little stupid for saying so much, for trying to convince him, or even yourself, that it was all nothing. You knew it was far from nothing.

Heizou finally breaks the tension, grabbing the water bottles he came in for. “Yeah, sure. Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”

You stand there, watching him leave, suddenly realizing you’ve just unloaded more than you intended. But before he walks out the door, Heizou looks back, giving you one last knowing look, then disappears back into the hallway.

You’re still standing there when you hear a soft voice outside the kitchen door.

“Interesting.”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat.

You turn slowly, your breath catching in your throat when you see Scara standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, like he’s been listening the entire time.

For a second, all you can do is stare at him. And then it hits you, the way Heizou’s words must’ve sounded to him. The way you had tried to downplay the kiss. The way you’d tried to convince Heizou that it meant nothing.

Scara raises an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but his eyes were glazed over with something else. “Didn’t mean anything, huh?”

The words stick in your throat, and before you can even try to explain, the hurt in his eyes is enough to make you realize he’s probably already misunderstood.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

Scara barely registered the words Mona was slurring anymore, his thoughts still tangled in knots from everything that had just happened. The sour taste of her lips still lingered. That wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the thought of you seeing him like that. Seeing him with Mona.

He had to get out of there. Fast.

His mind raced as he stormed off, barely even registering where his feet were taking him. His body moved on autopilot, following after you towards the kitchens.

When he reached the door, he paused for a moment, chest tight with a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was a soft clinking sound from inside. The low hum of voices.

And then he heard it.

Heizou. Of course. Scara narrowed his eyes, already annoyed. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.

The door was slightly ajar, and without even thinking, Scara found himself inching closer, the need to know what was going on outweighing the nagging voice in his head telling him to turn around. To leave.

What he saw made his stomach churn in a way he hadn’t expected.

You were standing there, your face softer than he’d ever seen it, as Heizou pulled you into his side. The way your body melted into him like it was second nature to be close to him was unsettling, like something sharp had just slid under his skin.

For a second, Scara froze. His thoughts were clouded with the absurdity of it. You with Heizou? Who didn’t know you like he did? Absurd.

It wasn’t like you owed him an explanation. Yet the sight of you resting against him, affectionate, something Scara hadn’t seen you do with him made him... unseen. Like he didn’t belong in your life at all. The knot in his chest pulled tighter.

His breath caught, and before he could do something stupid he stopped himself. What was he even supposed to say? He wasn’t entitled to anything from you. He wasn’t yours. 

So he stayed outside, watching. Listening. 

He could hear Heizou’s voice, low and teasing, and then yours, soft but firm.

“No. It didn’t,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet kitchen, and Scara’s chest clenched painfully. “You know that was all fake, right? It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”

His heart skipped a beat, the words slicing through the silence like a blade. His stomach churned, and the weight of them hit him harder than any punch. 

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t matter.

But it did.

Scara’s fingers dug into the frame of the door, his knuckles white. The words rang in his ears, repeating over and over. He tried to steady himself, tried to remind himself that it was all a game. The hot tub wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, until it did. 

But hearing you say it, hearing you so casually dismiss the kiss, made him feel like he was choking on something sharp and heavy. It was all fake. He had no right to feel that way.

The worst part was, he didn’t even know what to do with it. With you.

You’d both made it clear from the start that this wasn’t supposed to be anything. A show, a performance. The kiss was meaningless. Just another part of the script. He didn’t expect anything different. But hearing you say it so coldly and without any hesitation made something in him snap. 

Before he could take a step back, Heizou’s voice drifted through the door again, a quiet laugh in his tone. “Yeah, sure.”

Scara could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.” The burgundy haired nuisance continued. 

Scara's breath hitched, his chest tightening even further as he leaned in closer to the door, his pulse quickening. He felt an uncontrollable wave of frustration crashing through him. He could feel the words hitting him, one after the other, like Heizou’s voice was a punch to the gut. But worse was the feeling that came with it. The one that told him Heizou was right. That it had meant something. That he had somehow allowed himself to believe that the kiss between you and him had meant something beyond a simple game. He hadn’t realized how stupid you were making him. 

But then your voice came through, clear and harsh, “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”

Scara’s fingers trembled at the doorframe. The knot in his chest was tightening, twisting around his lungs. You were denying it. Denying him. The kiss, the heat, the rush of it. You were dismissing it like it had been nothing more than a convenient illusion. You weren’t wrong, the rational part of him knew that. That didn’t mean he had hoped you’d thought otherwise. 

Everything he had been fighting so hard to bury flared back to life, hotter than before.

Heizou chuckled, a lighthearted sound, but it only made Scara feel more exposed. “Yeah, sure.” Heizou’s voice grew quieter, and Scara heard him getting ready to leave. “Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”

The kitchen door creaked as it swung open, and Heizou left without a second glance, his footsteps fading down the hall.

He was about to turn and leave, he had too. But just as always with you, he couldn’t help but fight back. 

“Interesting.”

You stood there in the doorway, looking caught between embarrassment and something else, your face pale, your eyes flicking nervously between the open door and him.

Scara stared at you for a long moment, his throat tight, before he spoke, his voice low and strained.

“Didn’t mean anything, huh?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

Scara lets out a dry chuckle, sharp and almost bitter, before walking off. Your heart is still racing, adrenaline surging through you. The confusion is all still a blur.

And yet you follow him. 

Something you’d never do, especially with him. But a part of you still wants to make sure he’s okay. And a bigger part of you doesn’t want him to walk away with the wrong idea. 

“Why’d you follow me here?” you ask, your voice louder than you intended, still thick with that adrenaline.

He stops abruptly and turns around, eyes dark, but there’s something else there, too: vulnerability. 

“Why did you follow me?” he shoots back, his voice low, taunting almost, but you can hear the frustration beneath it.

You stand there for a moment, trying to find the right words, but your thoughts feel tangled. “I just... wanted to see if you were okay,” you say, quieter now, your shoulders sagging. “I know your mom sucks, but...it seems like you were occupied.” You didn’t mean it to come off as bitter as it did.

Scara freezes for a split second, his gaze narrowing into something hard. “She’s the one who came onto me, okay?” His voice is biting, “I shoved her right off. And you can’t say shit, you were all over him back there.”

For a second, you can’t say anything. You feel a hot flush rise to your face. You take a breath, and then the words spill out, almost before you can stop them. “That didn’t even mean anything,” you mutter. “He was just... comforting me. I said that so he wouldn’t feel bad.” You don’t want to explain why. You’re glad he wasn’t there for the entire conversation.

Scara’s eyes flicker with something sharp. “Fine,” he spits out, hands gesturing in exasperation. “It’s all fake, then. Fine! It doesn’t matter. Whatever, you don’t need to explain yourself.”

You feel the words sting, and before you can even think, you’re snapping back. “Fine! Fine, Scara. If that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.”

You both stand there for a few seconds, glaring at each other, neither of you willing to back down. And then, just like that, you both start walking in the same direction.

You glance at him, a little incredulous. “You go first.”

Scara doesn’t even look at you. “No, you go first.”

“I said it first!” you protest, taking a step forward.

“No, you go.”

A beat of silence. Then, in unison, both of you groan.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath. “This is stupid.”

Neither of you says anything else, but you both start walking again. Side by side, but without speaking. The tension between you hasn’t fully dissipated, but now it’s more muted, like you’re both too tired to keep fighting.

By the time you reach the door to the dorms, the adrenaline has started to drain away, leaving only the residual ache of whatever you two just went through. You both stop at the doorstep, standing for a moment in the cool night air.

Scara's eyes drift lazily over to a bottle resting on the corner of the porch, a forgotten drink from earlier in the evening. Without a word, he picks it up, twists off the cap, and offers it to you, his face impassive.

“Want some?” His voice is quieter now, a little less sharp, though the remnants of the earlier tension still hang in the air.

You take it without thinking, your hand brushing his as you grab the bottle. Your throat feels dry, like you’ve just run a marathon, like everything from tonight has left you parched. He’s always left you out of breath.

You take a long sip, the alcohol burning down your throat, and pass it back. Scara drinks, then hands it back to you with a quiet gesture. You both settle onto the steps, the weight of the night pressing down around you, but the silence feels somehow comfortable now.

You’re not sure why, but with each sip, you feel a little less tense, a little less angry. It’s still there, but it's somehow quieter now. Maybe because it doesn’t feel like you need to have all the answers, not right now. Not with him sitting next to you like this.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore and the occasional sip from the bottle between you. You pass it back and forth like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The weight of the argument is still there, sure, but somehow it doesn’t matter so much anymore.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

The quiet hum of the night surrounds you both as you sit on the porch, the sounds of crickets and the occasional hum of the waves filling the spaces between breaths. The bottle you’re passing back and forth feels less heavy now, unlike the unspoken things still floating around like ghosts between you and him.

You break the silence first, your voice quieter than you intended. “So, what were you and Mona talking about?”

He doesn’t answer right away, taking a slow swig from the bottle, his eyes fixed somewhere off in the distance. His lips press together in a tight line, but he finally turns to you, his expression unreadable. “Well, she was talking at me, really. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She was asking if I was ever in love with her…”

You raise an eyebrow, curious, “Well, were you?”

Scara’s gaze shifts. His body is tense. He doesn’t meet your eyes immediately, instead looking off to the side, like he’s searching for something. 

He feels the precipice you're both on. 

He wants to jump. 

“No.”

The word hangs there, and for a moment, everything is still. He can feel the air between you both shift, like the ground beneath your guys’ feet has tilted slightly.

“Really?” you ask, more quietly this time. “How did you know you weren’t in love with her?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He shifts on the step, his foot tapping idly against the wood. He wants to say he just knew, as cliche as that sounds. His eyes are fixed forward now, knowing if he looks at you his words won’t leave his mouth. He takes a swig.

The words come out slowly, like he’s still figuring them out as he speaks.

“I don’t know... I just knew, I guess.” He hesitates, then adds, “What I felt for her is different from what I know love is.”

The silence stretches, and he feels like you’re standing at the edge of something with him. 

He’s waiting. He thinks he’s always been waiting for you.

“And you… know what that feels like?” you ask, voice softer now, almost hesitant, like you’re testing the waters.

His eyes finally rake over you.

“I do now.”

You opened your mouth, and he’s hoping something, anything, comes out of it. He felt like he’d just sliced his chest open and was bearing his heart to you with bloodied hands.

His words hang in the air for a long moment, strange and heavy. Your gaze catches his, and for just a second, there’s a flicker in your eyes, something guarded but knowing. Scara holds your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it’s like everything in him stills. The air is thick, as if the words you’ve both danced around are hanging just out of reach. His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat creeping up his neck.

He knows this feeling all too well. The way his chest tightens when he realizes something he’s been waiting for will never come. His mother’s attention. You. It’s a feeling he’s all but accustomed too. But there you were, just out of his reach. He doesn’t expect you to understand. Hell, he doesn’t even understand himself half the time. But in that moment, sitting next to you, he wants you too. 

The weight of your unspoken words presses on him. But maybe that’s all this will ever be, a weight. The knowledge that he’ll never feel the same way about anyone else and that you’ll never feel the same about him. That thought stabs at him like a shard of ice in his chest, cold and sharp. He wants to say something, but the words aren’t there. Not yet. Not ever, maybe. 

“We should go inside,” he murmurs, breaking the silence, his voice almost a whisper against the night’s stillness. 

His voice drops further, and he shifts slightly on the step, his leg brushing against yours. It’s an unconscious motion, but it feels deliberate somehow. Like he wants to be closer but knows better than to ask for it. 

“Yeah,” you pipe up from beside him, “We should.”

Yet you both sit there for a few more minutes, passing the bottle until nothing is left in its wake. He doesn’t look over at you again, doesn’t dare too. Instead he gets up and goes inside, leaving you behind. 

Something you’ve always said he’s good at.

[00:00:00] POST PARADISE DATE TAKE ONE

YAE: So, do you want to talk about today?

SCARAMOUCHE: Talk about what?

YAE: The kiss, obviously. What else would we talk about?

SCARAMOUCHE: What happened to "Hi, how are you?"

YAE: [LAUGHING] This is a safe space.

SCARAMOUCHE: It absolutely is not, but you want to talk about the kiss? Fine. It wasn't real. I didn't even kiss her back, she was drunk and I don't love her. And I'm not that much of an asshole to take advantage of someone drunk. I'm a terrible person, but not that bad.

YAE: [SPEECHLESS]

SCARAMOUCHE: This is fucking stupid. Why did l even have to explain myself? I have nothing to prove to anybody. [GETS UP]

YAE: Scaramouche, wait—

SCARAMOUCHE: [WALKS OFF SCREEN]

stuck with you!

materlist — prev | next

(typos) *slide 6: feelings wheel / *slide 8: i just had this realization

first update of the year wow!

sorry guys i’m scared to do the keep reading button so…😛

after typing oh. oh. i was like ooh bitch i ate

also ignore how scara lowk littered uhm he picked up his cig after dw! environmentally friendly king!

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — four updates during break ur welcome! my break ends in two weeksish so idk if ill be able post another one before then so let me rest xx

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

[st7rnioioss]

WHEN BSF!CHRIS CAN'T KEEP HIS HANDS AND THOUGHTS OFF INEXPERIENCED!READER ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... grinding, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (don't do this!!), kissing ˚࿔ notes: i'd like to say beforehand this is a little further into their relationship! I'll add more background stuff later<33

chris was restless. he continued to toss and turn in your bed, finally settling on his side, one arm slung around you waist while gently tugging you closer to him, pressing your back flush against his chest while you were sleeping peacefully.

he tried to doze off, he really did. but sleep seemed like the furthest thing away when he laid there, listening to your soft breathing, as the only currently audible noise, feeling the way your chest rose and fell under his touch.

his mind was running a million miles an hour, and he couldn’t get it to stop. it was dirty, wrong thoughts—about you. his best friend since.. well, for as long as he could remember. it had become something more usual, but this time he couldn’t control it.

you’d always been attached to the hip, but never once had he thought about you like this. never had he wondered what you’d look like naked, vulnerable under him.. okay, maybe a few times, but never to this extent. you'd only gone as far as him showing you how to finger yourself properly, where he took over the job because he couldn't resist.

how would you react to his touch? would you reach for his hair? his arms? would you grab the sheets instead? what did your moan sound like?

the real question was why on earth he was having these dirty thoughts about you. you were the sweetest girl he’d ever laid his eyes on, so sweet it gave him a toothache whenever you’d innocently bat your eyes at him, begging him to go get ice cream with you.

gosh, make it stop, he thought to himself, groaning when he snaked his other hand down to try and ease his rock-hard cock, which only seemed to make it worse, hardening even more under his own touch.

he didn’t know what to do, and only to worsen his panicked state, you started turning, his arm momentarily slipping from your waist when you faced him.

your eyes were thankfully still shut, lips in a soft pout from the pillow pushing them together. the sight didn’t help either. nothing helped him ease his raging hard boner. you laid there, so pure, unknowing of his sinful thoughts while your peaceful, gentle look only made the tight restrain in his boxers worse.

sleep was out of reach by now, his hand desperately trying to relieve his aching cock with a groan by carefully rubbing his palm over the bulge—but then your eyes fluttered open. he stared down at you with widen eyes, almost in disbelief that he’d been caught somewhat rubbing himself through his pants, but you didn’t seem to notice right away.

“are you okay?” your soft voice was heard. “you seem restless..” yeah, his constant tossing and groaning woke you up, but not enough to fully comprehend the situation chris was in.

“i- i can’t sleep. that’s all,” he whispered back, blinking rapidly while your eyes scanned his face, roaming every feature you were so familiar with.

speculating about his somewhat unsure answer, your eyes made their way down his chest when he let another whine slip, noticing the way his palm pressed against his groin, and you immediately felt ten times more awake than you were before. heat rushed to your face, before your eyes met chris's desperate gaze.

“oh..” you quipped, suddenly hyper aware of every movement of his, every desperate groan you’d heard behind you just moments prior now making much more sense.

“p-please, just- just let me.. let me put it in,” chris pleaded miserably, letting his free hands knuckles brush over your reddening cheek, his touch gentle as ever.

“chris- no, we can’t..” your answer only made his dick harden, though it seemed fucked up. you were so damn innocent, a prude even. you’d always avoided the topic of sex, not daring to go down that path ever. but he knew that when it came to him, you could bend the rules. “please- i’ll make it quick, i’ll just put the tip in. it hurts so fucking bad,”

but something about the situation caused you to turn curious. chris begging for your touch, begging to let him do something about his hard erection, to touch you.

“okay..” attentively, you turned around to lay in your previous position on your side, chris's hand slipping from the front of his shorts, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“thank you, thanks- thank you,” he babbled, his clammy hands making their way to the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts, slowly pushing them down your thighs, until they pooled around your ankles, that you continued to gently kick off.

“i promise i’ll be careful, just the tip..” his breath fanned across your neck, making a soft gasp slip from your lips.

your eyes were wide open and lips parted when he hooked his hand under your thigh, gently lifting it to spread them apart, carefully placing your leg back down as if you were made of fragile porcelain.

“o-okay..” you spoke quietly, your breath hitching when his finger made contact with your panties, gently tugging them to the side. “already so wet f’me..” his voice was husky against your ear, lips grazing the sensitive skin as his thumb slowly ran between your slick folds, a weak moan falling from your parted lips.

you were driving him insane, already dripping for him, and it only took a couple right touches and words. oh, how bad he wanted to keep showing you how to feel good, let alone be the first one to. he'd already gotten his fair share on that part.

you’ve never been more nervous, but yet you felt safe with chris pressed so close up against you. it was chris after all, he’d never do anything to hurt you, plus, he was always so gentle with you whenever it came to stuff like this. your hands tugged the stuffed animal you usually slept with to your chest, nuzzling your nose into the neck of the teddy, the soft material under your fingertips easing your mind a little.

“i’ll be gentle, angel.. no need to worry,” he whispered, one of his hands maneuvering his shorts down mid-thigh, along with his boxers, the other one gently running down the side of your face, tugging a few strands of hair behind your ear.

he wrapped his palm around his cock, fisting his cock with a lewd moan, before bringing the head of his cock to your entrance.

“i’ll put it in now.. it’s just the tip, don’t panic..” he mumbled, pressing a reassuring series of kisses to the side of your neck, feeling you nod. “go- go ahead..”

those words was all he needed, gently smearing his sticky tip down your soaked folds, before pressing it forward, watching it disappear inside of you.

“holy- holy fuck..” he groaned between gritted teeth, his fingers gripping at your hip, a weak gasp elicited from your mouth. “oh, chris..”

your moan was silenced from the soft teddy in your arms, eyes fluttering shut at the slow intrusion, letting whines fall from your lips.

chris nearly lost his mind when he felt your walls squeeze around his tip—it took every fiber in his body not to stuff you full of his cock, not to completely ignore your previous, innocent words and start fucking into you.

“gosh- chris..” you whined, nails digging into the soft fur under your hands.

you could practically feel the desperation seep out of him from behind you, his throbbing dick just aching to be inside you.

“m’sorry angel, sorry.. i can’t hold back, please say something-“ chris's voice was strained with despair, his fingertips digging into your bare hip, smoothing his palm over your thigh.

“it’s- its okay..” you whispered, words somewhat muffled, but coherent. he was thankful almost, mumbling continuous praise and ‘thank you’ into your ear, smoothing his palms down your sides, under your top.

it sure was okay, he could tell. you were drooling around his tip, only making it easier to slide right in—which he did. holding tightly onto you, leaving kisses down your neck and back, he pushed his cock further inside of you, slowly.

“h-halfway, baby.. you’re doing so good,” he husked, his heart pounding in chest as he stilled his movements for a minute, allowing you to adjust.

you couldn’t keep quiet, eyes rolling to the back of your head while they fell shut, biting down onto the plush toy to restrain the moans. yet, pornographic whimpers slipped from your gritted teeth from the painful yet delicious stretch, making chris's head turn to mush.

“fuck.. you’re so perfect,” he hissed, sinking his length in until he was fully sheathed inside your heat with a sigh of relief.

blubbered moans fell shamelessly from the both of your lips as he slowly rutted against you, a hint of pain striking through you as you adjusted to his size.

you knew it was wrong. so, so wrong. friends didn’t do this, they really didn’t. what was gonna happen after this? would you just go to bed and wake up just usually tomorrow, just treating it as a favor?

but even though, you never wanted it to stop. his soft touch, lips continuing their work on your lower neck, stuffing you full of his cock when he rolled his hips.

“does it hurt?” he purred, his hot breath mingling on your neck, making a slight shiver run down your spine.

“no… chris, it feels- feels good,” you breathlessly whimpered, gripping the plush animal between your arms as if your life depended on it, listening to the dirty squelching of your pussy, basically drooling onto the soft material between your lips.

he only nodded, feeling your walls flutter around his cock, clenching and squeezing the life out of him. your back arched just slightly when he hit a specific spot within you, moaning loudly into the stuffed toy.

“y-you’re doing so well.. so beautiful,” he cooed, the praise going straight to the pit in your tummy, feeling the tension tighten as your teeth nibbled on the soft plushie.

“oh- oh my god..” without any warning, the waves came crashing over you, your chest heaving while your grip loosened on the soft plushie in your arms.

“jesus christ,” he panted, his slow but rhythmic thrusts continuing, until he reached his climax as well.

“shit- i’m gonna come,” he barely got to say, before the ropes of white spilled inside of you, letting out a shaky breath at the release of tension. you felt limp in his hold, your face growing hot, and heart racing with lidded eyes.

“thank you, thank you angel,” his breath hitched as he slowly pulled out. his pink lips left repeated kisses to the side of your face, listening intently to your breath regulating gradually, the pants turning back to the soft breaths he’d been listening to just moments prior.

you let a small smile break, nuzzling your nose back into the teddy bear to hide your blushing face, as if your back wasn’t turned to him. “it’s fine…”

his fingers danced across your waist, making their way to your hip, giving it a gentle pat as a dazed smile settled onto his lips.

“come on, pretty.. we gotta go pee,”

more bsf!chris x inexperienced!reader

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: none:3

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @forgottxen @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @forgottxen @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668

© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[helenisaweirdo]

the small bundle covered in blankets felt heavy in kaiser’s hands. kaiser was by no means weak in; but when the previously crying baby was coaxed by your exhausted voice to sleep, millions of doubts weighed down on kaiser—even heavier than the weight of his father’s hands on kaiser’s neck when he was a child.

“i think she’s fond of you. she must have heard those conversations you had with her when she was still in my stomach.”

your small, almost inaudible voice brought your husband out of his trance. the soft blonde hair peeking out of the pale blue beanie—the hair most definitely being inherited from kaiser—were like golden rays of sun. kaiser looked down at you, sitting down on the bed you were currently lying down. kaiser moved his gaze to his daughter, who slept peacefully.

“i don’t know,” he swallowed, a tattooed hand gently caressing his daughter’s cheek. “am i…really cut out to be a father? what if i become just like him? what if i accidentally hurt her just like that piece of scum did with me? what if she hates me? what if—“

your eyes soften, remembering the days in your childhood with kaiser, when he was always playing with the stray dogs while soot and bruises, and sometimes even blood, ornamented his body. you’ll never forget the days when you were both 14, when he finally told you; his father’s treatment of him, his father’s constant drinking, how his mother left him, and how his goal was just…to be loved.

and that’s when you realized: he had no home—no an emotional one, at least. a boy who was never taught manners or how to survive or how to properly speak, a boy who was never taught what was good for him and what was bad for him. and he never even went to school either until bastard münchen taught classes.

you reached forward to reach his hand, kaiser once against moving his glance to you. “michael, you won’t. i know you won’t. you’re not him, michael. you’re you. and unlike when you were growing up, i won’t leave you or our daughter. ever.” you brought his tattooed hand up to your lips. “it’ll be hard, but im sure it will all turn out okay, michael.”

and suddenly kaiser feels a sting, tears beginning to pool at the brim of his eyes as his chest tightens. damn it, he didn’t even cry during your delivery…but when the two most important women—no, people, in his life are right in front of him, one of them looking at him like he’s the most precious treasure in the world, how could he not be vulnerable?

kaiser takes your hands and placed it on his chest—right where his heart is. he runs his thumb over the cool surface of your wedding ring on your finger, his daughter seemingly beginning to wake up, though still quiet.

“thank you for being in my life. i love you.”

———

to anyone who says “ooc” “kaiser would never do this” etc,

lemme just remind you that kaiser has stated MULTIPLE TIMES throughout the bastard münchen vs PXG match that his goal was just to be loved. another thing is that in kaiser’s official character profile (from the egoist bible), his type is described as “someone who’s beautiful, smart, and full of love”

(if anyone says “omg ness is literally his type” in the comments then im actually going to scream because i hate kainess with a passion. it’s so toxic and kaiser literally sees ness as a dog and ness’ so-called “feelings” for kaiser is just a result of manipulation. plus, ness doesn’t actually match kaiser’s type. ness is smart, yes, but ness has never been stated to be good looking in any way shape or form. in fact, judging from ness’ backstory, he might even be canonically ugly. plus, ness doesn’t ACTUALLY love kaiser. again, it’s just “feelings” that began to form from manipulation.)

[accio-sriracha]

"What's it like?" Regulus asked quietly, staring at the stars from their hiding spot in the garden.

"What's what like?" Sirius replied.

Regulus turned to look at him, the grass tickling his nose, "Being in love."

Sirius' eyes never moved from the stars, "Why do you ask?"

Regulus shrugged, "Just curious, I guess."

There was a long pause, Regulus assumed Sirius was trying to find the right words.

"It's sort of like falling." He explained, "It's slow at first. You don't even realise it. One day you notice the colour of their eyes is deeper than you thought. Less plain brown and more... chocolate coloured. The next time it's hearing their laugh and feeling yourself smile without meaning to, like your body wants to react, like the sound is... healing, I guess."

He paused again, finally moving to face Regulus.

Regulus nodded for him to go on.

"Eventually, all of the things you used to do as friends feel... bigger. Every touch doesn't feel so casual anymore. Everytime they say your nickname it's less of a joke and more like a secret, something sacred between the two of you."

He sighed, "Then, one day, you look up and realise how far you've fallen. And it's like there's no turning back. Everything reminds you of them. Everytime you make a joke you look to them first, to see if they're laughing. Everytime they walk in a room it's like nothing else matters." He laughed softly, the sound was nostalgic, "You find yourself looking for reasons to talk to them. Anything to be close to them, to feel their touch. Nothing is casual anymore, there's always... meaning, always something more left unsaid. It's understanding someone so deeply, and having them know you too."

Regulus smiled, "That sounds nice." He whispered.

Sirius nodded, "Yeah, it is."

"I want to have that some day." Regulus sat up, playing with a blade of grass between his fingertips.

Sirius sat up too, his own smile reassuring, "You will." He nodded, "Anyone would be lucky to have you."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Regulus pulled away from the pensive, his eyes filled with tears.

"May I be excused, professor?" Regulus asked.

The professor nodded, continuing his lesson on finding a positive memory for conjuring a patronus.

Regulus walked out into the hallway. His hands shook as he scrubbed the tears from his face.

And, of course, a voice from behind him caught his attention,

"Reggie! Hey, I thought you had defense class this hour?"

Regulus turned, meeting the deep chocolate brown of Potter's eyes. His stomach flipped as it always did when they were together.

"I do." He sniffed.

Potter caught the look on his face and his smile dropped. At once he was standing in front of Regulus, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, I'm here." He soothed, his hands rubbing Regulus' shoulders.

Regulus couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, because the touch sent sparks across Regulus' skin.

Potter frowned, leaning back to look at him again,

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Regulus shook his head, his smile appearing of its own accord,

"I think im in love with you." He whispered.

Potter's eyes widened, he leaned back a little further, "Do you have a concussion? You sound loopy. We should get you to the nurse."

Regulus stopped him mid-stride as Potter began to lead him down the corridor. He shook his head, tears filling his eyes again,

"I'm serious, Jamie. I'm in love with you."

Neither of them made the Sirius joke, Regulus had never once seen Potter speechless like this.

Eventually, he seemed to find his voice again,

"You're in love with me?" He repeated slowly.

Regulus nodded, "I am."

James took a while to process this. Regulus realised he probably should have waited to give the news when Potter wasn't on his way to the lavatory.

He was just about to apologise when Potter took both of his hands in his own,

"I've loved you for as long as I can remember."

The words hit Regulus harder than he could have ever imagined.

Before either of them could get out another word, Potter was pulling him into a sweeping kiss.

Regulus knew without a doubt this was the feeling Sirius had been describing all those years ago.

But he was wrong about one thing.

Regulus was the lucky one.

[bluemerakis]

─────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ this one’s on me ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ s4!spoilers, cussing, dean’s really just suffering omg, and he’s also like, secretly smitten over reader; small age gap, a slow-burn build up to car sex, grinding, nip sucking, oral f receiving (he’s such a tentative munch pls), unprotected p in v, fluff. lmk if I forgot any :))

synopsis — dean’s physically free of hell, but he finds that his own demons have never really left him. having already made his fair share of bad decisions, he figures that it couldn’t hurt to make one more—the pursuit of you.

word count ~ 10.5k (i’m done apologising y’all know how carried away i get 🤟)

────────────────────────

Rowdy occupants teetered throughout the local bar, their cheers and protests slurred by this evening’s two-for-one special on all drinks. The bar was lively enough on most nights, but always in a manner sophisticated enough for Dean to enjoy a glass or two in comfort. Now, the space had become a raging fest of body against body, and the music was so loud that he could feel the ringing of his ears pressing all the way into the back of his eyes. The abrupt change in atmosphere felt personal, like it’d been specially planned to further tug at Dean’s gradual undoing.

His elbows were propped onto the bar top before him, fingers restlessly tapping at the sweaty, glass keep of his beer. All around him, barmaids wove frisky lines to tend to drunken groups seated along either side of him. Occasionally, one of the girls would attempt to cast their hook into him with an overzealous offer to top up his drink, and a candid nibble of their glossed lips, but he’d nicked their lines at the ready.

Any other night, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to show those gorgeous barmaids a time to remember, but as of now, he had other company to entertain—the unwanted and persistent voices in his head. Sounded insane, huh? Quite frankly, he was starting to feel the part. It was making him a bit of a downer, and that wasn’t much his style with the ladies.

Dean’s head lolled between his hunched shoulders, where he glimpsed his lonely reflection in the bubbling amber of his drink. He realised he must’ve stood apart from the bar’s bustling and cheerful atmosphere like a sore thumb, sat in broody silence as he indulged his second beer with a hefty frown on his brows.

He could have scoffed at the idea of being alone. If only onlookers had the ability to peer into the depths of his tainted mind, then they’d know that he was anything but alone.

True silence was a luxury Dean had long since been robbed of. It was a concept that held hands with peace, but there was no peace to be found in a soul as wretched as his. He didn’t deserve it—not after everything he’s done.

Those years he’d spent wrapped up in hell had remade his psyche in all the worst ways. And even now, as he walked amongst the living once again, it felt as though a fraction of the underworld had carried through and engraved itself in his very DNA.

He felt tainted by its touch—heard the way it mocked him with the voices of all the strangers he’d tortured to spare himself the same turmoil. It looped in his mind like a sadistic ear worm. Every hour, every minute, every damn second of the day. And to top the icing on the screw you cake? He had no idea how to make them shut the hell up.

It hadn’t always been that way, though. The first time it happened had been a rough week or so after his return. He’d taken on a rather grim job with his brother—a chain of victims that had been tortured to the death by a rogue demon. Dean had let out a wry scoff when Sam had first told him the details. He had a hunch on what that was about.

The demons hadn’t had any say in Dean’s release from hell. If it were up to them, they’d have kept him in a glass display for all eternity. When Cas had pulled him from the fiery depths, the angel had just about pissed off every single demon down there. They knew they couldn’t lay hands on Dean and drag him right back down to his eternal misery, so they’d taken to doing what they did best—causing havoc. And they’d found just the way to make it personal.

Each victim the brothers had found had been tortured in a different way—methods that were all too familiar to Dean. Methods that he’d invented. He’d had years to become creative. Each sighting had mortified him, and he’d had to swallow several times to suppress the bile adamantly reaching up to strangle his airways. What hurt him the most, though, was having to put on a detached facade for Sammy. His brother had no idea what Dean had been through down there. . . what he’d done down there—and why should he? He’d be more than eager to offer up a steaming fest of pity and guilt if he knew the truth, but Dean didn’t deserve any of that. It was all his own doing. His choice.

Cas might’ve liberated him from his physical hell, but he’d never truly been liberated from anything. Most of the suffering had always come from within, anyways.

They’d never found the demon responsible for the murders. It almost made Dean believe that he’d reverted back to his primal nature and killed all of those people himself. He’s hurt people before, so what was stopping him now, right? Maybe he’d done it in his sleep. Maybe, as soon as he’d let his head hit the pillow and dull his battered mind into a much needed deep sleep, all the worst fragments of his subconscious would pull together into some twisted alter ego that came to kill at his unspoken will.

Had Cas freed an innocent that day, or had he just unleashed another, wretched demon into the world? Boy, if it was the latter, Lilith surely had nothin’ on him.

The voices had started ever since that disturbing case, and they were yet to leave him alone.

It’s almost as if that cheap, goddamn knockoff on the real events of his life had been last switch that needed flipping to tune his mind into hell’s channels. Now, he heard them all—the voices—at every frequency and at every volume. And it didn’t matter how hard he cranked up Baby’s radio, their agonising pleas would always pull through in a haunting backtrack. One time, while he and Sam had been on the road, the voices had grown so loud that it made his eardrums feel as though they’d implode. It had hurt like a bitch, pushing him to the brink so that he’d lose control of the wheel and swerve into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, dear ol’ Sammy had been quick enough to grab ahold of the wheel and steer them clear of the looming truck they were en route toward.

The truck’s bellowing hooter had set him straight again as it whipped past the rear, almost as though it were the stern chiding needed to pipe those asshole voices right back down. His brother, bless his soul, had offered to drive them for the rest of the day, quiet concern alight on his features. But Dean had declined almost instantly. Sam hadn’t pushed to know what had overcome his older brother in that very moment; he’d known enough to pin it onto the aftermath of hell.

For the rest of that day, the younger brother had said nothing about it, but he did cast a few, fleeting glances with those damned puppy eyes of his. Dean pretended not to notice. Furthermore, he’d chosen to forget that that instance had ever happened. Fake it til y’make it, right? He didn’t need to look worried—didn’t need to make Sammy worry.

How his brother had grown up unmarred by Dean’s personal shit was beyond him—but he was thankful for it. And he’d continue to withhold that burden from his brother for as long as he could. This hell business? It was his alone to bear. Sammy needed no part in his suffering, and Dean doubted his brother could do much about it, anyway.

Man, the younger Winchester could do no wrong. It almost sickened Dean to know that they shared the same blood. He supposed it created a balance in nature, like how a coin had two sides—one lucky, and the other anything but. It wasn’t hard to know which side was his. Wasn’t much fair, but which aspect of his life had ever been? No matter. For Sammy, he’d keep on flippin’ that damn weighted coin if it meant that he could keep his brother safe.

Dean shifted atop the uncomfortable bar seat and sniffed away his restless thoughts, bringing the thawed beer to his lips. His nose dipped into the glass as he downed an eager gulp, the lukewarm beverage engulfing his tongue with a warmth he would’ve rather claimed from a skimpy barmaid. But alas, he’d made himself the promise to keep any and all contestants from playing this whirlwind of a game that was anything remotely related to his life.

Was this how celibate priests felt? ‘Cause man, it sucked. Not that they’d know the feeling of that, either.

He lowered the partially emptied drink back onto the bar top with a bitter scoff, eyes downturned to where he twirled the glass base within the ring of moisture it had bled onto the wood.

“Something funny, or have you just finally gone insane? Called it, by the way.”

Now that was the last voice Dean had expected to hear tonight. And in a bar, of all places—somewhere your holier than thou self had once sworn to never set food in outside of hunts. Granted, you were probably just being dramatic, but the thought still amused him.

He needn’t turn much to witness your figure. You slunk into perfect view as you took up a seat beside him. “Fancy seein’ you here,” he greeted through a lazy half-smirk, lifting his glass in a one-sided cheer.

You shot his drink a pitiful glance before returning his curious stare with an amused smile. “And I’m sure the bar hates to see you coming,” you retorted lightly, averting your gaze as you lifted your hand to wave over the bartender. “Whiskey, neat, thank you,” you said sweetly once the man had approached.

Dean risked a quick sweep of your figure—adorned with a dress so simple and casual, it shouldn’t have beckoned for his attention the way that it did. But honestly, this was one of very few times he’d seen you in anything other than your hunting or roleplay attire. And to be a little more honest, it was a view he could get used to watching.

Your head swivelled to face him for a brief second, which was enough to pluck his eyes away from what could be considered leering, if he’d made a point to stare any longer. And he was oddly tempted. But you quickly turned to face the bartender once more, initiating friendly chatter while he poured your drink with an extra chirp to his tone. You tended to have that effect on people, making bonds both meaningful and meaningless wherever you trod. Shit, look at the way you’d so easily strolled into both Sammy and his life. He wasn’t one to let strangers linger around, but for you, he’d made some sort of exception.

Dean lowered his head to study his glass once more. It was a view he’d long since grown tired of, but it was for the best. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that, anyway. You were Sammy’s friend first, and with that connection came the unspoken obligation of keeping his destructive hands off of you.

Sam had met you all the way back college. You weren’t the brand of friendship Dean would’ve expected his former anti-hunting brother to delve into—being a hunter and all—but that fact had only been disclosed after an unfortunate day of you being caught in the crossfire of one of their cases. It was a day Dean had thought you done for, for sure, but then you’d gone and surprised the both of them with your hunter’s wit, immobilising the threat like it’d been nothing of a challenge.

Dean would never admit it to your face, but you were a whole lot more knowledgeable than himself and Sam combined—and that’s considering that his brother is a colossal nerd before anything else. Since then, you’d stuck around, always helping Sammy with the nit-picky bookworm bullshit that Dean had never had much desire to do. He’d thank God himself for the lucky find that was you, if the big man in the sky really existed to begin with. Even after having met the angels, who were by no means impressive (save the girth of their dick nature), he couldn’t be convinced that there was a God who’d sent them here.

His attention strayed back to you as you reached across the bar top with a cash tip in clutch, which the bartender drank in with slightly flustered eyes before refusing it politely. Dean found himself huffing softly at the sight of it—not long after he’d come in, he’d seen that same bartender lay a fit on one of the occupants who’d refused him a tip after wrapping up the bill. He could’ve guessed that the demanding air you brought to the place had something to do with it. You didn’t mean to do it—demand things your way—it was just a string of events that always managed to fall into place whenever you showed up.

It was a quiet allure you’d always had to you. Dean could call you a good-luck charm for it. It made him want to hold onto you, just a little tighter, but he’d be selfish to do it. And whatever found it’s way into his grasp always seemed to shatter.

You reached for your glass almost shyly, as though you felt some slither of guilt for not being able to compensate the bartender’s effort, before turning to face Dean more directly. You tilted your head in the slightest manner, free hand brought up to cradle your cheek in poise as you gazed at him. “What did you mean by that, anyway?”

He frowned lightly. “What did I mean by what?”

“Fancy seein’ you here,” you mocked in a tone far too deep. A shameless grin spread your lips before you lifted your glass to take a sip—your eyes holding a glint he couldn’t quite decipher. And he didn’t try to linger on your stare for long enough to find out. There was some pull to it—like a getting caught in the sea’s rip current, and it made him feel something he couldn’t quite place. Or wouldn’t place, for the sake of keeping things unattached.

He glanced off to the side with a simple shrug. “Nah, I mean, you’re always off chasin’ some fairytale with Sammy. Just figured the two o’ya woulda found a fresh tail to nip by now,” he said nonchalantly, glass brought to his lips as he took a tense swig that finally emptied his glass.

“Well, yeah, but it’s after hours now. And I need a break, just like you,” you laughed. “Besides, I think you of all people could take the biggest break from chasing anything for the time being—which I’m glad to see you doing, by the way.”

He offered a simple nod of acknowledgment before lowering his glass and swirling the beer around his tongue, racking his tired brain for the next thing to say. It irked him a bit. Part of his charm was that chatting it up with the ladies always came easy. Who the hell would be be without it? But something about tonight—about you—had him feeling like a gawking numb-nut with a desperate need for a wingman.

He swallowed his sip and cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously, finally mustering up the courage to face you again. You had your fingers wrapped around your glass now, your eyes narrowed in eager focus and the corners of your lips slightly upturned—all while you sat waiting for him in patient silence. A silence that had no reason to make him feel. . . anxious, but it did. Were you doing it on purpose? Did you even know what you were doing?

Get it together, man, you’re blowin’ it, he said silently. You always do. Where do you think this’ll go? Nowhere. It’ll all crash and burn. Burn. Burn, the voices taunted. They’d become far too comfortable in his head, and now they had no shame popping up during his any and every conversation. Whenever the hell they pleased.

Mouthy bastards.

He ignored their jeering and settled for poking at the past, hoping it would invite you to carry the conversation he was so clearly dropping. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you sayin’ somethin’ ‘bout how bars are home to sad men and madly horny men. So, that begs my earlier surprise that the Judgemental Judy herself showed up at the weepin’ whorehouse,” he said with a light chuckle.

You seemed more than happy to perk up at his teasing, a sight that made him ease off the clutch on his glass. “Well, maybe—just maybe, I have the guilty pleasure of making fun of sad sobs like you afterhours. I mean, the job gets so dull sometimes, you’ll forgive a girl for having a stupidly fun hobby.”

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. “You callin’ me a loser?” He asked through a grin.

Your shoulders lifted in the most dramatised shrug you could’ve possibly mustered. “Dunno, Dean,” you sighed. “Are you?”

He shook his head through a weak grin—not as a response to your question, but at the way you always found it in yourself to tease him with thinly veiled insults. He could’ve gotten mad over it, but it had become something like a tradition between the two of you—the very soul of your friendship. Now, he’d let you compare him to every depicted loser in the literature of insults if it could have you both sharing a hearty laugh by the end of it. If it would buy him a second longer of your presence.

You can’t have her. Not yours. She’ll break if you touch her, the voices pressed on. He never could place any of them—not to a face, not even to a name. But he must’ve known them, must’ve met them face to face when they’d been strung up for a beating by a weapon of his choice. The voices were right, too. Dean could tell himself he was a blacksmith, that he’d have the power to handle you in a way that would only make you malleable without breaking. But at the end of the day, he always managed a slip up. He knew he’d swing a little too hard, or bend you a little too far, perhaps even just hold you with a little too much force.

He’d break you the way he’d broken everything else. The way he’d broken himself.

“Are you okay?” Your slightly concerned voice broke into the chasm of his torment, causing him to raise his brows with a growing awareness.

“Yeah, no, I’m all right,” he attempted to say casually, coaxing forward a smile to reinforce his statement. But you didn’t look convinced—and why would you be? You knew him better than that. If anything, you might’ve been the one person who knew him better than Sammy. Not because he’d necessarily allowed it, but because you were scarily observant. He didn’t like how vulnerable that made him feel, but he couldn’t deny the facts, either. And he’d rather be faced with the hard truths than entertain myths forged for his own comfort.

“Come on,” you sighed all-knowingly before your leg crossed over the other, your whiskey pushed aside as you leaned yourself in a little closer to him. “What’s wrong, Dean?” He held his breath at the sudden closeness, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the sweet caress of your perfume. It wafted beneath his nose like a taunt, and it fuelled the voices in his head even further.

Run away now, Dean. Save her. You’re doomed. Don’t doom her to the same fate. Don’t be selfish. Those words bit at his chest. Shut the hell up, he seethed silently, but they’d never listened before, and they wouldn’t listen now. You can’t shut out the truth, one sniped back.

He turned his head to the side. “Nothin’s wrong. Been a long day, that’s all. Sammy’s been wearin’ me down with all the hell crap. I just need a damn break.”

“I think that’s what you call brotherly concern,” you said, inching forward in your seat so that you nudged at the corner of his vision. “Is it so bad having somebody check up on you from time to time? Can’t do everything on your own, Dean, even if you like to think so.”

Dean released his glass and pushed it away from him, wringing his fingers out before he began to play with his ring. How could he tell you—tell anybody that this was something he could only do on his own? There wasn’t a single thing you or Sammy could do. It wasn’t the sort of thing that the books you skimmed through for hunts had an answer to. Traumatised man struggles to confront his tainted past. Now that’s a book that might’ve come in handy. But he wasn’t about to take a stroll through the local library’s self-help section, and reading it would only feel slightly validating if it’d been assigned by somebody with the degree to back the premise.

Besides, even if he’d been willing to talk to somebody who could help him, he’d surely be given a one-way ticket to the looney bin after the first session. Which wacko got to spew tales about the voices in their head without waking up between four padded walls the next day?

Dean cleared his throat dismissively. “Hey, uh, how’d you get here, anyway? Sammy drop you off?” He asked, eyes still glued to his fiddling fingers before he lifted his head to try and scout out the bartender. He could use another drink to drown the nerves he felt lingering within, and hopefully also drown out the voices while he was at it. You know, kill two birds with one stone and all that.

“Took a cab,” you answered hastily—a clear indication that you had no intention of entertaining his bullshit small talk. “I notice things, you know?” You added more earnestly, something that told him he wasn’t getting out of this one so easily.

Oh, trust me, I know, he remarked silently. He could’ve said the same about himself, especially when it came to you.

For instance, he noticed the way you’d never been a big drinker—how you’d only order something whenever he did. Obligatory pressure? Maybe, but he also noticed the way you always ordered the same whiskey. It was a whiskey he’d chosen for you the first time you’d gone to a bar together, and it was the same one you currently nurtured so gently between your fingers.

He noticed that you tended to care from a distance that didn’t feel suffocating, like making him that piping hot cup of coffee in the mornings he’d be too tired to pluck himself from the sheets, or all the times he’d gone days without eating and then woke up to a breakfast you’d prepped and plated at his bedside table. Hell, even all the times he’d left the motel in a scramble and forgotten essential equipment or some personal belonging, and you’d been right by his side, calm as a cucumber while you procured the items from your backpack.

Even now, you’d come all the way out here to keep him the company he’d never asked for, but that you must’ve known he needed. It was slightly more transparent than the rest of your previous acts of care, but he didn’t mind it, especially because you never tended to hassle him about his problems the way Sammy did. Up until now, at least. It was the little things like that that defined you in his eyes, things he’d come to admire about you.

Honestly, when it came to you, Dean couldn’t do anything but notice. You gave him the sort of impression that there was nothing you couldn’t try and fix. But she can’t fix you, a voice barked at him. You can’t be fixed.

Oh, piss off, you ass-probing sons o’ bitches, he spat internally. I’m not tryna get fixed. He wasn’t naive.

He shifted slightly in his seat as he grew more desperate for a numbing release, his eyes searching the bar frantically. But the bartender seemed to have disappeared entirely, and he gave a barely audible huff at tonight’s rigged luck. There goes the fuckin’ rescue. If he had to endure whatever mushy heart-to-heart was about to come next, he’d rather have done with some more alcohol to cull the consequences.

Almost as though you’d read his mind, the glass you’d been savouring was pushed in his direction. He glanced at you with slightly widened eyes, then gave a tiny dip of his chin.

“Thanks, but I prefer mine on the rocks,” he said thickly. Nothin’ like an icy gulp to remind me where the hell I am. That’s right, Hell. You’ll be back there in no time.

“Oh, I know, but if we’re gonna have this conversation—and we both know we will, you’re gonna need something stronger.” You nudged your glass another inch in his direction, modelling a clear-cut expression that told him not to argue any further. “Take it. This one’s on me,” you added with a cheeky smile. It was on you, only, it hadn’t cost you a dime.

Dean watched you for a few seconds longer, his tongue poking through to drag along his lower lip in silent debate. She’s not going to stop. She’s going to find out who you are. She’ll leave you. Just like everybody else. You’ll be alone. All alone. Alone. Again.

Neither of you moved to claim the drink—you out of protest, and him out of something far darker. All you did was cross your arms onto the countertop as you shared his silence, watching him through those calculating eyes of yours that made him feel a little too seen. Just what was going on inside of your head?

“All right,” he relented, slowly reaching across to clutch the glass. He brought it toward himself before lifting it to you in good gesture. “Cheers,” he said, then with a pause, his head tilted in silent consideration. “Again,” he added wryly.

You gave a tiny smile of victory, and the sight made his heart skip a beat. He immediately dropped his attention to the drink, where he brought it in for an eager drain. But his hand hesitated midway when he spotted the evidence of where your lips had settled for its first sip—the coloured print of your kiss overlapping the rim he’d planned to taste just seconds before.

“What, a little lipstick scare you?” He glanced up in time to see your eyes lifting from the same print on the glass rim, only to fix him with a slightly daring grin.

“Nah,” he answered almost too eagerly. He could’ve cursed himself for acting like a rattled school boy. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, hearty gulp of the whiskey. It seared every inch of his insides for the entire trip down to his stomach, but the burn was something different and oddly welcoming. With a smack of his lips and a sigh of relief, he set the remainder of the drink down and flashed you a content smile.

Suddenly, you were leaning toward him, your hand reaching for his face. The sight made his heart race, and all he could do was lean back an inch in his seat, as though you had a case of cooties he was trying to avoid. “Hey, uh—woah,” he laughed nervously, and then he didn’t make any sound at all. Your thumb was pressed against his lips, but it didn’t hover for long before it did a brisk swipe and your arm retreated back to your side.

“Lipstick smudge,” you told him innocently, but he caught that delighted look on your face, and he knew then that you were perfectly aware of the effect you seemed to have over him.

Dean’s head buckled to conceal the heat in his cheeks—hoping that it hadn’t reached your attention the way everything you did reached his. “Yeah, well, at least buy a guy a drink first,” he chuckled hoarsely.

“Technically, I already did.”

He gave a series of minuscule nods that depicted his defeat. “Touché.” Technically, you hadn’t bought anything—you’d gotten a freebie. But he supposed it was the sentiment that counted.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” you continued your earlier agenda. “I notice things, Dean.”

She’s going to find out exactly who you are.

“Oh, yeah?” He muttered half-heartedly, the heat in his cheeks vanishing only to be replaced by a feeling of dread. His chin perked up when he caught sight of the bartender creeping into the corner of his eye. There you are, ya prick. He lifted his hand to wave the man over, before he finally turned to face you. “Like what?”

He knew exactly what, and so did you. Where to begin was the real question.

Luckily, the bartender appeared just in time to offer a preparatory interlude, which he gratefully seized at the throat. Turning to the man, he leaned onto the counter. “Hey, man, could you fix the gal over here with a. . .” He trailed off with a questioning glance in your direction.

“I’m good, thanks,” you refused politely, but Dean could make out a hint of impatience peering through.

He cocked his head slightly. “Suit y’self,” he murmured, then faced the bartender again to order himself another round to down after he finished the whiskey—drown your sorrows, or whatever it is they say. But your hand reached into his space with far more sense than him, silencing his impulse before his lips could even split to give the order.

“He’s good, too,” you told the drinks master, and the man glanced between the both of you before settling on you with a knowing smile and taking his leave.

Dean turned to you with a slight pout and a ruffled frown. “Man, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” you retorted bluntly, hand retracting back into your own vicinity. “I’m not carrying your drunk ass out of here. And neither is Sam,” you added when Dean attempted to argue his brother onto his case.

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” he mumbled, reaching for the singular, remaining drink he was apparently being limited to for the rest of tonight. But he didn’t take another sip just yet. Instead, he used the glass as more of a coping device, his fingers wrung tightly around its fragile body. And he couldn’t look at you while he waited for you to say whatever it is you had to say; he wasn’t strong enough to confront that particular Pandora’s box head on.

“You haven’t been okay for a while now,” you began. His teeth reached to bite the already-raw skin of his cheek. “And I know that it’s because of. . . you know—” he did, “—the things you’ve been through during your time in Hell. I mean, I can’t imag—”

Dean already knew the ending of that sentence before you finished it, and all the spite he’d garnered within drove him to face you with unintentional hostility. “No, you can’t,” he snapped gruffly, but he came to regret it shortly after seeing the hurt creep into your expression. With a sigh, he turned away from your crippling stare, his head shaking lightly in defeat. “This is why I don’t wanna talk about it. . . you and Sammy, you can’t understand what I’ve been through down there—what I had to do down there.” Go on, tell her. Tell her about the monsters in hell. Tell her about the biggest monster of them all.

“You still need to talk about it, Dean,” you urged gently. He noted how soft your tone was, almost as though you were afraid to push him too hard, whether it be with your choice of words, or with a single, harsh pitch in your voice. “If not to me, then to Sam, at least. I mean, he’s your brother, I’m sure he understands most things that other people wouldn’t.”

“Nah. . .” Dean murmured, his voice trailing off as he picked at his battered brain. He brought the whiskey to his lips and took a sip, savouring the burn in his chest. He hovered the glass in the air. “Sammy. . . he can’t help me with this. He shouldn’t have to, anyway. I’m the big bro, I gotta keep my head on for ‘im, y’know?” He glanced at you finally, and he didn’t realise how shattered he must’ve looked until he saw heartbreak soften your eyes.

His attention flickered down to where your crossed arms faltered, your hand briefly reaching forward as though you’d wanted to offer some slither of physical reassurance, but something else had kept you from engaging. He wished it hadn’t.

“Well,” you murmured, that same hand rubbing tender patterns along your forearm. “You don’t have to keep your head on for me.” Dean glanced up at you in surprise. “You’d be stupid to try, anyway. You’re not fooling me, Dean.” You gave a light laugh of defeat. “You’re not even fooling Sam. But the difference is that you don’t have to share that burden with him if you don’t want to. . . but you can share it with me.”

Could he, really? He couldn’t help but feel as though once he did open up to you, you’d realise the true magnitude of his shit. Only then, you wouldn’t be able to back out. You were too kind for that sort of rejection. But you’d both become miserable, and he didn’t think he could do that to you of all people.

With a slight jerk of his chin, he said, “‘fraid I can’t,” and gulped down the last of his drink to flush away the guilt of the mere sound. He hissed through gritted teeth as he placed the glass down with a bang, something that caused a few loiterers to glance his way, but he ignored them as surely as he’d been doing this entire night. “We should get back to the Motel. Bet Sammy’s startin’ to wonder if he should give me a call and chew me out over missin’ your curfew.”

“Dean—” you started, but he stopped listening.

He reached into his jacket pocket and plucked out his wallet, fingers prying the worn leather to slip out a hefty note. He folded and plopped it onto the countertop, his chin dipping in a brief thanks to the bartender who’d begun to saunter over and claim the bill. “Thanks, man,” he murmured, rising from his seat as he buried his wallet once more.

When he did finally make eye contact with you again, you had this sullen look to your features, but he tried not to show the way it made him feel. Feeling guilty? Like a douche? A prick undeserving of her time? After she came out all this way to speak to you. Tsk, the voices sneered.

Piss right off to hell. You first.

“Come on.” Dean jerked his chin at you, averting his gaze almost immediately when he saw your eyes narrow. He half expected you to start arguing, or to continue sitting there in a determined protest, but much to his relief, you rose up before him in a nerve-wrecking silence.

He glanced back at you, noting the light shake of your head before you let slip a hopeless scoff. Before he had a chance to prompt you further, you pivoted on your heels and whipped off into the busy bodies suffocating the bar. Behind you, your perfume lingered like a tantalising trail of candy, one that he knew he’d have no return from if he followed. But he did, anyway—the same way Hansel did Gretel because something about you had always felt like the home he’d never had. Even if he might burn it all down eventually.

He kept you in his sight all the way until the bar’s entrance, where you both eventually slipped out into the cool, unwelcoming air of the night. Dean drew up beside your hovering figure, his hand brought up to cradle your back and guide you to where he’d parked the Impala. He tried to catch your eye to ask whether you’d like his jacket because he felt your faint trembling beneath his hand, but you seemed to stop noticing he existed. Maybe that was for the best.

When you reached the passenger’s side of the car, Dean released you to reach for the handle. It clicked open, and he widened the door with an usher for you to climb inside. But all you did was stand there, tussles of your hair carried in hypnotising whisks by the night’s nipping breeze. He caught the scent of your shampoo, the same one he often found himself breathing in too deeply whenever he’d man the shower after you. And he could still remember it’s name—some limited edition crap he’d forced himself to memorise so that he could find another bottle like it and gift it to you on your next birthday. You’d been complaining for a good month that your current one was running dry.

He didn’t much like the idea of gift-giving, it wasn’t exactly his forte. But he knew the way you and Sammy both lit up at the mere thought of it. Besides, he’d be rude not to return the favour after having received gifts for his birthday from the both of you. Who are you fooling, boy? The best gift you could give her is to get out of her life. Don’t bother playing pretend with anything else.

You finally turned to face him, which instantly halted any and all thoughts he’d slowly been drowning in. There was some new resolve furnishing your features—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted and nostrils flaring with the weight of your own thoughts. But before Dean could ask the first thing about it, your hands came to wrap around his jaw, your lips pressing against his in a firm kiss.

Your lips were so warm against his, so soft that he could’ve fallen deeper into their padding. And he wanted to, so desperate for their welcome that he had to bring his hands up in a gentle bracket of your neck to keep himself from falling prey to his deepest desires. He pulled his lips from yours almost regretfully, keenly aware of your lingering warmth. There was so much emotion brimming in your eyes as you gazed up at him, but he saw uncertainty glare the loudest. He wished he could’ve said something—done something to displace it, but he had to remember where his priorities lay. In keeping you safe. Away from everything that was him.

“We can’t,” he murmured softly.

“Why not, Dean?” You answered with equal volume. He felt your thumb stroke across his stubble.

His lower lip fell loose with a heavy sigh, his head buckling in your hold. “We just can’t,” he repeated.

He waited for a reply, for any sound that echoed your frustrated with him, but you said nothing as your hands fell away from his jaw. He was forced to release his hold on you when you backed away from him and ducked into the salvation of the car’s privacy, his hands collapsing to his side in regret. He lifted his head to the sky with a brief breath of strength before he reached to shut the Impala’s door and tensely made his way around the fore. When he slipped into the driver’s seat, you’d already taken to the view of your window, hand cupping your cheek as you stared at anything that wasn’t Dean.

Fair enough.

He got Baby up and running, carefully picking his way out of the bar’s crowded lot before they hit the road winding toward their motel. The drive’s scenery was quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier atmosphere, and it made the air between yourself and Dean a whole lot tenser. There weren’t many cars, or people, found wandering by at any point of the trip, so it truly felt like the two of you had been locked alone in a room to confront the unspoken elephant. But he wasn’t so eager to pick at that fresh scab. Besides, what else more did he have to say that wouldn’t end up hurting you?

It felt like a lifetime had passed when he pulled up at the motel, the lot desolate save another car somewhere down the line. You finally shifted from your position of gazing out the window, but it wasn’t to look at him. It wasn’t even to reach for the handle that’d free you from this suffocating place beside him. Instead, your head was turned forward as you gazed through the windscreen.

“You’re one stubborn shit, you know that?” You said suddenly.

Dean followed your lead and decided to focus on the bug stain streaking the windshield just above the view of his wheel. “Yeah,” he scoffed knowingly, his fingers restlessly tapping the wheel’s rim.

“You’re just so determined to let yourself suffer alone—as if it makes you righteous in sparing us the hurt. But in reality, we’re already suffering. I mean, we’ve all got our own shit going on, right? The only thing making it worse is that somebody we care about is going through something unimaginable, but we don’t know how the hell to help him because he just won’t talk about it. Because he’s scared about—I don’t know—making us accomplices to his problems, I guess.”

Dean’s head buckled to the view of his lap as he listened to you talk, gripping the wheel’s rim a little tighter as he strangled the emotion threatening to take ahold of him. He heard you shift in your seat, noting as your knees turned toward him for a more direct confrontation. He didn’t think he could endure your frustration for any longer without finally cracking, and that scared him.

“When will you stop being so selfless, Dean?”

He allowed that question to linger in the air. Him, selfless? He wasn’t sure he’d call it that. To tell the truth, though, keeping his mouth shut had slowly been wearing him down. And it was almost as though walling off both you and Sammy had allowed the voices in his head to get as bad as they did. He knew all of this, but still he couldn’t find it in himself to open up. He’d never been good with rationalising his emotions, or with asking for help to do so. After all, growing up, he’d had nobody to ask. So he’d done the only thing he knew how to—suck it up and act the steadfast parent so that he could take care of Sammy. And ever since, he’d never quite learnt how to step out of that role, or how to take care of himself.

“I guess I’m just not ready to talk about it, yet,” Dean admitted in an unsteady murmur. His lower lip began to quiver, and he hated the way no amount of clenching his jaw seemed to quell it.

The hand he’d hovered on the wheel moved hastily to wipe the moisture he felt brimming on the cusp of his eyes, and he swallowed hard to fight his urge to flee the car. There was a loud silence from your side that made his ears ring; he wished you would say something—anything—before his voices did.

“I get that,” you said eventually. It made him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Your hand came fourth to rest on his shoulder, which made him drew a sharp, shuddering breath, despite your warmth seeping through his layers in a way that should’ve soothed him entirely.

“I just need you to know that you don’t have to do everything on your own,” you continued. “It gets exhausting. Trust me, I’ve been on my own for practically my entire life before I met you and Sam.” You paused when Dean turned to face you. “You wanna know something? Humans weren’t made to be alone—to do things alone. We’ve never been strong enough. That comes back to bite some people in the ass, but I’d say for people like us, it’s a blessing. So count them, Dean.”

And finally, as Dean sat stewing in his vulnerability, held hostage under your intense stare, he understood what glint had been in your eye all along. He couldn’t look away from it anymore. As if you seemed to witness his change in demeanour, the hand on his shoulder began to trail down the sleeve of his jacket in a suggestive caress. It set a fire to his chest, one that made him breath a little deeper for the air you seemed to be stealing from his lungs.

“Listen. . . you’re Sammy’s friend,” he pushed out weakly, an attempt to reason against his pressing urges. He hoped that by saying it aloud, he’d be able to silence the part of him that craved the pursuit of you. But for once, amongst the many voices in his head, he could hear his own—loud and clear in it’s true hopes that you’d be braver than he felt and make nothing of his poor argument. That you’d be brave enough to give him the permission he’d been withholding from himself.

You gave him this subtle squint—he caught it briefly in the thinning of your lashes. And then there was the slight hitch in the corner of your lips. The sight made his heart flutter up an inch. For all the voices in his head, he wished he could hear yours right now. Did you want this as much as he did?

Eventually, he caught you leaning closer to his yearning self. “So?” You murmured, the challenge accentuated by the purse in your lips. “I’m my own person before I’m Sam’s friend. I think I’m pretty capable of making my own decisions and dealing with the consequences that come after.”

Dean’s lower lip sank open at that, his brows quirking on anticipation. “I can’t promise you that. . . this, whatever it is, will be an easy ride,” he said. That I’ll be easy to love, he added silently.

You fixed him a long stare, your lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “I told you, Dean, this one’s on me,” you murmured.

This time, he knew that you weren’t alluding to the drink.

You’ll regret this, the voices barked. That’s my own damn decision.

Slowly, he began to lean in toward you, holding your stare and feeling further encouraged by the eager glint that seemed to grow in their breath-taking depths. The voices in his head blared a united jest. She doesn’t want you, she only pities you. You’re going to ruin her, just like you ruin everything else. You think Sammy’s going to forgive you when you break his closest friend? Traitor. Some big bro you are. You’ve always been selfish. He pushed back a mental answer. Shut. It. They didn’t listen.

He felt his heart begin to thud a little harder at his chest, but he gave a hefty swallow to dampen the feeling, and before it had a chance to return reinforced, he pushed his lips to yours.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like ages, there was silence. Blissful, unequivocal silence. As if your touch was the antidote he’d needed all along to quench the fire hell had set alight to his brain. As if you’d been the missing incantation he’d needed to chant to keep all his demons at bay. And it made him greedy—this taste of peace you seemed to offer him. So he claimed more of it, the kiss deepening as he brought up his hands to cradle both delicate curves of your jaw. In turn, your hands flew up to bracket his neck, before drawing sensual lines all the way to his nape. Your touch was as gentle as he’d imagined, and as kind as he knew you to be, and he craved more of it. More of you. All of you.

Goddammit, he shouldn’t, but he did. He was only human, after all—even if he was all the worst parts of one.

He pulled away briefly to take the view of you in, lips parted in a slight pant. You mirrored him well, the gentle glare of the lamppost light reflected across your slicked lips. The sight made him burn with a more feral desire. He just had to have you. He was far beyond fending off his selfish desires now.

“Dean?” You called softly, an unsure twinge to your tone. You must’ve thought that he’d begun having doubts about pursuing this because there was a sudden, anxious furrow to your brows. But your hands didn’t falter from his neck, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go, either.

“C’mere,” he breathed softly, releasing your jaw only to slide his hands down your waist and to your hips, where he settled a firm grip to encourage you onto his lap. You followed his flow so naturally, hands sliding along the toned slope of his shoulders to grip there for support. You manoeuvred across the conjoined seat and reached the first leg over his lap, which Dean cupped at the thigh to steady you onto him. “Yeah, there ya go, you got it,” he murmured encouragingly, and your other leg followed shortly after until you comfortably straddled him.

You tilted your head up to drink in the impala’s ceiling, which could manage a graze of your nose if you lifted yourself any further. “Bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?” You giggled, glancing back down at Dean. He wanted to bottle the sound.

“Hey, she’ll do plenty fine,” he chuckled huskily, his hands comfortably settled at the meat of your hips. His thumbs rubbed tentative circles across your clothed skin, and he watched the way your lower lip drew into a subtle bite. It drove him nuts. He found himself leaning up to reach for your lips once more, but you held him back with an index finger to his chin.

“And just so we’re clear, I don’t have a curfew,” you said pointedly. Dean knew you were alluding to what he’d said back at the bar.

His lips split with a thankful grin. “Hallelujah to that,” he drawled huskily before lowering his lips to deliver a playful nibble to your finger. You let slip a giggle the most bubbly he’d ever heard before plucking your finger away and replacing it with your hungry lips.

His hands found their way below the hem of your dress, where he rubbed a firm line up your thighs. The touch coaxed a moan from your lips, poured into his mouth like the drizzle of honey—he couldn’t help but lap it up. Your hands wandered messy lines up and down the expanse of his neck, even going so far as to tousle his hair. The stimulation drove him crazy and sent a jolt down to his core. The longer your lips spent entangled, the more he felt his jean begin to strain beyond his control—but he didn’t have much adoration left to conceal. If anything, he wanted you to know exactly how you consumed every part of him.

He pulled away from the kiss, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ this,” he husked. “Wantin’ you.”

He could see the way the kiss had left you breathless, too, and strands of hair had fallen from the keep of your ears to messily frame your face. God, you looked beautiful. “Your damn fault for taking this long to pursue it. I’ve given all the signs, Dean Winchester, but you are as naive as boys come.”

He reached up to tuck the hair behind your ears, making a point to trail his fingers along the contour of your jaw as a knowing smirk felt out his lips. “Nah, just a good ol’ case of self-restraint,” he murmured.

“Oh because you know what’s so good for you?” You teased. Even under the dim lamplight, he could make out the rosy tint to your cheeks.

“I damn well do now.”

“Then show me.”

Dean grinned at your blatant challenge, hands moving to grab at your hips. He slowly began grounding you against his erection, which plucked from your lips a series of noises that began to grow more and more lewd with each passing second. He felt your nails digging into his shoulders, the padding of his jacket cushioning the sensation into gentle kneading. He couldn’t help but grunt with each blissful stroke against him—god, he could do this all night. It wasn’t long before you’d taken over the job entirely, your hips stirring back and fourth across his lap to a slow, tantalising rhythm that made his head loll back against the seat.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his teeth grit as he endured the waves of pleasure riding its way through every nerve of his body. His fought the urge to flutter his eyes closed, to drown in the darkness of his euphoria because there was no way in hell he was missing a single detail about you—lower lip nibbled, fluttering lashes, heaving chest, a show all for him.

“You like that?” You asked thinly, your eyes fluttering closed as you threw your head back with a single, harsh push of your hips.

“Like it? You’re killin’ me over here,” he pushed out—a gruff, strained sound as he battled the heat accumulating in his groin. The demons, the angels, every asshole out to get him could go stuff it. At the end of the day, it was you that was going to be the sure death of him.

You let out an impish giggle, your hands releasing his shoulders to plough through your hair in the most seductive manner you could manage. It made him clench his jaw, made his grip on your hips a little firmer than before.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he praised breathlessly, eyes fluttering through his lashes as he gazed up at you. You were mesmerising, in everything that you did. You didn’t ever have to be doing much for him to want to stare. Existing was enough. Doing more than existing was a bonus.

He saw the way you lit up at that compliment, and it made him want to shower you with many more like it. Hunting had its kicks, but fuck, this—you—he could find himself addicted. That should’ve made you dangerous, especially when you were all he needed to take to stifle the voices. But he couldn’t pull away from you now. He wouldn’t. In fact, it only made him want to hold onto you more fiercely.

Your hands reached back for the steering wheel as you sought out just the angle to intensify your movements, and that’s when you accidentally struck the hooter. The both of you jolted with the noise, which made your hands fly up to cup your mouth in both horror and amusement, your hips stilling against his lap.

Instinctively, both Dean and yourself turned to glance through the windscreen, zoning in on the door that lead up to the three bed motel you’d been renting for a good month or so. A few tense seconds passed, but the door never opened to reveal an inquisitive Sam, and you both let out with a breath of relief. You collapsed onto the crown of Dean’s head with a fit of laughter, practically hugging his head. He burrowed into your chest with his own chuckle as his hands dragged up your body to wrap around your waist in a hug.

“I’m thinkin’ maybe we should move this party to the backseat,” he murmured against you.

You pulled back to face him, hands entangling at the nape of his neck. “I think that’s for the best,” you giggled, leaning down to place a tender kiss on his lips. He loved how gentle your touch felt, like he was being admired more than desired—something to savour and not to lap up like a greedy, guilty cheat meal. It made him feel valued, and he’d take every damn second of this night to return the favour.

He received your kiss eagerly, eyes falling shut as he basked in your soothing warmth. He found himself breathing a little deeper, your scent streaming in to envelop him further in your essence—as if he craved to be remade in your image. Then, much to his disappointment, you pulled away and left his lips bare as you began to shift from his lap. He watched as you reached past his torso to bend yourself over the seat, and then with a few noises of effort here and there, you heaved yourself over—your flailing foot nearly striking his eye in the process.

“You good?” He called back, twisting in his spot to catch you sprawled on your back along the seat. Oh, you were comfortable, all right.

“Just get over here, Lover Boy,” you giggled, hands grabbing the empty air.

Dean chuckled and shifted onto his knees with a grunt, carefully reaching over the seats to place his hands on either side of your torso. He got the last of himself over so that he towered over your waiting figure, the necklace permanently wrung around his neck slipping his top to dangle toward you. Your eyes latched onto it curiously before you reached up to hold it between cautious fingers. He half expected you to ask about it, but instead, you released it and wrapped your hands around his neck, as if nothing other than him mattered in that moment.

Before he knew it, he was pulled down into a kiss, and he leaned down even further to get lost in the taste of you. His hands lowered along your body to find the hem of your dress, where they fastened around the material and began dragging it up and over the curves of your legs. When he’d gotten to your torso, he broke off the kiss to lift himself a fraction, your hands coming up to aid the removal of your dress. He slipped it over your head and tossed it onto the floor before moving to shed his own jacket and layered shirts. The clutter of your shoes falling to the floor sounded some ways behind him, and he took a moment to do the same, shrugging off his boots into the oblivion below.

He took a moment to glance you over, almost naked save the pretty set of lace underwear. He’d pictured this moment far too many times than he’d like to admit, and now he drank in your every curve, scar and blemish, and marvelled at the soft sheen of your skin to the point where he hoped he’d come to memorise you. Somewhere in the mix, he picked up the sweet tang of your lotion.

“God,” he pushed out absentmindedly, his hands moving to rub soft lines down your waist.

“A believer now, are we?” You poked, your back arching an inch off the seat as you bathed in his endearing touch.

Dean jerked his chin. “I mean, come on,” he grinned, doing another sweep of your body before he leaned down to litter soft kisses along your neck. Your head caved further into the seat, broadening the horizon for his appreciative lips to explore as they pleased—and they did.

He drew passionate lines all over the curve of your neck, even managing a sneaky trail up to your ears, where he nibbled lovingly at the lobe. You giggled, the sound pure music and bliss to his ears. He wandered all the way down to your collarbones, experimenting with light nibbles along the tender anatomy before he soothed it with a slow kiss. You let out a passionate moan that spurred him on, the strain in his jeans becoming far tighter than he could bear, but he couldn’t stop himself from exploring every inch of you just yet. He intended on pressing all of your buttons—desperate to know just how many sounds he could coax from you.

He dipped down to place a kiss on your breast, so perfectly hoisted by the bra he sought to slip from your body. He pulled back in a light pant, his hands coming up to fulfil his wishes. Thankfully, it was one of those that unhooked in the front. It sure as hell would save the extra effort. While he reached for the clip, your hands wandered up his muscled forearms, thumbs tracing over the veins of your choice. He stole a glance from you, noting how you seemed as enticed by him as he felt by you, before he turned his focus back to your bra with a sheepish grin on his lips.

“What’s got you more flustered than a frat boy with a serious crush?” You asked, your hands straying from his arms to trail down his toned abdomen.

Your touch stopped just shy of his navel, but the heat carried all the way to his groin. “Don’t you play games with me,” he warned through a smirk, the bra’s clip coming undone. Slowly, he parted the cupping, his breath usurped by the view of your spreading breasts. “Y’know what, play as many games as you’d like—but keep the damn view, will ya?” He chuckled, aiding your efforts to shimmy the bra straps from your shoulders.

Your hands hovered half-way over the hem of his pants, framing his gently carved v-lines in admiration. And then you began to undo the button of his jean, the zipper splitting downward in a slow and steady whir that hoisted his primal urges. You made a point to simultaneously tug at the hem of his underwear as you pulled down his jean, which he shifted to help aid the removal of. He felt mildly embarrassed at the way his manhood bowed with eager anticipation, but you drank in the view with flustered eyes, lips thinning with an exhilarated grin that told him you were marvelling in the spell you’d cast over him.

When you met his gaze again, there was this almost pleading look to your eyes. He answered your silent prayers by bowing down to place tender, thorough kisses all around the curves of your breasts, even taking a moment to adorn your hardened buds with a hot swirl of his tongue and a gentle toying of his teeth. This action alone seemed to tug at your last thread until you’d unravelled into a mewling mess, slurring his name in a manner that made him never want to stop. His hands came up to squeeze your breasts a little harsher than he’d intended to, but you let out an approving groan that left his grip steadfast as he continued his toying.

The hands you’d settled into his hair was the last straw he needed to finally drag his attention lower, where he instilled sloppy, hasty kisses all along your stomach. He reached the hem of your delicate lace, hands gliding over the meat of your hips to hook his fingers under the waistband and yank it down your legs. You discarded the undies eagerly, and with his newfound access to your womanhood, he gave you a content smile before dipping between your thighs to drag his tongue through your slicked folds. He curled his arms around your propped thighs, his nose burying against your clit as he lapped up your core at slow and steady pace. He deliberately took his time to draw all manner of patterns along the tender skin, keenly listening for any hitch in your moans that indicated he’d found a sweet spot. The sound of your undoing? Now that was a voice he’d gladly allow to plague his mind—all day, all night.

He could tell by the progressive loudness of your moans and the more frantic jerking of your lower half that were close to your limits, so he intensified every flick and whisk of his tongue to help carry you to that point.

“Dean—stop,” you breathed out suddenly. Immediately, he withdrew from your proximity with a concerned glance in your direction.

“You all right?” He asked, releasing his grip on your thighs to rub calming circles along your sensitive skin. “If I pushed too far, I’m sor—” he attempted to apologise, but you were eager to cut him short.

“No, it’s not that!” You said quickly, propping yourself onto your elbows to take the view of him in better. “You’re doing amazing—you’re amazing,” you said through a soft smile, your cheeks blown red by a combination of your stimulation and your almost undoing. “But I don’t want to finish just yet. I want to feel you—all of you,” you explained.

Dean caught on quickly, his heart lurching a short distance. “Yeah—yeah, of course,” he murmured, inching his way back up toward you, where he leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly before he dipped to place his yearning kiss onto your lips.

“I want you so bad, Dean,” you murmured between kisses—a sweet, breathless sound that cooed into his ear.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how mutual the feeling is,” He breathed, answering your plea by reaching down to grab ahold of his manhood. He delivered a quick, preparatory pump along the length before he pressed it to your slicked folds and dragged it down to your entrance. You let out a sharp moan at that, the kiss temporarily seizing.

Slowly, he began to insert himself into your warmth. You drank him in so eagerly that he couldn’t stop a strained moan from slipping his lips.

“Oh, man,” he mumbled huskily, head collapsing just past yours as he drove himself into the first pump—so controlled and calculated as though he were afraid to hurt you. You seemed appreciative of his pace, your hands coming up to wrap around the toned contours of his back. “You still good?” He checked in as his hips retracted for the second stroke, angling himself to achieve just the right curve that would boldly reach your sweet spot.

You mumbled a feeble mhm, your fingers burrowing little divots into the muscle of his back. That confirmation cemented him, and he took on a steady pace within you, one hand reaching down to grip your thigh in support. It wasn’t long before the impala began to sway under his growing pace, each powered thrust of his hips against yours providing all the momentum needed to rock the steadfast steel. The mingled tune of your moans and grunts filled the isolated air of the car, the windows tinted with a secretive sweat bled from your combined body heat. It carried on for a while, and he could only hope that nobody was around to witness it.

His high came on strong—and embarrassingly, a lot more quicker than yours. He’d blame it on his infatuation with you. That, and the fact that he’d practically cleansed his brain of the mere thought of you. It’d all been necessary to spare himself the torment of fawning over every aspect of your existence, but now that he was finally afforded the opportunity to truly taste you, could he have blamed himself for being greedy? Still, he throttled the urge to scatter his pleasure, straining and waiting as you reached your own breaking point. He knew you were near when he felt the twinge of your nails against his back, and he brought both arms up to straddle your head as he pressed a desperate kiss to your lips.

With a single, deep thrust of his hips, you both spluttered a weepy breath. The knot in his core dissipated into an elated, white haze that consumed his every sense. For a moment, all he could do was hover himself over you, his lips splayed against yours as he grunted into you. Your lips tangled in breathless bouts of air, occasionally snagging in a weak kiss.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed against your cheek, placing a kiss onto the flushed skin.

Your hands came up to cradle his face and push him just far enough to drink him in. “I adore you, Dean Winchester,” you whispered lovingly. “I always have.”

The way you gazed at him was enough to throb his debilitated heart, and suddenly he felt rejuvenated within—as though you were all the motivation he needed to keep on powering his way through this cruel experience he’d come to call surviving. You made him want to do more than survive. You made him want to live—if not for himself, then for you. You were the type of person he’d have fought himself free of hell to return back to. And now that he was back, one thing was for certain—he’d keep on fighting to ensure his place on this earth. To remain beside you.

Dean had never been too good with words out loud, so he gave you a soft smile that he hoped could convey a fraction of what he felt for you. He removed your hands from his jaw, crowning each with a kiss before he shifted your bodies into a comfortable spooning session. Your back curved into his chest, your lower half perfectly conforming to his as he held you against him like you’d slip away if he relented for even a second. And you laid like that until a gentle, shallow rhythm of breathing overtook you, sleep coming to claim you with a haste he envied. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slipped into dreamland as quickly as that—and when he did, his nightmares would turn up like an eager workaholic reporting for dawn duty.

Now, with you nestled between the arms that had come to memorise the shape of loneliness, he didn’t mind laying there in wake. He listened to the gentle whisper of your flaring nostrils, taking in a fraction of the peace etched across your partially concealed face. He was glad that somebody else could draw peace from him and claim it in the way that he’d never been able to claim for himself. He was glad that somebody was you.

It had always been you.

He’d been the biggest fool trying to convince himself otherwise.

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a/n: trying out a new format here bc the old one is exactly that. old. n e ways. first Dean fic—be kind to me!! :’) this was so daunting to write, but boy did I have my fun with it. i hope y’all enjoy this piece, i haven’t been able to get this sad sad man out of my mind. i just want to hold him close at all times. also i’m not responsible for any typos i’ve missed bc it’s currently 2 am and i’m scrambling to get this out. the drafts are sick of it.

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

tags — @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind

comment/message me if you’d like to be added to/removed from the taglist of any future dean winchester works!

other works — supernatural masterlist

[seanminfl]

I sat quietly, my cock straining in its cage. My youngest son is the master in our house and he was sodomizing his older brother on the couch again. I was only allowed to clean up the mess with my tongue when he was done.

My youngest son, Jake, was a muscular, handsome man with piercing blue eyes and a devilish smirk. He had an insatiable appetite for sex and took great pleasure in dominating his older brother, John. John, on the other hand, was a tall, lean man with hazel eyes and short brown hair. He had a submissive nature, which only fueled Jake's desire to dominate him.

One day, as I sat in the living room, I overheard Jake and John talking about their latest sexual exploit. John was retelling the story to Jake, who listened intently with a growing smirk on his face.

John: "So, I was lying there on the couch, completely naked and ready for you."

Jake: "Mmm, I remember. Your cock was already hard and begging for attention."

John: "Yes, and you came over to me, looking like the sexual predator you are."

Jake: "Damn right I did. I was so ready to claim your ass again."

John: "You didn't waste any time, either. You pushed me down on the couch and climbed on top of me, your hard cock pressing against my stomach."

Jake: "I couldn't help it. I wanted to feel your body against mine. And fuck, your cock felt so good against me."

John: "Then you started kissing me. Your tongue invaded my mouth, and I could taste the desire on your breath."

Jake: "I was so fucking horny, brother. I needed to be inside you."

John: "I know, and I was more than willing to let you have me. You know how much I love the way you fuck me."

Jake: "Oh, I know. And I make sure to give you exactly what you want."

John: "Yes, you do. You always make sure to prepare my ass before you fuck me. You lick my hole, making it nice and wet for your cock."

Jake: "That's right, brother. I want to make sure your ass is ready for me. I want to hear you moan and beg for my cock."

John: "And you do. You always make me beg for it. And when you finally push your cock inside me, it feels so fucking good."

Jake: "I love the way your ass clenches around my cock, brother. It feels like a tight, warm glove, just for me."

John: "And when you start to fuck me, I can't help but moan and beg for more."

Jake: "That's because I know how to give you exactly what you need, brother. I fuck you hard and deep, just the way you like it."

John: "Yes, you do. And when you're about to cum, you always pull out and shoot your load all over my face and chest."

Jake: "That's right, brother. I love to cover you in my cum. It's a reminder of who owns your ass."

John: "I know, and I love it. I love the way your cum tastes and feels on my skin."

Jake: "And then, after I've cum all over you, I always make you clean up the mess with your tongue."

John: "Yes, and I always do it willingly. I love the taste of your cum, and it's a small price to pay for the pleasure you give me."

As I listened to their conversation, my cock throbbed in its cage, eager to be released. I knew that I would be allowed to clean up the mess once they were done. But for now, I sat quietly, my eyes transfixed on the sight of Jake dominating John on the couch.

Jake: "Alright, brother. I'll let you get up now."

John: "Thank you, Jake. You always know how to fuck me just right."

Jake: "That's because I love you, brother. And I love your tight little ass."

John: "I love you too, Jake. And I love the way you fuck me."

As John pulled his pants back on, Jake turned to me with a wicked grin on his face.

Jake: "Alright, Dad. It's time for you to clean up the mess."

I nodded obediently, knowing what was expected of me. I crawled over to the couch on my hands and knees, my eyes locked on the sight of Jake's cum still glistening on John's chest and face.

Jake: "Now, clean up every last drop, Dad. And make sure you lick it all up."

I leaned forward, my tongue extending to gather up the first bit of Jake's cum. I closed my eyes, savoring the taste of my son's seed on my tongue. As I continued to lick up his cum, I felt a sense of pride and submission, knowing that this was my role in the family.

Jake: "That's it, Dad. Make sure you get it all."

John: "Yeah, Dad. Make sure you clean up every last drop."

I continued to lick up Jake's cum, my tongue working diligently to gather up every last bit. As I finished, I looked up at Jake and John, my eyes filled with a mixture of adoration and submission.

Jake: "Good job, Dad. Now go back to your seat and wait for us to call on you again."

I nodded obediently, my place in the family hierarchy firmly established. I returned to my seat, my cock still straining in its cage, eager for the next time I would be allowed to clean up the mess.

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[pshbites]

SUPER RICH KIDS ━ psh

pairing : richboy!sunghoon x fem!reader genre : sort of strangers to lovers, mix of angst and fluff but mostly fluff, sort of in an unspoken but aware relationship at the end warnings : mentions of fake friends, drug usage, and backstabbing, not proofread, excessive use of commas lol.. i think that’s it synopsis : the last person you expected to have a connection with was park sunghoon but you were proven wrong wc : 1.1k a/n : first fic of the new year LESSGOO. yes this is heavy inspo off of super rich kids by frank ocean AND this is dedicated to my lizzie bear larb u

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is also always appreciated!!

“eating alone are you?” sunghoon spoke, making you look up from your lunchbox. he entered the dark corridor where you sat and looked down at you. “if you’re here to make fun of me then go away” you sighed out, taking a bite of the rice ball you made this morning. “i could, but that’s no fun is it?” he said, sitting down on the other side of the narrow hallway, stretching his legs out so they were right next to you. he crossed his arms and looked down in his lap. 

“surprised you’re sitting down, i figured a rich kid like you wouldn’t want to get his fancy clothes dirty” you scoffed making sunghoon roll his eyes at you. “oh shut it, i couldn’t care less about clothes right now, don’t you have any friends to eat lunch with?” you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i could ask you the very same thing” you mumbled back, taking another bite of your rice ball. 

in your four years of attending this academy never has park sunghoon ever willingly talked to you. he acknowledged your existence which was better than what he did to most, but that never meant you were off limits to the constant teasing and remarks from his friend group. that was the norm for you, a non wealthy kid, to be going to a school surrounded by rich kids. always on the outside looking in. 

“isn’t it pathetic, i mean to not have any friends” sunghoon looked at you, tilting his head. you couldn’t tell if he meant that in a sincere way or a taunting way, either way your answer would’ve been the same. “i’d rather not have any friends than have ones who betray me” you said, mouth suddenly feeling bitter that the thought of your ‘friend’ who backstabbed you in the worst way possible. “i agree” sunghoon mumbled, now looking down at the floor. you furrowed your brows, “weren’t you just with them earlier?” making him roll his eyes once more. 

he shook his head, sitting up a little straighter. “you wouldn’t get it” you raised your eyebrow and sat up straighter as well, setting your lunchbox down, crossing your arms and staring back at him. “try me.” he sighed out and threw his head back, “i found out everyone in my life hates me, and my best friend slept with my ex-girlfriend.” you furrowed your brows, still looking at him. he adjusted his head straighter, looking back at you. “i feel like everything is so fake now, that this idea i had of them is just gone.” you nodded, pursing your lips in thought. you hesitated before speaking up. 

“i mean, did you really think they were your real friends?” 

“what.” 

you shrugged and threw your hands up, “your name holds value sunghoon, i’m sure you know that and i’m more than sure they did too.” sunghoon clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes again, clearly annoyed about what you were insinuating. deep down though he knew you were right, it was true. “guess no amount of wealth can get me a friend” he laughed dryly making you frown slightly. just before you could speak up, the bell for lunch rang out. you silently got together your things and stood up, sunghoon did as well. just before sunghoon left, you stopped him. “same time tomorrow?” you said, making him look back at stare at you before he walked off without a word. 

…

you didn’t expect much but sunghoon was there the next day and the day after and the day after. soon enough you had been eating lunch in that same hallway for one whole month. in that time you had gotten to know sunghoon more, causing the both of you to open up and confide in one another. you learned more about sunghoons fake friends and he learned about your friend, it was weird how one common thread could bring you two so close. 

“all they do is get high off their face, i don’t think im missing out much” sunghoon said, speaking of his friend groups infamous parties making you laugh. “and drinking ancient liquor” you added making sunghoon laugh along with you. the two of you sat next to one another, sharing whatever lunch you had packed for yourself that day. you quickly realized that sunghoon hadn’t ever had home cooked lunches, it was always dinner at a fancy restaurant or some world renowned private chef making luxury meals. it was odd, despite your differences you hadn’t expected sunghoon to grow so close to you. 

it fell silent between the two of you as you silently ate your food. sunghoon finally broke the silence with an interesting statement. “im finally gonna confront them, about it all” he turned to you, you giving him a shocked expression. “really?” he nodded, taking a sip of the water bottle you brought for him. “i have evidence and proof of everything so im gonna confront them tonight and i think it’ll all end.. my friendship between them” the two of you held eye contact in silence over sunghoons words, a part of you was proud of him the other part felt sorry for him. 

he looked ahead at the wall across from you two, setting down the sandwich you made. “it’s weird how i went from having it all to nothing. like no one even cares anymore” he sighed out, making you frown softly. you hesitated before reaching for his hand and intertwining your fingers. “you have me, i care for you” you breathed out, making sunghoon look in your eyes. you both felt that. 

that weird feeling where everything clicks, where you feel.. okay after not feeling okay for months. that feeling where nothing else matters except the person sitting right beside you. that feeling when you tell this person more things that you don’t even tell your family. that feeling of pure infatuation and almost love. maybe you loved sunghoon or maybe you just strongly liked him. whatever it was it was real and you both could feel it but you could feel it even more in this moment. 

“i care for you too,” he said, still lost in your eyes. maybe that was your way of saying you liked each other but it didn’t matter because the message was across, he didn’t jerk his hand away from yours when you reached for it but instead he scooched closer to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as the two of you stared at the wall across from you. 

teenage love wasn’t something you desired but maybe, unknowingly, you found it when you least expected it. 

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[saymio]

Guns Aren't Toys

Pairing: Kang No-eul (guard 011) x Fem!reader

Summary: noeul loves you, she truly does. she wants to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, and all hers. so when you try to gain some independence from her....she decides its time to scare you into being hers forever.

Warning: dead dove do not eat, manipulation, gun play, carving/knife play, blood kink, dubcon, light bdsm (tying you to a bed), noeul is giving heavy yandere vibes, age gap, might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read. english isn't my first language and I haven't written in so long, I'm sorry if its bad (MDNI)

6k Words

...

you befriended noeul not long after the games ended, at first you had no idea what she did..or who she even was. you didn't know where she came from, where she worked, you didn't even know her exact age. but nonetheless something about her compelled you to her. maybe it was the way she carried herself..she stayed lowkey but wasnt a pushover. or how cool and attractive she was...it always seemed like she knew what she was doing. whether it was something small like cooking an egg or folding clothes...she seemed so knowledgeable and aware of everything around her. to you noeul was your dream girl, she was so mysterious but also so interesting...so quiet but so compelling...

she was a regular at the coffee shop you used to work at. always ordering the same thing, a black coffee with no sugar. it fit her..sleek and to the point. she quickly became part of your daily routine... check out the hot older woman that would pass by everyday... but suddenly in the middle of the summer she stopped appearing at the coffee shop. at the time, you knew nothing about the woman, less than when you finally became her friend. only her face, coffee order and where she always sat. at the left corner of the cafe, she always seemed to ponder about something. she didn't look distressed when she would but.. she didn't look calm either. you wondered if she was on a vacation.. you hoped she was. you were getting nervous about the idea that she moved out of the city, she wouldn't leave just like that right? she'd be back, right?

days and days have passed and still no sign of noeul. you started to give up on the idea that she would be back, its been a week since she left and summer was nearing its end... it made you sulk and pout at the thought, not even getting the chance to have a real conversation with her... what a bu- ding..ding the sound of the door cut you away from your thoughts, at first you didn't even realize. maybe its been so long and your memory has started to get hazy, or you were just so tired you didn't bother to look at their face that much... but once she was Infront of you..you realized.. shes back!

"one black coffee with no sugar please." her monotone voice sounded like an angel just sung to you. you didn't even know her but god did you miss her sexy face. "you're back" you stared at her with soft eyes and a smile as you handed her the change from her drink. you didn't notice then but it caught her off guard. someone had noticed she was gone..were they welcoming her back? did they want to know why she was gone? why'd they even care..she didn't know them like that....but it still made a small part of her heart beat a little bit faster... "what happened to your cheek?" you were getting out your comfort zone, you were usually timid and too anxious to attempt small talk to a customer. especially one as attractive as the one standing Infront of your eyes. "nothing. thank you for the coffee." she rubbed her right cheek and walked off...usually youd leave it at that. you wouldn't interact with her again because it was clear she wasn't interested in your small talk.. but... what if she disappeared again? and what if this time she never came back? you didn't want to risk fumbling someone as perfect as her. the epitome of a seemingly perfect woman... you looked around the shop, making sure the coworker that never showed up that day didn't randomly appear...and making sure there wasnt any customer on their way inside. you slipped your apron off and slowly made your way to the corner noeul always sat at. "a..ahem...can I sit here...?" clearly nervous you shuffled with your fingers, looking away as to not make eye contact with her...it'd probably make things 10x more embarrassing if she said no. "yeah, you can" ... and with that the two of you formed a friendship that only grew as days passed. not knowing what kind of future awaited the two of you.

timeskip

its been around 2 years since the two of you met and well, you're both dating now. and have been for the past year.. you obviously know more about noeul now but shes still as mysterious as ever, you think its attractive though. and it seems a lot of her background is touchy so you don't push on it...shes only mentioned that she isn't from south korea once and that's about all you've gotten surrounding that...but what isn't attractive to you is how controlling shes been lately. at first you though it was cute. she wouldnt let you go out alone for too long or befriend anyone new without her knowing when you first started dating. that was pretty normal for a girl that had her strange tendencies, right?. what isn't normal is how she made you quit your job so you could be 'safe' at home. she wont allow you to be out alone at all. she doesnt even let you have any social media account..you were banned from all of it. you have to ask her to do everything if you can shower, watch TV, if you can eat. and its really starting to scare you. she put a lock on the bedroom door from the outside, and only she had the key. so you cant go anywhere when you two sleep unless you wake her up for permission. you never even realized how bad its gotten until it was too late. you were wearing rose tinted glasses, not letting yourself see how toxic shes gotten. and now that you've taken them off, you're far too deep in the rabbit hole to just climb your way out. she waits for you outside the bathroom, she doesn't let you lock any doors, you cant even be in a different room from her for more than 10 minutes before she barges in. the only time you truly feel safe and alone is when she leaves for around a week every summer.

youre nearing your 2 year anniversary with her. you'd be ecstatic if it weren't for the fact shes basically taken over your entire life. if it was bad 1 year in, it's horrible now. you can barely even breath without her staring holes into your face. you feel trapped and you're starting to regret ever approaching her that day. what happened to the noeul that was calm and well kept? the one that would help you with your uni work and tell you small stories about her life as a 19 year old. stories she thinks you can relate to since you're the same age. what happened to the noeul that would laugh at the jokes you'd make of her age. not minding it when you'd call her old because she knew you loved her age. now even mention it and she 'calmly' asks you "isn't this what you wanted? an older woman to slut you out?" normally your panties would've been soaked and you'd just ask her to eat you out at that moment but it feels so aggressive.. you're on edge around her, you don't want to make her upset... but you can never tell when you have because of her stoic face. she never seems to break the calm facial expressions she always has. either a smile or just no readable expression at all...

but there is good news, news that could maybe get you out of this mess. you were scared of her, not only that but you had no money. she was the one taking care of the both of you... so what if...you got a job? if you applied and they accepted you no way she would just force you to quit right? and maybe..maybe she'd change...so you wouldn't need to use the money to buy a small apartment for yourself

...

"I'm going now." noeul stares at you with a soft expression, one that will always melt your heart no matter what has happened between the two of you. "okay baby, please stay safe. I love you" you run into her arms, hugging her tightly before getting onto your tippy toes to give her a loving kiss. even though you're scared of her, scared of what she might do in the future...you still love her. with your entire life, and you really do mean it when you say it. her cold hands cup your face as she kisses your forehead. her soft lips leaving a warm feeling not only on your head but in your heart too. "here.." she pulls her right hand from her pocket, showing 2 silver keys and a small phone. ones for the front door, and the other is for all the other rooms in your apartment. "you already know the rules, right doll?" you hesitantly nodded as your smaller hands grabbed the two keys and phone from hers. "I'll still repeat them incase you forgot one. you arent allowed to leave the house unless you need to buy food, you cant stay up past 8pm, the phone is only for important calls, and you cannot talk to anyone. no one at all... you understand princess?" you nod your head slowly, looking up at noeul as she smiles. her smile isn't that genuine though. its more of a cold, forced smile... maybe one that's supposed to intimidate you into obeying her rules... but you already have a plan. and that plan breaks all those rules.... "I'll be back in a week like always, I love you. okay y/n?" she kisses you once more before leaving the space you two were once in, filling it with silence before you heard the soft click of the door closing.. you knew exactly what you needed to do now, you need to escape the tight grip she has on your life.

its been a day since noeul left to go do her weird murdered job. you know about the games but it doesnt phase you too much. not even when you first heard about it. you even thought it was a little thrilling.. your girlfriend kills people for money...shes scary..scary and hot. not only that but you were so in love you didn't even care. maybe she knew that. maybe that's why she told you, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger. but you were different now, you took off the glasses that diluted the world. you were facing it head on it with the hard truth. you love noeul with all your heart but...you don't want to be in a relationship where you're scared for your...life

you were so distracted in your thoughts you didnt even realize you walked past the store you wanted to apply to work at. the coffee shop you met noeul at .. where you found love.. you walked a couple steps back before you faced the brown and green door, the one you would see every day in the morning and night.. ding ding the sound of the door opening rang in your ears, the same sound as always. you should be happy at this moment, you're going to apply for a job.. you'll be able to escape noeuls crazy controlling life style... you should be happy...but why weren't you. you felt nothing but dread walking into that store. your stomach was doing flips, your palms were getting sweaty and you felt your heart beating outside your chest. thoughts started to flood your head as you stood there inside the cafe, like your feet were glued to the ground. .....but- noeul..I shouldn't do this. I'm breaking her trust. she trusts me I- but I need to get away..shes scary...but but but..... "y/n?" the familiar voice cut you away from your thoughts..you looked up and it was the lady you used to always work with. she was only a few years older than you but she was always the more childish one between the two. the both of you shared the same shift and you weren't friends but you were.. close strangers maybe? "a- minyoung... hello" you bowed awkwardly. not wanting to be rude but also not trying to come off as too respectful "y/n, hi! I thought I'd never see you again after you quit haha.." she joked, a little unsure but she has the compassion. "uh..are you here to apply for work?" she stared at you, anticipating your answer.. it felt like the same eyes you were giving noeul when she came back to the shop that day.. waiting for her to say yes to you. 'yeah I am..can I?" min young softly smiled at you and nodded. as if welcoming you back to the cafe. you felt a pang in your chest, like your heart was telling you no. to just listen to noeul and you'd be safe. but you had a feeling that wasnt true. you wanted to do your own things even if it meant leaving the woman you loved most. because at this point, you dont even recognize her

it didn't take long for you to get accepted..like at all. when you got home from the cafe you saw you already had a text message. "hello y/n, I'm pleased to inform you that your application has been accepted. thank you for applying. you come into work starting tomorrow :)" it was honestly no surprise to you that they accepted your work application so quickly. not to sound cocky but you were undoubtedly the best worker they had, if someone didn't show up you'd come in their space, you wouldn't flirt with customers you made the coffee perfectly, you'd clean up the cafe before closing the store up, you never made mistakes. and it was even more impressive when your coworkers almost always didn't show up or do anything..other than minyoung. you smiled to yourself, was this truly the start of a new life? were you finally going to be free from noeuls grasp? you still felt sad, like you were breaking the trust she had in you but...you just wanted to be free...and maybe...maybe this could change her mind and she'd be less strict with you. it could go back to when you first started dating..she wouldnt control every aspect of your life. that's all you wanted right now.

you were losing track of how many days you'd been working. not paying attention to if noeul overstayed her work trip, or if it was even the day she was coming back. you were just happy to finally be back at work, with minyoung. the two of you were a lot closer now..closer than before. you two again shared the same schedule. right now she was drawing on the palm of your hand, you had no idea what it was but you were holding in your giggle and trying your best to stay still since the pen was tickling your palm. it seemed as if she drew a cat and was drawing numbers, you weren't really paying attention now though. you were staring outside the window..looking at the now setting sun. minyoung would drive you home everyday, your shift didn't end until it was dark and she didn't want anything to happen to you.. but you suddenly felt a strong sense of dread, like something bad was going to happen...and it was going to happen quick. "uhh..minyoung" you spoke with an obvious edge to your voice, it was almost shaky with nervousness. but it seemed she didn't pick up on that as she only hummed at you and stayed focused on your palm. "do you feel nervous too? I dont know...I just feel scared right now" minyoung stared up at you confused and worried.. "huh? I dont feel it..no.. do you want to go home early? maybe you're sick" you shook your head no and stares down at your palm, the ink started to smear a little. your palms were getting sweaty..you were only getting more nervous.. before you could mutter another word the cafe door flung open, a loud bang over powering the ding the door usually made when opened. you and minyoung flinched and jumped back as you stared at the person there. it was noeul..she clearly ran her way here on foot..you had no idea from where but she was gasping and sweat lined her forehead..not only was she sweating but a scowl covered her face. she was angry...and she was angry at you. minyoung leaned into your ear and quickly whispered something... "isn't that the lady that used to always come by? sh-" noeul loudly interrupted your coworker, the loudness of her voice startled you both. it was like there was a megaphone connected inside her throat.. "y/n. come here. now." she stood right in front of the cafe door, you were stunned. you didn't know what to do. it was like your mind was focused on only noeul because for a bit you forgot minyoung was even there. "don't make me ask again, doll." her voice was stern but gentle. it wasn't loud and upset like just a moment ago...but you were still scared of her...of what she'd do.. you gulped down the lump forming in your throat and took off your apron. you opened the small door that separated the baristas and the customers, with a light click it was free... you slowly walked towards noeul, you were anxious..and nervous. she wouldnt do anything to you right? especially not Infront of someone else.. you were now facing her, her sharp features stared at you like daggers. her seemingly dark soulless eyes only made you shake harder..you were terrified. "noeul i-" before you could even muster the rest of your sentence she gripped at your hair and pulled you out of the store. you shrieked and clawed at the hand that griped at your hair but it was no use..noeul was a lot stronger than you and you knew now that you messed up..big time. "p-please noeul stop AH! please please stop noeul that hurts that hurts it hurts please!" your pleas fell on deaf ears as she only dragged you down the street before stopping infront of a taxi. "take us to ----- please" you were blacking out, your head was fuzzy. you didn't know what to do you were so scared. you never thought noeul would actually hurt you, but she was. she was hurting you. and it hurt...alot... the man stared at noeul and at you, wary of letting a potential kidnapper inside his car. "this is just a kink of ours. don't worry" he stares at you waiting for any kind of response...you didn't know what to do...so you just nodded.. noeul opened the taxi door and pushed you inside.

just as noeul was moving her way inside the car you heard someone yelling your name..it was minyoung...she was running down the street frantically waving her hands at the taxi driver, trying her best to get him to not go so she could save (?) you from noeul. but it didn't work.. "go, I'll pay you more if you get us there quickly." noeuls deadpan voice only sent shivers down your spine, she was so calm. even when she was basically kidnapping you. "yes ma'am." and like that the car started and drove off, leaving minyoung there as she slumped down onto the ground..crying out of fear for you.

you were at the apartment you two shared, you were sitting on a chair at the dining table. occasionally shifting in your chair, causing it to creak under the pressure...youre only staring at your lap, refusing to stare at noeul. you're scared that if you do, youll fall into pieces in front of her...that's only an opening to getting taken advantage of. "why'd you try leaving me. why'd you break my rules. I told you clearly, but look at you now. do you know why I put up these rules?" right at the other end of the table sat noeul. her dark eyes drilling holes into your head, her voice was calm but irritated. all she wanted was for you to stay safe, so why. why dont you want to obey? "i-..I just want freedom..you're always behind me..supervising me like I'm some delicate child..I don't want it anymore" the two of you barely started speaking but you were already tearing up, you just want noeul to love you normally. you want your relationship to be normal. "y/n. you are a child. you are a helpless child. you're barely in your twenties. do you really think you can strive alone in this cruel world? you live comfortably with me because I take care of you. I keep you safe. you don't need freedom. you need safety and that's with me." her voice only got deeper and more aggressive. she was getting upset, just hearing you say you wanted to do your own things made her want to lock you inside your bedroom forever. "you're so naive y/n. you really think the world would be as nice as I've been to you? you're wrong. you wont survive without me and you know it. stop trying to be independent because we both know you'd be dead without me." tears started to stream down your plush cheeks, your nose was getting runny and your voice was getting shaky. you felt your throat close up, you felt like you couldn't speak. you didn't know what to do. "i-..I just want to be free..i- dont feel safe around you i-" a loud bang filled the small living room the both of you were sat in. noeul had slammed her hand onto the table, startling you and making you jump. this just caused you to cry harder. you were just scared, you were scared of her. you just wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide. "scared of me? you? you're scared of me? who approached me first? who told me she liked me first? who make the first moves? it was all you y/n. you did everything. it's you're fault you're with me and now you have to deal with it. cant you just realize I'm keeping you safe? you were born to be mine. why cant you just let it process in your brain?" aa..there it was. she had a habit of turning things and pinning it onto you. you were tired of it, you were tired of this. "you always end up blaming me! why am I always wrong? why cant you just admit what you're doing is wrong! I cant even breath without you staring me down! I'd just be better off without you...not living in fear.." you sobbed into your hands, you were shaking and crying. was this a break up? were you breaking up? noeul hasn't said anything, she wasn't even moved..so maybe it was... but what you didn't know, those words to noeul were like stab into her heart. if you thought you were better off without her. then she had to show you that you truly weren't. youre nothing but a lost puppy without her... you wiped your salty tears with your sleeves, you eyes felt puffy and you were tired..maybe you'd just sleep in an alley way tonight and figure the rest out later...you got up slowly, and made your way to the front door...you were going to leave..you were doing it..you were free from her grasp.. just as your soft hands touched the cold door knob you felt something hard hit you in the back of the head...and before you knew it you fell to the floor and blacked out.

you woke up gasping for air, you were hyperventilating.. gasping loudly and uncontrollably, looking around and all you saw was darkness you couldn't see anything. you tried to get up and you felt your hands being tied down...you were handcuffed to the bed.. you started freaking out, crying as you tried to calm yourself down. "noeul..please...I'm sorry.." your words were barely over a whisper, you choked out quiet sobs as you just let yourself lay there. you had no way out. and you're slowly starting to realize this... click noeul turned on one of the bedroom lights, giving it enough light for you to look around. but not enough to light up the whole room. "princess..." your eyes snapped up, staring at the figure in front of your bed...lean and tall..it was noeul.. the shadows of her face making her features even sharper than before. she was like a wood carving..every detail was meticulously carved and shaped... "n-noeul..please..I'm sorry.. let me go.." tears staining the collar of your sweater, you stared up at her. desperate for her help. "nope." she deadpanned, but her face wasn't stoic. she was smiling..the same smile she gave you before she left for her job. it wasn't genuine. it was sinister..and intimidating. "who was that girl? the one that chased after you when we left. was that your new girlfriend? is she why you're trying to leave me?" your eyes widen as you shake your head frantically. the last thing you want her to assume you're doing is cheating..especially right now. "n-no I'm not close to her like that! shes just my old co worker.. she isn't even my friend..." you gulp, your throat feels dry and your head is getting fuzzy. she believes you right? she'll let you go once she realizes you're telling the truth.. right? her icecold face feels like its burning you, you cant tell what shes thinking. and it scares you shitless. "yeah. so is that why she wrote her number on your hand? or are you gonna keep acting stupid." wait..what? you stared at her with genuine confusion, unsure what she was talking about. and its not like you could stare at your hand to check..and she caught on your confusion. she knows how you act. you've been together for 2 years now..she knows you. "she wrote her number on your hand. I guess you didn't know though...why would you let someone else touch you though. or speak to you." you stared at her...you didn't know what to say...so you just looked away and stayed quiet. you didn't want to trigger her even more.. "I guess I'll just have to show you that you're mine. and mark you while I'm at it too.." she smiles, her eerie smile..as always... she turned around and walked towards a nightstand near the bed, she opened the top cabinet and took out two things that made your breath hitch in your throat. a knife and a barrel. you started to kick your feet and squirm under the restraints she put on you. you dont want to die...you don't want to die like this.. "don't worry doll, I wont you....I'll just..show you that you belong to me" he sets the gun down next to you before lifting your skirt and grazing the knife on your plush thighs. you started to cry, the feeling of the cold metal touching your skin was terrifying. what if she cuts deep? what if it gets infected? what if- your body jolts up at the stinging feeling that's overwhelming your right thigh. you cant look at it. you cant. but you can feel warm blood drip from your thigh and on to the blanket under you. youre shaking uncontrollably now..you don't know what to do..you cant do anything either way.. you stare down and watch her as she carefully moves the sharp knife on the skin of your thigh. your blood painting the knife red as she carves her name on your thigh.. KANG NO EUL the cuts are large, it takes up half your thigh...you can feel the stinging..it hurts...the blood...you feel dizzy... and if the fact noeul just carved her name onto you wasn't bad enough, her licking the blood off of you made it worse. "your blood tastes nice...i can only wonder how you taste. hm?... I already know ofcourse.. but I forgot already."

she smiled up at you, but her smile was different..not full of anger..but desire. maybe it was how her eyes looked. or the context of what just happened but..it made you feel some way. "a-are you done now..I'm scared..." noeul stares at you, a blank stare and leans down and licks ur cheek so slow that it makes you almost uncomfortable .. "youre so cute when you're scared. it makes me horny.. did you know that?" she gave you her infamous smile before quickly grabbing the gun next to you and pointing it at your head.. if you weren't scared before you definitely were now. "you wanna live, right baby?" you nodded like a madman, your eyes looking up at her. pleading with her for your life with just your eyes... but if noeul had a dick it'd be ripping through her pants right now, staring at you so vulnerable and scared..it makes her so horny. you're so weak..she needs to ruin you.. she tapped the tip of the gun onto your lips as she looked at you with a creepy wide grin, her soulless eyes scrunching up in the corner. "deep throat the gun and you'll live." what...w- you cant do that.. its a gun...guns aren't toys to mess around with..you...you don't want to.. "if you dont want to that's fine. ill just pull the trigger and leave you here dead. are you gonna be smart, or stupid y/n." you gulped down, your mouth was dry and you felt like you'd die of dehydration at any second. your lips quivered as you opened your mouth wide enough for noeul to push the gun into your mouth. you started to suck at the gun, occasionally gagging as noeul pushed the gun too far into your throat. your movements were limited as your arms were still chained onto the bed frame. wet noises filled the room and you sucked on the gun as if it were a dick. your spit dripping off your chin and the gun. "ffucck..if I knew how hot this would be before i wouldve made you do this ages ago.." your face started to heat up, your face pounding inside your chest as you stared at noeul. her breathing was getting heavy and uncoordinated... she was getting turned on. your mouth made wet slurping noises, you were doing good and haven't stopped..until you flinched and took the gun out of your mouth.. noeuls thumb sneaked under your skirt and had started to make circles around your clothed clit. you held in your noises but some snuck their way through. noeul looked up at you, face a bit flushed and stared at your mouth.. "who told you could take the barrel out of your mouth?" you flinched eyes zapped around the room, as if looking for someone who could potentially be looking at the two you before stuffing your mouth with the gun again. you started up at her with wide dilated pupils, your huge eyes now burning holes into her head. and God did she love it. your face was flushed red as you felt noeuls fingers slip your panties off, the cold air of the room hit your pussy as you shivered under the cold air. the stinging, the cold air, the metal of the gun.. all your senses are getting overwhelmed you don't even know what's happening. noeul takes the gun out of your mouth, giving you a chance to properly breathe. your rabid breaths and wet lips would drive any sane person insane. "fuck you're so sexy, js wanna ruin your body.." her other hand walked its way up your torso and your lips, she opened her mouth slightly..instructing you to do the same. you opened your mouth and let noeul shove 2 of her long fingers inside your mouth. the cold skin was a contrast to your warm wet mouth...you started to suck at them harshly, like you would die if you didn't. noeuls other hand started to rub your clit, causing you to shake and shiver under her touch... she was playing around with you, teasing you...until you finally felt two of her fingers go inside of you.. you moaned embarrassingly loud against her fingers as she moved her fingers in a rough pace. curling them, making a scissoring motion, plowing them in and out... it all hurt you, it felt like she was trying to split you in half.

your pussy made disgusting wet sounds, it was so loud it filled the room.. not only that but the sounds your mouth made as you were sucking on her other fingers made it considerably worse. "n-noeul ah- mh..fuck it hurts s-stop..." your words were a little muffled but the message still got out..it hurt and you didn't like that... noeul stared at you before slamming her fingers in and out of you insanely fast. it made you choke out a mix of a moan and screech because it just hurt so bad but also felt so so so good. noeul leaned down and was inches away from your face, her hot breath tickling your soft skin.. "you don't get to decide what I do to you. I'll ruin your body today and you wont be able to do shit about it." she grinned before taking her face away from yours. she shoved her fingers out of your mouth with a pop before slapping her hand hard against your tender cheek. leaving a red spot before rubbing the warm skin... "you understand?" her soft eyes stared into yours, you felt...weirdly safe? you couldn't pin point what you felt but it was nice.... "y..yeess ah- oh....noeul...fuck.." you arched your back against the bed, you felt yourself getting closer and closer..her fingers filling up your cunt as your juices dripped onto the blanket underneath you, some of it mixing with the now dried blood there too. "are you getting close baby?" her fingers goings faster and faster, at a speed you weren't sure was humanly possible. you nodded frantically, trying your best to grind onto her fingers even if you could barely move with the restraints tied to your wrist. "nope!"she gave a creepily happy expression before taking her fingers out of your cunt. "you don't really deserve it yet."

the two of you were at the dining table again, she had uncuffed you from the bed. and now you were sitting at the table you sat at only a few hours ago...your legs forced open, showing off for noeul. "you're so pretty...and delicate.." noeul got up from her chair and walked over to you grabbing the knife she used to cut your thigh. she traced it along your skin, making small patterns with it but never pressing hard enough to actually cut you. "you'd do anything for me right? you've realized how important I am to you right?" your voice feels shaking and sore, you don't know if you should say yes or no...but you had a feeling you'd die if you said no.. "y-yes mommy..i-..id do anything for you... m' entire world..." you looked up at her, you had no idea what was taking over you. you were just so fucking horny for her. you needed her so bad even if you were terrified. you raised your legs a little and used your fingers to spread your pussy for her. "u-use me up please..." she grinned at you, she stared at you like a proud mother... like the mother you never had.. "good girl..." she patted your head, like she was petting a stray dog she found off the side of the street...like you weren't nothing more than a little pet for her to use. "then fuck yourself with this gun." she reached her hand behind her, setting down the knife and grabbing the barrel that sat at the table. usually you'd be freaking out right now, squirming in your chair and pleading with her to just pick anything else but..you weren't. you were just so needy for her, you needed to make her proud. forgive you for being bad...and..its not like its much different compared to deep throating one right?

your slick juices covered the cold metal of the gun as you started to insert it in you. it was large and it felt a lot more..unique..than what you're used to.. you pumped it in and out of your cunt, it was making loud noises and you were moaning and gasping at the feeling...it felt surprisingly good...you wanted more..more..more...you shoved it deeper and deeper inside of your gummy hole until you just couldn't put more inside, you were grinding onto it. moaning and letting whines and whimpers escape your mouth. you stared up at noeul noticing her usually calm stoic face flushed and scrunching up. she was touching herself to you. rubbing her clit as she watched you fuck yourself with the gun shes used to kill a few people in her life..it was so thrilling...so fucking hot. "n-noeul..can I cum..please ah-.." you were gasping, squirming and panting. you wanted to cum...she didn't let you cum on her fingers and you were twitching with neediness. you wanted to release..you could feel it coming and you weren't sure if you could hold back any longer.. "y..yeah..go ahead sweet heart..cum for me..ffuuck.." based on her breathing and the shakiness in her tone..she was close too...you moved it in and out of your cunt, sticky wet liquids all over your inner thighs, gun and some on your hands...you need this..you needed to release you need to.. "a-aah aou..ahh~ mm..yes..yes...ou m cumming m cumahh~!" your loud voice echoed throughout the apartment. your back arching against the chain as you came all over the gun, it felt so good..so fucking good... "that was so hot y/n...fuck...I need more of you.. now."

...

Another note:was the ending too abrupt? sorry if it was fue fue T T n sorry if the story seems too rushed esp the ending...bc it was.. I haven't written in a while so,, sorry if most of this sucked or felt repetitive>.< ....

[grimaldiapologist]

Writing on a blog dedicated, at least in spirit, to our dissociative identity disorder, this is something that fascinates me. For context - living with the poster child disorder of "that's not even real" and "you're just faking it to get out of jail" and "you're just histrionic with bpd I know this because I took a psych class once in uni", that some fucking airheads still make their paycheck "criticising" in the psychology field (and teaching), the fear of being declared a faker, an attention seeker, a liar, a self-centered and stage-obsessed criminal-until-proven-otherwise came as a free package with the diagnosis. Just the suspicion of the diagnosis was enough for all of those labels. From whom? Everyone.

The first time I dared to open my mouth to my psychiatric nurse, she was putting me against the wall for lying and omitting, because in her view, I was doing too well with no explanation. In reality, at that point, I'd spent some months after becoming aware of the system getting to know them and reading up on how to get the basics of communication together, and working through the first chapters of Coping With Trauma-Related Dissociation, which helped us understand what we needed to do with one another in order to stabilise and feel safer in our everyday life. Things were actually going wonderfully, I wasn't lying, but I was omitting, yes. I was omitting, because even though at that point I knew nothing about DID beyond what I was learning from resources and my friend/now partner, who'd been in the community for a long time and gave us crucial peer support in terms of figuring our situation out, I knew extremely well the stigma associated with "split personality", and our first and primary instinct has always been to hide and cover the existence of the system.

But she was forcing it, so I told her. I was asking for help, yes, but with the context of doing so well - we were winning, and we wanted to keep winning.

She promptly told us we weren't allowed to leave, and started to set us up for involuntary inpatient stay. Exactly what we'd been afraid of the most: that "the psychiatric system" would imprison us and kill us, kill the parts of us who were vulnerable, with cocktails of medication in padded rooms and straitjackets and whatnot that we'd seen in the movies. (And, to a degree, during our actual inpatient stay years before.)

The resident psychiatrist did a quick evaluation of us and released us after, clearly annoyed at the nurse for overreacting and putting us in the extremely triggered and traumatised state that we were in, but it did permanent damage.

Very soon after, we discovered the online "discourse" on the validity of DID, and the "fake claiming" communities. This is all we inherited, first thing, with our diagnosis - which we did get after the above clusterfuck, within a year, with the aid of a specialising therapist and years of notes from our history, or so I assume. I can't remember, it's been years, and I have DID. The point is, even the DID community itself demands that you will never show a bright side to your disorder.

You either suffer all of the time, always, you hate yourself, you hate your other selves, you want to die, and you're forever a mess and you're in eternal war against yourself, or you're faking.

We are not this way and have never been. Prior to discovering the system, we were poorly. To spare the details, at 29 when we were diagnosed, we hadn't worked a day in our lives, dropped out of school at 12, and spent about a decade locked indoors with suicidal spirals being the expected main event of every three days or so. But our main strength has been our us, the family that we have, and the care that we've shown each other all along. Even if we can't love ourselves, we can love each other, and after learning communication - learning to listen, learning to talk - we've been doing phenomenally. Our condition has changed from treatment-resistant and debilitating to actually, we no longer need SSRI medication at all, after being on it for our whole lives. And luckily, this is enough proof for us, but not the world.

No, we're now in that funny place where our partially treated trauma/dissociative disorder looks like too much fun to the world. We're fine and we love each other. We indulge in dressup, we have our own silly little blogs and journals each with their own specific equipment like fancy ink pens and wares of stickers and decor, we have galleries of fake Instagram pictures of ourselves, we use PluralKit on Discord and talk to ourselves like we own the chat - among friends, anyway, or just between ourselves in our private one. All of this means we're fake, fake, fake, fake. God forbid a man has fun. God forbid a woman takes an afternoon to herself to give herself a makeover and go on a date. God forbid a guy just wants to feel comfortable and laugh and express himself, or have a chat with his closest friends.

We're not in enough pain all of the time to be "true" DID anymore. If we were "true" DID then we'd still be in the untreated, pre-diagnosed state. This is a stagnant disorder of identities that may never experience growth or true humanity. All I am allowed to be is a filthy, incapable hikikomori afraid of the world, because anything else is fucking weird to people.

I'm sorry, but. None of your fucking business. I've spent 33 years of my life split squarely on a tightrope over the chasms of "I don't want to die" and "I want to kill myself now". I'm 33 fucking years old and I've earned my goddamn license to feel good, actually. I'm allowed to be fucking weird because I'm developmentally disabled. I will never not be the way that I am, and I also have no intentions to ever be anything but the way that I am, I'm just aiming to be better at it.

This now means that I'm not actually allowed to talk about my disorder... basically anywhere but here and in therapy. No matter where I go, people treat me like a criminal. People who don't have DID tell me I'm faking for clout and larping (LARPing is great by the way and you should absolutely try it out instead of using it as a weird slur online) and they're the champions of true sufferers who are there to nobly remind me that REAL people with DID are actually so in pain all of the time and dying unrecognised while freaks like me... post on Tumblr for attention or whatever I don't fucking know I'm still disabled and in chronic pain and I can't do shit with myself regardless of our overall improvement - and people with DID tell me what I have isn't real DID and I'm "anti-recovery" or whatever because I don't subscribe to their specific dogma of recovery (which, for the record, every single microcosm of the recovery community has their own version of, and they all hate each other for it). The latest edition of how this fucked us over was our choice to write frankly about the positive sides of how the often negatively portrayed coping mechanisms of DID can be turned to work for recovery, and how things like substitute beliefs (believing things that are factually untrue such as 'I am an actual dragon trapped in a human suit' when you're not) can be used not to distance one from reality to escape but help one adapt into it (because I am a dragon in a human suit, a dentist cannot scare me), and had the whole conversation just without warning or any sort of notice deleted from the community. Mods never replied to my request on clarity on what the fuck they were doing and why, and I haven't been back in the community since, either.

And it's hilarious. The whole fucking thing is hilarious. You're faking it if you've recovered too much, because a true sufferer of a severe mental health condition would never recover, but if you don't recover enough, you're anti-recovery, and therefore also faking. There's a slim venue of acceptable suffering in an eternal still-shot in the middle, but you're not actually allowed to exist beyond it or past it in any capacity.

The only true DID case is a non-person who is incapable of growth and change, for a disorder that is all about identity, which by definition is all about growth and change.

I'm so tired of it. Sorry, freaks, I'm gonna freak the way that I freak from now on. I'm too well-adjusted these days to be your perfectly martyred poster patient.

ive found that partially treated mental illness can sometimes look to uninvolved onlookers like faked mental illness.

[ultravioletrayz]

KINKTOBER

╰┈➤ DAY SEVENTEEN: PAIN KINK w/ LOGAN HOWLETT

The moment you walked through the door, freshly done nails sparkling so pretty after your appointment, face beaming as you rush to show them off, Logan knew he was done for. Long stiletto nails, painted in a beautiful rich crimson. They're cute, but his mind immediately went to the damage they could do, the damage he needs them to do.

Logan practically pounced off of the couch, instantly taking your hands in his, thumbs tracing the sharp, pointed tips of each nail with a dark desperation glazing over his eyes. His cock is already chubbing up in his sweats just imagining you clawing at his body, thin lines of red being left in the wake of your nails, quickly fading to be replaced by new ones straightaway.

"You kill me, y'know that, right?" Logan chuckles, voice rough with desire, making you laugh softly. It's almost cute how turned-on Logan gets from the simple things. He's always quicker to fuck you when you're hunched over the edge of the bath shaving your legs than when you're twirling around in a new set of lingerie.

"Shut up, Lo'. It's just a bit of polish." You scoff, rolling your eyes at his antics.

You're more or less unfazed by Logan's obvious arousal, more focused on the way his emerald gaze glints with hunger as he drags you down onto the couch slowly, pinning you under his muscular frame. His eager lips dive into the crook of your neck, nibbling and lapping at the soft skin of your throat as he holds both of your hands in one of his, still captivated by the way the dim living room lights glisten against the dark red nail polish.

As your back sinks against the couch cushions, you pull your hands away from Logan's grip, bringing them up to squeeze at his broad shoulders. The pointed tips of your nails lightly dig into Logan's skin, prodding at his flesh hesitantly, earning a hearty groan against the side of your neck as he nuzzles further into your body.

"Jus' like that. Good fuckin' girl." Logan hisses, frantically grabbing at your pants and tugging them down your legs, quickly doing the same to himself before spreading your thighs, eyes locked on the cute little moist patch decorating your panties. With a grin, he licks his lips, making you let out a breathy giggle, before he shuts you up by ripping your underwear clean off your body.

"Logan-" You start, ready to scold him for being so careless, but you're once again silenced as he nudges his cock out from his boxers and rubs himself up and down your drooling cunny, gathering your slick before prodding his fat head inside. Logan growls low in his throat as he stretches you out, his movements steady and powerful as he grips your hips tightly, guiding you along with him.

Logan's gruff features soften, a rugged smile gracing his face as he starts thrusting into you, hips snapping with each powerful movement, hitting just the right spot with a blunt, sloppy smack each time. Your soft gasps and whines only fuel his desire, making him bite down on your shoulder and moan as his hands rest firmly on either side of your head, biceps flexing with every thrust.

"Y' feel so good, princess. C'mon, make me yours. Please." Logan breathes out, what was meant to come out as a dominating order becoming a desperate plea for you to make him feel good, for you to use those nails for their true, nasty, dirty purpose.

You look up at him with knitted brows, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you take in his messy hair and frantic, deep thrusts that you swear you can feel in the pit of your stomach. You hesitate for a moment, then finally muster up the courage to you curl your nails into the flesh of his shoulder blades.

Logan's eyes roll back into his head, a guttural moan escaping him as he feels the sharp tips sink into his skin, his hips stuttering for a moment as he fights back the urge to cum right then and there, before pushing back in even deeper.His movements become even more erratic, grunting and growling in pleasure as he feels the sting of your nails against his skin, your digits dragging along his back as you hold on for dear life with each brutal slam of his fat cock into your gushing cunt.

The moment is almost perfect. The only let down is that in the morning, even the meanest of scratches you're leaving on him will be long healed, much to Logan's dismay.

Right now, though? It's totally worth the $90 he gave you for those sexy fucking nails.

[babejinxy]

Jinx x f!reader special new year

✨ I wasn't going to write a New Year's special, but since I'm nice and you guys wanted it, here it is!!! This is the first part, I'll post the second part soon. I hope you like it!

🌟 English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.

It was the last day of the year and after your behavior on Christmas Eve, your girlfriend Jinx had been watching you the whole time, waiting for you to tease her again. But the truth is that you simply didn't do anything suspicious all day. You stayed in the hideout with Jinx and while she was working on something - which by the way she didn't tell you what it was - you were lying on the bed reading a book or changing your nail polish every half hour.

That night, Jinx also had something in store for you, just as you had for her. Since what you had planned for Christmas had gone a little off the rails, you saved it for tonight. And you started putting your plan into action early on.

While your girlfriend was focused on some project of hers, you got out of bed after changing your nail polish for the fourth time and went to her. You were wearing pajamas, the short shorts showing the edge of your ass. You sat on the edge of her workbench, she noticed you, but she was too focused on her work. “Hey babe, do you like it?” you asked innocently, holding out your hands so she could see your nails, painted blue like hers. You crossed your legs in the process, your shorts riding up, revealing a lot of your legs.

She lifted her head from her work and looked straight at your nails, “You like blue huh?”. “You know I do,” you said, lowering your hands and placing them on either side of your legs, holding onto the edge of the table. “They look amazing, toots,” she said, lifting her head to reach your lips, you lowered your head a little until your lips met hers and you gave a little kiss. Jinx’s eyes wandered over your legs before she went back to work.

“What are you doing?” you asked, jumping off the workbench and wrapping an arm around her. “A little something for later today,” she said grabbing a tool. “What are you planning?” you asked, curious and worried that she was planning to blow up Piltover on the first day of the year. She looked at you, “you’ll see, love,” and then she laughed and went back to doing what she was doing.

You had no idea what your crazy girlfriend was planning this time, but it must have been something big since she had been working on it for exactly a week. What you didn't know was why she had left you out of it this time, you were always up for anything with her and she knew it. But luckily for her, you were too easy-going to insist or get upset that she wasn't involving you in whatever she was up to. So you simply shrugged it off and went to throw darts to pass the time and practice your aim.

You threw the dart a few times and only hit the target once. You were usually a good aimer, but not today. Maybe the anxiety of starting to put your plan into practice was getting in your way. You snorted when you missed for the seventh time. You picked up another dart to try again and prepared to throw it at the target. But before you could throw it, you felt Jinx's left hand on your waist while the other was on your hand that was holding the dart. She adjusted the position of your hand while kissing and lightly biting your neck. "This makes it hard for me to concentrate, babe," you said, smiling and shivering at the sensation. She let go of your neck and looked at the target hanging on the wall. With her hand still in yours, she helped you with the throw and you hit the middle of the target.

“You were putting too much force in, peach,” she said, holding your waist with both hands now and pulling you against her. You felt her lips on your jaw and then on your neck again as she squeezed you with her hands. “Are you done yet?… mhmm,” you asked, closing your eyes and resting your head on her shoulder, giving her more space to kiss and suck on your neck. “I’m almost there… but for now, how about a break, huh?”, she bit your earlobe.

You thought this would be a good time to start putting your plan into action, so you turned to face her and wrapped your arms around her neck and kissed her. Jinx deepened the kiss and squeezed your waist, her hands moving down to your hips. You tangled your fingers in her short hair and she swirled her tongue in yours, dominating the kiss. She bit and pulled your lower lip with her teeth while her hands went to your ass and she squeezed it hard over the fabric of your pajama shorts.

When Jinx walked with you towards the bed, that's when you realized things were going to heat up even more, so before she could throw you on the bed, you broke the kiss and pulled away from her. "Hey wait, what's wrong toots?", she asked with furrowed eyebrows. You just shrugged, "there's nothing wrong, we can do this another time... I don't want to be late for Vi's dinner and you haven't even finished whatever it is you're doing". You walked past her and she pulled you again by the waist, locking you in her arms.

“And why not now? I can be pretty quick baby, you know,” she said, brushing her lips against the skin of your neck. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your bottom lip, it was hard to resist her, but you were willing to do it. You wanted to tease her, you knew it would cost you a lot later, she would be rough with you, but you wanted it, you liked it. You took her hands off your waist, “not now baby.”

You were playing with luck, you knew that if your girlfriend wanted, she would grab you at any moment and with her strength thanks to the shimmer you couldn't fight her. Fortunately Jinx was different now and she respected your decisions. Although you knew that when she finally had your consent you would be fucked as fuck, very very fucked and you could wet your panties if you kept thinking too much about what she would do to you.

You threw yourself on the bed and picked up your book while Jinx went back to her workbench to finish her invention. She turned on the music and turned up the volume, she said it helped her focus and kept her thoughts away from her troubled mind. It was hard for you to focus on the book with the music blasting in your ears, but you weren't going to ask her to turn it off or lower the volume, you knew she wouldn't do that and she would also get annoyed with you, so you tried to read anyway.

You knew your girlfriend was done with her work when she finally turned down the music. You still had your eyes on your book, but you could see her coming towards you. You felt the mattress dip as she climbed onto the bed and crawled on top of you. She took the book from your hand and threw it in a corner, “I finished my project toots, but I’m not done with you yet,” she said kissing your jaw and bringing her lips up to yours.

The kiss was slow but hot. You brought your hands to her hair while she placed her right hand on your neck and held it firmly, but not tightly, and with the other she squeezed your waist and hips. Her tongue explored every corner of your mouth and she sucked your lower lip and then pulled it with her teeth. You moaned softly between the kiss because you knew it drove her crazy.

Jinx moved her kisses down to your neck where she alternated between kissing and biting. She placed the hand that was previously on your neck on your right breast and squeezed it, making you gasp. She moved her kisses down, making a path from your neck to your belly. She lifted the top of your pajamas a little to expose the skin on your abdomen, then she placed kisses and light bites on it.

She moved back up to your lips and took them against hers once more. But this time the kiss was fiercer, wilder and you knew she was getting really fucking horny. Not that you weren’t too, but you had to stop things before it was too late. So when Jinx dragged her left hand inside your shorts, you broke the kiss and asked breathlessly with your lips brushing hers, “babe, what are you doing?” “What? I can’t fuck my girlfriend?” she said, crashing her lips against yours again.

You placed your hands on her chest trying to push her off of you, she released your lips looking at you with a confused and irritated look, “of course you can love, but not now… I need to get ready for dinner and unfortunately I'm not as fast as you”, you took her hands out of your shorts and pushing her to the side you got up from the bed.

You were making her angry and you knew it, it was what you wanted. You bit your lower lip trying not to laugh as you turned your back to her. “You’re going to regret this behavior later, you know that, right? I won’t be so patient with you toots,” she said, throwing a gear somewhere in the corner of the room. You gave her an innocent look, “Why? Is it a sin if I refuse to have sex with you?” She walked towards you and said close to your ear as she passed you, “ha! baby, sin is what I’m going to do to you…”

Part 2??? 👇🏻🤍

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART SEVEN

paige x azzi

warnings: mention of drug use, sexual content

word count: 8.3k

A/N: This chapter has a few different time jumps so don’t skip over the dates lmao or you might think things are moving a little fast. Everyone’s been asking for this so here it is 🫣. I know emotions are going to be all over the place reading this one so please humor me with some live reactions 😭

—————————————————————————

February 2022

It had been about a month of the same awkward, unspoken limbo between Paige and Azzi. To anyone with eyes, it was painfully obvious the two of them liked each other—more than liked each other—but neither had made an outward move. They didn’t need to say it out loud to know why. Things between them would be complicated, and complications weren’t something either of them could afford right now.

Azzi was back on the court, fully cleared and playing with the same intensity she had before she got injured. Paige, meanwhile, was still stuck on the sidelines, a couple of weeks away from her own return. She hadn’t let that stop her from being Azzi’s biggest supporter, though. If anything, she threw herself into it even more—watching film with Azzi late into the night, breaking down plays for her, doing anything she could to make her job easier on the court. They had also gotten back into the habit of going to the gym together all the time at all hours of the night.

Overall their routine hadn’t changed much, but something beneath it had. The soft flirting they used to do had picked up and Paige quickly learned just how handsy Azzi was, how affectionate she was, how she would purposefully bite her lip while looking up at Paige. For Paige, it was becoming almost physically painful to be around Azzi without saying something—without telling her just how much she liked her. It was there in the way her heart raced when Azzi laughed, in the way her chest ached when their hands brushed accidentally. But every time the words hovered on the tip of her tongue, she swallowed them back down, convincing herself it wasn’t the right time. Knowing they had a silent agreement.

Azzi, for her part, seemed oblivious to how much Paige was feeling—or maybe she was just better at hiding it. Hiding just how much she felt too. She was her usual steady self, focused and unflappable, though there were moments when her gaze lingered on Paige just a little too long, or her smile softened in a way that felt almost too tender.

Now, as they sat in Paige’s dorm, that same quiet tension hung between them. The TV played in the background, but neither of them was paying attention. Azzi’s fingers absentmindedly played with Paige’s, a habit that had started sometime over the past few months and somehow became a comfort for both of them. Paige’s gaze dropped to their hands, watching the way Azzi’s fingertips traced the curves of hers.

Something about it—about her—felt so intimate, so significant in Paige’s life—that made Paige’s heart race and ache all at once. Her eyes hesitantly drifted to Azzi’s face, taking in the way her soft smile lit up the room. It was the kind of smile Azzi always gave her, warm and easy, but this time Paige’s stomach flipped, her heart pounding harder.

Azzi noticed the shift in her demeanor immediately, her smile faltering slightly as her brows knitted together. “What’s up, P?” she asked gently, tilting her head to study Paige’s expression.

Paige’s lips parted as if to answer, but no words came out. She turned her gaze away, her heart hammering too loudly in her chest for her to think straight. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Azzi’s fingers stilled against hers, and she shifted closer, her tone soft but persistent. “Hey… talk to me. What’s going on?”

Paige hesitated, glancing down at their hands again. She exhaled a shaky breath before finally lifting her eyes to meet Azzi’s. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Az, do you like me?”

Azzi froze, her breath catching at the unexpected question they had been dancing around. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, completely caught off guard by the fragile, hesitant way Paige had asked. Her heart stuttered as she processed the weight behind the words.

“Of course I like you, Paige,” she finally said, her voice soft but steady.

Paige bit her lip, her gaze dropping for a moment before she looked back at Azzi, her eyes searching. “Then why don’t we ever talk about it?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

Azzi blinked, struggling to find the right words. She glanced away, running her thumb over Paige’s knuckles before meeting her gaze again. “Because I’m scared,” she admitted quietly.

Paige’s brow furrowed, her chest tightening. “Scared of what?”

Azzi hesitated, her own heart racing now. She could feel the vulnerability in her chest, raw and exposed, but something about the way Paige looked at her—so open, so unsure—made her want to be completely honest.

“I’m scared of how you make me feel,” Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m 19 and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. It’s like… it’s like I’ve known you my entire life. Like everything before UConn, me not being able to stand the sight of you, you being the rudest person I’d met didn’t happen. And that scares me, P. It scares me that all I remember about you now is this charming, sweet, beautiful version of you that I just got to know.”

Paige’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching as Azzi’s words washed over her.

Azzi looked down at their hands, her voice trembling slightly. “But I’m also scared that if I admit why I feel this way… if something goes wrong… I’ll lose you. And you’re not just… this person I like, Paige. You're not just one of my teammates. You’re my best friend and I can’t mess that up.”

The confession hung in the air, making the air heavy. Paige’s heart clenched, her throat tightening as she processed Azzi’s words. Paige’s lips curved into a small, nervous smile, her cheeks faintly flushed as she tightened her grip on Azzi’s fingers. Her voice was soft, almost timid, as she said, “I like you too, Az.”

Azzi’s lips twitched into a smile, the corners quirking up slightly. She tilted her head, a playful yet knowing glint in her eyes. “I know you do,” she whispered, her tone light but her gaze warm, almost tender.

Paige let out a soft, breathy laugh, but it quickly faded as her mind went elsewhere. Her gaze flickered to Azzi’s lips for the briefest moment before her eyes found hers again. “I really want to kiss you. I always want to kiss you,” she admitted, her voice barely audible, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the delicate moment between them.

Azzi’s fingers stilled against Paige’s. For a second, the idea tempted her, pulling at her heartstrings, imagining how soft Paige’s lips would be against hers, but she exhaled slowly and shook her head gently. “We can’t, P,” she said softly, her tone firm but kind.

Paige’s brows furrowed slightly, and Azzi didn’t miss the flicker of hurt that flashed in her eyes. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, but it lingered enough to twist something in Azzi’s chest.

Paige looked down at their hands, her voice quiet but insistent as she voiced the real reason neither of them ever mentioned their feelings. “Teammates date all the time, Az. It’s not like it would be a big deal.”

Azzi gave her a sad smile, squeezing her hand lightly. “But they also break up all the time,” she said softly. “And then things get weird all the time. And someone ends up having to leave, most of the time.”

Azzi paused, glancing away as if gathering her thoughts. When she looked back at Paige, her gaze was steady, though her voice remained gentle. “I like it here, P. I like it here with you. With the team. And…” She hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I’ve wanted this—playing at UConn—since I was a kid. It was all I dreamed of and I don’t want to lose that.”

Paige’s lips parted as if to respond, but Azzi beat her to it.

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” Azzi said, her voice quiet but earnest.

Paige’s chest ached at the sincerity in Azzi’s words, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, her lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “Who said it would be you that left?” she asked softly.

Azzi’s expression softened even further, her eyes locking with Paige’s. She shook her head slightly, her voice calm and sure. “You’re Paige Bueckers,” she murmured. “It’s gonna be me.”

The words hung in the air between them, the few words saying everything Azzi didn’t need to explain. Paige hummed quietly, her lips pressing into a thin line before she leaned forward, resting her cheek gently on Azzi’s head.

That was all Azzi needed to say as their conversation tapered off, the silence that followed filled with unspoken understanding. Both of them knew what was at stake, and though it hurt, there was a quiet agreement between them—a fragile truce between their hearts and their reality.

Azzi’s hand returned to Paige’s, her fingers resuming their slow, absent-minded play. Paige’s gaze flickered toward the TV, though she wasn’t really watching the movie anymore as her mind wandered. She sighed softly, letting herself relax against Azzi as she kissed the top of her head.

April 2022

It was April now, and the season had officially come to an end. They lost in the championship, though no one talks about that. They’re all just trying to move on and enjoy the time they have left with the seniors. The two of them had barely spoken about their feelings for one another since the night in Paige’s dorm. Nothing had changed between them, but at the same time, everything felt different. The way Paige looked at Azzi with her blue eyes made her breath catch in her throat everytime and every time she would play it off by pushing Paige’s face away mumbling something she would never clarify. Paige was basically whipped and would do anything Azzi asked without hesitation and everyone noticed.

Now, they were lying in Azzi’s room, the faint hum of Paige’s playlist filling the quiet space. Paige was stretched out on her stomach, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, while Azzi sat cross-legged at the head of the bed, twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers.

Paige glanced up, her brows furrowing as she caught the nervous energy radiating from Azzi. The girl was unusually quiet, her eyes flickering toward Paige every few seconds before darting away again.

Setting her phone aside, Paige shifted to sit up. “Okay, what’s going on? Seriously, Azzi, why are you being so weird today?”

Azzi froze, her fingers stilling in her hair. Her jaw tightened as if she were trying to hold something back, but after a long pause, she exhaled sharply and blurted, “I have a date.”

For a moment, Paige didn’t react. She couldn’t have heard her correctly as the words hung in the air between them, and then, slowly, she processed them and the impact hit. Her body stiffened, and she immediately sat up straighter, instinctively leaning back a little to stand up.

“Oh,” Paige said softly, her voice clipped. She tried to mask the hurt, but her expression betrayed her. The usual flicker of pain in her eyes was brief, but this time it lingered and it twisted something deep in Azzi’s stomach as she looked at her..

“Wait.” Azzi reached out quickly, her hand wrapping around Paige’s wrist before she could pull away completely. “Please don’t do that. Sit back down and just listen.”

Paige hesitated, her gaze hardening slightly as she stared at Azzi’s hand on her wrist. “Do what?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

Azzi softened her grip, but she didn’t let go. “You know what I mean,” she said quietly. “Don’t pull away from me.”

Reluctantly, Paige let herself sink back onto the bed, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “So...you have a date,” she said, forcing the words out as if testing how they sounded in her mouth. “That’s great, Az. Really. Good for you.”

Azzi sighed, sensing the sarcasm, but she ignored it. “Paige,” she said, her voice quieter now. She shifted closer, still holding Paige’s wrist as if afraid she might bolt. “I just need you to be my best friend and support me in this just for tonight. No matter how much neither of us wants this.”

Paige’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Why are you even going, then?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Azzi’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Her gaze dropped to their hands, where her thumb traced absent patterns on Paige’s skin. “Because I need to at least try,” she admitted finally, her voice trembling with vulnerability. “I need to at least try to figure out if anyone else can make me feel the way you do. Feel even a fraction of what you make me feel.”

Paige inhaled sharply at this, her chest feeling almost painful as she listened to Azzi. She turned her face away, but Azzi wasn’t having it. Her free hand came up, gently cupping Paige’s cheek and guiding her back. Their eyes met, and Azzi’s own gaze softened.

“These silent feelings between us hurt too much, P,” Azzi whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “So I need to at least try. So I know what I need to do.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at the simple thought of Azzi being with someone else. At the thought of Azzi still needing to figure things out when Paige knew exactly how she felt. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she nodded and said, “Fine.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her hand dropping back to Paige’s. “So tonight you’re just going to be my best friend. You’re going to help me get ready,” she continued, her tone firm but gentle. “You’re going to tell me if I look nice enough before I leave. And when I come back, you’re going to let me tell you about it. Good or bad.”

A tear slipped down Paige’s cheek and she felt so damn dramatic, but Azzi didn’t mind as she caught it, her touch lingering. “Can I meet them?” Paige asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Azzi’s smile softened as she nodded. “Of course.”

For a moment, they simply sat there, the silence between them louder than the music playing softly in the background. Paige’s shoulders sagged slightly as she leaned back, letting Azzi hold her hand for a little longer.

…

Azzi stood in front of her closet, two shirts in hand, her nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. She wasn’t even nervous about the date. She was nervous she would hate it, nervous what it meant for her and Paige. The knock at the door hadn’t come yet, but she knew it was only a matter of minutes. She turned to Paige, who sat quietly on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap as her gaze lingered somewhere near Azzi’s shoes lost in her own thoughts.

Holding up both shirts, Azzi cleared her throat. “Which one?” she asked softly, her voice laced with hesitation. “The red or the white?”

Paige blinked, her head lifting as she regarded the options. She pointed to the red shirt after a moment, her voice steady but quieter than usual. “Red. It makes your eyes look...brighter.”

The comment hit Azzi harder than Paige intended. Her heart ached, but she swallowed it down, nodding as she turned back toward the closet. “Red it is,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Paige’s eyes followed Azzi as she changed into the chosen shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. She tried not to let her emotions show, but the faint furrow of her brows and the way she pressed her lips together betrayed her.

When Azzi finally turned around, fully dressed, Paige’s breath caught for a moment. She offered a soft, sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Azzi hesitated before stepping closer, the space between them narrowing until she was standing between Paige’s legs. She placed her hands gently on Paige’s shoulders, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of Paige’s sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry, P,” Azzi whispered, her voice cracking slightly. Her dark eyes searched Paige’s face, pleading for understanding.

Paige looked up at her, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against the edge of Azzi’s shirt. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “You look beautiful, Az.”

The sincerity in her tone made Azzi’s chest tighten. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

The sound was jarring, cutting through the moment like a blade. Azzi flinched slightly, her hands still resting on Paige’s shoulders as her gaze darted toward the door.

Paige’s hand fell back into her lap, and she looked down, her expression unreadable. Azzi hesitated, torn between the pull of the person waiting on the other side of the door and the weight of the person sitting in front of her.

Paige and Azzi knew it was only one day. They knew it was just a few hours. But they also knew that the outcome of these few hours could change a lot for them so it felt much heavier than it needed to.

After a beat, she took a deep breath and squeezed Paige’s shoulders gently before stepping away. “I...should get that,” Azzi said.

Paige nodded, her eyes never leaving the floor. “Yeah. You should.”

Azzi lingered for a moment longer, the silence between them heavy, before turning toward the door.

A few moments later Azzi walked back into the room, her keys in hand and her purse slung over her shoulder. Paige hadn’t moved an inch from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her gaze stayed fixed on the floor.

Azzi paused, watching her for a moment before breaking the silence. “Do you still want to meet him?”

Paige’s head lifted slightly, her brows furrowing. “Him?” she repeated, her voice tinged with surprise.

Azzi nodded, noticing the surprise in Paige’s voice. “Yeah... him.”

Paige blinked, the answer catching her off guard. For some reason, she had assumed Azzi’s date was a girl. She wanted to stay put, to ignore the question and let Azzi walk out the door, but the subtle look in Azzi’s eyes—uncertain, almost pleading—made her sigh.

Without a word, Paige pushed herself off the bed, her movements stiff and reluctant. She followed Azzi down the hall and into the living room, her stomach twisting the closer they got.

When they stepped into the room, Paige’s eyes landed on a guy sitting on the couch. He stood up as Azzi approached, a friendly but slightly awkward smile on his face.

“Derrick,” Azzi said, her voice a little hesitant as she gestured between them. “This is my best friend, Paige.”

Derrick looked between the two of them, his confusion evident, though he masked it quickly. “Uh, nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.

Paige stared at him for a moment before sticking out her own hand, her grip firm as they shook. “Paige,” she said simply, her tone polite but distant.

“Derrick,” he replied, his smile still in place, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Why the hell was he meeting a best friend?

Azzi’s gaze flickered between them, her discomfort evident. Paige released Derrick’s hand and took a small step back, tightening her jaw as she glanced at Azzi. “Well,” she said, her voice clipped, “have fun.”

Azzi nodded, but as she turned toward the door with Derrick, she glanced back over her shoulder. “You’ll be here when I get back, right?”

Her voice was soft, almost pleading, as she looked at Paige with eyes she could never say no to. So she swallowed hard, her expression unreadable at the thought of just sitting here waiting for Azzi to get back from a fucking date, but still, she gave a small nod. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

Azzi lingered for a moment, her eyes searching Paige’s face as if she wanted to say something more. But then Derrick shifted beside her, and the moment was gone. She turned back toward the door, leading Derrick out with a quiet goodbye.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Paige exhaled, sinking back onto the edge of the couch. The silence in the apartment felt deafening, and all she could do was sit there and wait for Azzi to come back with a decision.

…

Paige lay sprawled on Azzi’s bed, her arm resting over her eyes, but when the door creaked open, she shifted slightly, glancing up to see Azzi walking in. She didn’t say anything, and neither did Azzi at first. The room felt still, with unspoken words.

Azzi took a hesitant step forward, her voice soft as she broke the silence. “Thank you for staying.”

Paige gave her a small, tired smile, but her lips remained sealed. Azzi studied her for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. She slipped off her shoes and dropped her bag near the door, walking over to sit on the edge of her bed.

The movement made Paige sit up, her legs crossed as she now faced Azzi. The quiet stretching between them until Paige finally asked, “So... how was it?”

Azzi laughed, though the sound carried more exasperation than amusement. “It was... exhausting.” She shook her head and reached for Paige’s hand, running her fingers lightly over the soft skin. “His hands were really hard.”

Paige chuckled, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Hard hands, huh? What a dealbreaker.”

Azzi laughed again, this time more genuine. “Yeah, and he talked too much. Like, nonstop. It was giving me a headache. And he had so much energy.” She glanced up at Paige, a teasing glint in her eye. “Kinda like you, but... I didn’t like it when he was doing it.”

Paige laughed softly, though there was still tension in her frame. “So, hard hands and a chatterbox. What else?”

Azzi paused, her fingers tightening slightly around Paige’s. Her voice dropped a little as she continued. “He tried to kiss me.”

Paige froze, her jaw tightening, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. “Did he?” she asked, her voice carefully even.

Azzi shook her head, squeezing Paige’s hand to ground her. “No. I didn’t let him.”

Paige’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though her eyes still searched Azzi’s face. “You didn’t want to?”

Azzi shook her head again, her gaze soft but steady. “No... I didn’t want to kiss him.”

The words hung between them, heavy and loaded with everything unsaid. Paige swallowed hard, her free hand playing with the comforter beneath them. “Why not?”

Azzi looked at her then, her eyes brimming with an emotion Paige couldn’t quite place. “Because he’s not you. I don’t want anybody but you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige’s chest felt tight at the words, her heart pounding as she held Azzi’s gaze. After a beat, she murmured, “I’m going to kiss you now Az.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her lips parting slightly. “No, you’re not, Paige. We talked about this,” she said, her voice trembling. But there was no conviction behind her words, only a faint tremor of fear.

“Yes, I am,” Paige replied, her voice firmer this time, her gaze unwavering.

Azzi swallowed hard, her eyes darting between Paige’s eyes and her lips. “Paige...”

Paige leaned in just a fraction, her voice softer now but still resolute. “Azzi.”

Azzi’s breathing quickened, her pulse racing as her name fell from Paige’s lips. She didn’t say anything else, her silence speaking louder than words.

Paige hesitated for a moment longer, searching Azzi’s face for any sign of hesitation, any sign showing she didn’t want this. When all she saw was a mixture of nervousness and longing that was all the confirmation she needed.

Slowly, she leaned in, her movements deliberate and careful. When their lips finally met, it was as if the world around them fell away. Paige’s lips were soft, warm, and hesitant, testing the waters as if afraid to break the fragile moment.

Azzi sighed into the kiss, her hand coming up to cradle Paige’s face immediately as their lips moved together in perfect rhythm. Paige’s lips were impossibly soft which didn’t surprise her and Paige swore she could taste the faintest hint of the pineapple lip gloss Azzi always wore.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or messy. It was tender, filled with every unspoken word they’d held back for months. Paige’s hand slid up to cup Azzi’s cheek, her thumb brushing against her skin as if trying to memorize the feeling.

As they continued to kiss Azzi felt something shift deep within her, like she’d discovered a missing piece of herself in this kiss. Her fingers curled into Paige’s hair, pulling her closer as if she didn’t want her to ever let go.

After their lips finally part, they stay close, foreheads resting together as they catch their breath. Neither of them says anything at first, the silence filled with the weight of what just happened. Paige finally whispers, “That felt… right.”

Azzi lets out a shaky laugh. “It did. That’s the problem.”

Paige pulls back slightly, searching Azzi’s face. “Why does it have to be a problem? We can figure it out Az, teammates really do date all the time.”

Azzi sighs, running a hand through her hair. “They do, but it’s never simple. It changes things, P. And I don’t want us to get... messy.”

Paige frowns, her voice softer now. “It doesn’t feel messy. It feels... easy.”

Azzi smiles at her, almost wistfully. “Until it’s not. And I like us a little too much, Paige. I don’t want to lose us.”

Despite her words, Azzi doesn’t pull away completely. Instead, she stays close, her fingers tracing soft patterns along Paige’s wrist. “I’m not saying we stop, though.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Azzi bites her lip, looking a little shy as she speaks. “I don’t want to stop kissing you. Or touching you. I just... we need to figure this out without rushing into something we can’t handle.”

Paige hesitates, then nods. “So... no labels.... this?”

Azzi smiles, leaning her forehead against Paige’s again. “Just this. For now.”

July 2022

Those two words—“just this”—became the foundation of what they shared for the next few months. They didn’t need a label to define the intensity of what they felt for each other. It was in the stolen glances and whispers during events, the playful nudges when they just wanted to touch each other in public without drawing too much attention, and the way their hands would linger just a moment too long when ‘helping’ the other with something.

When they weren’t surrounded by teammates, they were all over each other, sneaking away for stolen moments whenever they could. Any excuse to feel the press of their lips, the warmth of the other’s skin, was enough. It was like they craved one another in a way neither of them had ever experienced before.

A few of their teammates had definitely caught on—walking in on them tangled up on the couch looking a little too disoriented or catching them whispering a little too closely in the locker room. But no one said anything, at least not directly. Paige and Azzi kept it to just kissing, though, never crossing the boundary they both silently agreed to respect.

Late one night, in the comfort of Azzi’s room after another heated make-out session, they found themselves lying side by side, breathless and grinning. Azzi, her cheeks flushed, tilted her head toward Paige and asked with curiosity, “How did you not have sex before I got here? You were at UConn a whole year without me. I’ve seen people throw themselves at you.”

Paige laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she propped herself up on her elbow. “I used to be a robot, remember?” she teased, grinning. “No time for distractions when I was locked in..”

Azzi chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, but even robots can have moments.”

Paige smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to Azzi’s forehead. “Hm, guess I was just waiting for the right person then.”

Their connection had grown deeper with every passing day, and though they’d never said the words out loud again, both knew it was more than just physical. But that’s all they chalked it up to being for now.

Now they were back home in the DMV, where the familiarity and privacy of their hometown gave them a sense of freedom they didn’t have anywhere else.

Paige’s car was parked in their usual spot near a waterfall, the soft hum of Steve Lacy’s new album filling the quiet night air. They found it by accident once when they were looking for the parking lot of a kicking trail. It had become their place—a quiet escape from everything else. The faint rush of water mixed with the lingering scent of smoke from them smoking, something Olivia had introduced them to before she graduated. They didn’t do it often, but tonight felt right.

Paige was relaxed in the driver’s seat, her posture lazy, exuding effortless confidence. She was kind of manspreading, her grey sweats riding low on her hips, and her tank top pushed up just enough to reveal the band of her boxers. Her wavy hair was undone from the braids she’d taken out earlier, and her blue eyes were low and rimmed with a little red from smoking. Her gaze was locked on Azzi. The stupid, lopsided grin she always wore only made her look better.

Azzi sat leaning against the passenger door, her head resting on the cool glass as she tried to focus on what Paige was saying. Or at least, she thought Paige had been talking. Truthfully, Azzi hadn’t been listening for a while. Her gaze kept drifting, tracing the way Paige’s exposed skin looked and how the tank top clung to her, how casual she looked yet somehow so put together. She noticed every detail—the rise and fall of Paige’s chest, the way her fingers tapped idly against her knee, the curve of her lips when she smiled.

She was startled out of her thoughts when Paige’s voice cut through the haze, soft and teasing. “Why you all the way over there?”

“Huh?” Azzi blinked, her cheeks warming as she realized Paige was smirking at her.

Paige leaned back even more, spreading her arms over the top of the seat like she owned the world. “I said, why you all the way over there?” she repeated, gesturing lazily toward Azzi’s position against the door. “I been tryna talk to you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered, trying to sound unaffected, but Paige’s smirk only grew.

“Yeah ok” Paige said back, her voice dropping just enough to make Azzi’s stomach flip. “Why you here with me then? Wassup with that?”

Azzi shrugged, turning her gaze toward the windshield to avoid Paige’s lingering eyes. “Maybe I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she teased, her voice steady despite the heat rising in her cheeks.

Paige let out a soft laugh, low and warm, the sound wrapping around Azzi like a blanket. “Oh, you’re doing me a favor now huh? That’s cute.” She tilted her head, studying Azzi with a playful intensity. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why you sitting all the way over there like I’m some stranger?”

Azzi hesitated, shifting in her seat. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” Paige interrupted, her grin turning mischievous. She patted the console beside her. “C’mon. What, you scared of me now or something?”

Azzi scoffed, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing. “Scared of you? Please,” she said, forcing her tone to stay light.

Paige raised an eyebrow, her expression daring. “Then come here ma,” she said simply, her voice soft but commanding.

Azzi glanced at her, debating whether to give in or keep playing it cool. “You’re annoying, you know that?” she muttered as she slid across the console, settling closer to Paige.

Paige leaned slightly toward her, the distance between them now almost nonexistent. “You came over here didn’t you,” she teased, her voice dropping into a whisper.

Azzi rolled her eyes again, though it was more out of nervousness than annoyance. “Only because you wouldn’t shut up about it,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Sure,” Paige said, drawing out the word as her lips curved into a smirk. “You definitely didn’t just want to be closer to me. Totally makes sense.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, leaning back slightly to create some space. “You’re so full of yourself Paige.”

Paige laughed, the sound low and teasing. “Am I wrong, though?” she asked, her blue eyes locking onto Azzi’s. “You’ve been staring at me all night. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Azzi froze for a moment before recovering, her voice sharp with mock indignation. “I was not staring!”

Paige tilted her head, her grin widening. “Mhm. Sure you weren’t.” She leaned in just a little closer, her voice dropping lower. “It’s okay, Azzi. I get it. You can just tell me you want me.”

Azzi opened her mouth to protest, but Paige’s hand moved, brushing against Azzi’s chin and tilting her face up. The playful glint in Paige’s eyes softened, replaced by something deeper, something that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

“See? Not so scary,” Paige murmured, her thumb lightly grazing Azzi’s jaw.

Azzi swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as the teasing tension between them shifted into something heavier. “I hate you,” she whispered, though her voice betrayed her, trembling just enough to make Paige’s grin return.

“And you’re blushing,” Paige countered, her voice soft and teasing as her face moved even closer.

Azzi could feel Paige’s breath now, warm and tantalizing. “Shut up,” she managed to say, though her words held no weight.

“Make me,” Paige whispered, her lips hovering just above Azzi’s.

And then, before Azzi could respond, Paige closed the gap, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly deepened. Azzi melted into it, her hand instinctively reaching for Paige’s arm, anchoring herself as the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them and the sound of the waterfall in the background.

The kiss was slow but deep, each movement deliberate, the effects of them smoking clear in the way their lips brushed languidly against each other, their tongues tangling slowly. It was intoxicating, neither of them wanting to pull away, but when they finally did, Azzi leaned back against the passenger door, her breathing uneven.

Paige didn’t say anything, but her smirk said it all. Her lips were slightly swollen, glistening in the dim light, and Azzi couldn’t help but think about how annoyingly good she looked. Paige leaned back against the driver’s side door now, her posture relaxed as she let her eyes rake over Azzi without any attempt to hide it.

Azzi shifted under the weight of Paige’s gaze, finally breaking the silence. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Paige chuckled, the sound low and lazy. “Like what?” she asked, though the mischievous tilt of her head made it clear she knew exactly what Azzi meant.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re eye-fucking me, Paige.”

Paige’s grin widened as she shrugged, entirely unbothered. “And?” she replied, her tone dripping with nonchalance, her eyes locked on Azzi.

Azzi narrowed her eyes, struggling to maintain her composure. “And you need to stop,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt.

Paige tilted her head back against the driver’s seat, her smirk deliberate. “No, I don’t,” she shot back smoothly, her confidence filling the small space between them like a slow burn.

The weight of Paige’s gaze made Azzi shift, her thighs pressing together as she crossed her legs in an attempt to quell the heat rising in her. Paige noticed immediately, of course. She always noticed the effect she had on Azzi. Her smirk deepened, and her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

They stared at each other, the tension palpable. Then Paige broke the silence, her voice dropping lower, softer, almost like a confession. “You’re sexy.”

Azzi froze, her breath catching as the words warmed her entire body. The sincerity and heat in Paige’s tone made her heart pound, leaving her momentarily speechless.

Paige leaned forward slightly, the intensity in her gaze almost unbearable. “You have no idea what I wanna do to you all the time,” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe.

Azzi didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, she found herself leaning forward too, drawn in by the gravity between them. Her hand moved almost on its own, resting against Paige’s thigh as her eyes dropped to Paige’s lips.

Paige noticed the hesitation and closed the distance herself, capturing Azzi’s lips in a kiss that was slower but hungrier this time. It was as if the compliment had ignited something in both of them, and they poured all of it into the kiss.

Azzi sighed softly against Paige’s mouth, her hand sliding up from Paige’s thigh to her hip, her fingers curling into the fabric of Paige’s tank top. Paige groaned quietly, a sound Azzi always loved to hear. Paige’s hand found Azzi’s jaw as she deepened the kiss, tilting her head to taste more.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were shallow, their foreheads resting against each other. Paige’s lips were swollen again, glistening in the dim light, but this time, Azzi didn’t look away. Her dark eyes stayed locked on Paige’s, and there was no mistaking the spark of something deeper in her gaze.

Azzi swallowed hard, her voice soft but steady when she finally spoke. “Let’s get in the back.”

Paige’s eyes widened slightly, tracing every detail of Azzi’s face as if searching for any hesitation. She knew exactly what Azzi meant by that, and the weight of the moment settled between them. “You sure?” Paige asked quietly, her voice careful and almost reverent.

Azzi nodded, her lips twitching into a small, confident smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It took all of two seconds for Paige to push her seat forward and climb in the backseat, her movements quick but measured. Azzi followed without hesitation, and before Paige could even settle fully, Azzi was there. She straddled Paige’s lap with ease, her legs on either side of the older girl as her hands rested on Paige’s shoulders.

Paige leaned back slightly against the seat, her hands instinctively finding Azzi’s hips to steady her. She looked up at Azzi, her blue eyes soft yet filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Paige murmured, her voice low and teasing, though the sincerity beneath it was undeniable.

Azzi smirked, her hands sliding down Paige’s arms until her fingers laced with hers. “Guess we’re even, then,” she whispered, leaning down just enough for their noses to brush.

Paige chuckled softly, her grip on Azzi’s hips tightening as she let her eyes drift over Azzi’s face, soaking in every detail. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

Azzi didn’t hesitate, closing the small gap between them as their lips met again, this time with more urgency. The kiss was deeper now, fueled by the intimacy of their new position. Paige’s hands slid to Azzi’s ass, pulling her closer as if the small space between them was unbearable.

Azzi shifted slightly, her body fitting perfectly against Paige’s as the kiss grew hungrier, more consuming. It wasn’t just about the physical connection anymore—it was the unspoken understanding between them, the trust and care they had built over months finally coming to the surface.

Paige pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips brushing against Azzi’s as she whispered, “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Azzi smiled softly, her forehead resting against Paige’s as she replied, “You make me feel like I am.”

Paige’s heart swelled at the confession, and she tightened her hold on Azzi, leaning up to kiss her again, slow and deliberate, savoring every moment.

They continued to kiss, the rhythm of their lips synchronized as Azzi gently moved her hips, trying to get closer to Paige, to feel her more. Every shift brought them that much nearer, the heat between them escalating with each subtle motion. Paige’s hands stayed on Azzi’s butt, pulling her even tighter as she squeezed, if that was even possible. Their kiss deepened, more frantic now, their shared breaths mingling between the fervent exchanges.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were gasping for air, their chests rising and falling in unison. Paige’s gaze swept over Azzi, her heart racing. She wished she could freeze this exact moment in time—this version of Azzi. The long goddess braids she had gotten over the summer were tilted to one side, a few strands loose, framing her face. Her lips were swollen, a telltale sign of their heated kiss, and her eyes—those deep, warm brown eyes—were low with desire, the slight speckles of red still lingering from earlier.

Azzi smiled down at Paige, her expression soft yet knowing, as if she could read the thoughts running through Paige’s mind. Before Paige could even respond, Azzi’s lips found her neck, pressing soft, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin there, making Paige’s breath hitch.

The sensation was electric. Paige’s head instinctively rolled back against the seat, her hands tightening on Azzi, a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaping her lips. Azzi’s kisses grew more insistent, trailing up to the sensitive spot just below Paige’s ear, making Paige’s eyes flutter shut. She couldn’t help but moan softly as Azzi’s lips worked their magic.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s hips, pulling her closer as if trying to bring her even further into the moment. “Azzi…” Paige breathed out, her voice barely a whisper, laced with both desire and disbelief. “God, you’re so…”

Azzi chuckled softly against her skin, her hands resting on either side of Paige’s face, gently guiding her chin back so their eyes could meet. She looked at Paige, her brown eyes dark with unspoken affection, a hint of a smirk on her lips as she whispered, “I know.”

The warmth from her words hit Paige harder than any kiss. It was a feeling that went deeper than desire. It was comfort, understanding, and the raw honesty between them. Paige smiled, her heart swelling, as her hands cupped Azzi’s face, pulling her into another kiss, this one slower, but no less intense.

Azzi eventually pulls away from the kiss, her lips brushing softly down Paige’s jaw before she grabs Paige’s hand, guiding it easily toward her. The look on Paige’s face is pure awe as Azzi slides Paige’s hands into her shorts and puts Paige’s fingers inside her herself—her eyes heavy with desire, a subtle tension in her jaw, and a hint of something deeper that makes Paige lose her mind. Azzi’s expression shifts her eyebrows furrowing at the new feeling as she leans back slightly, letting out a soft, breathy sigh that carries the weight of her unspoken thoughts.

Paige watches, completely entranced, as Azzi’s jaw drops just slightly. After she’s acclimated to the feeling her hips begin to move in slow, deliberate circles, drawing out a soft whimper from her lips—an involuntary sound that makes Paige’s chest tighten. The noise is so intimate, so raw, it echoes in the car, mixing with the steady rhythm of Azzi’s breath.

Paige’s breath hitches as Azzi leans back more, the motion drawing a deep, almost melodic groan from her, her hips still moving in a steady rhythm against Paige. "God..." Azzi whispers, the sound escaping her like it’s the only word she can form. Her hands grip the seat, fingers digging in as her breath comes out faster, warmer, the pace of her movements increasing just enough to make Paige’s heart race. Another sound slips from her—low and needy, a soft gasp as her hips shift again, making the air feel thick with anticipation.

Paige watches, mesmerized, not even realizing she’s supposed to be participating anymore. She’s completely lost in Azzi—her gaze trailing over her face, watching her lips part as another small moan escapes. Azzi’s eyes lock onto hers, dark and heated, as she continues to move her hips, her breath quickening. The faintest trail of a whimper follows, rising in pitch, but it’s quickly stifled by a soft, desperate sigh as Azzi shifts her body closer to Paige, creating a tension that wraps around them both.

The sounds continue—Azzi’s hips grinding slowly, her breath coming out in shaky, needy gasps. She exhales sharply, a soft, pleading sound leaving her mouth as she leans back just enough to deepen the way Paige’s fingers feel, creating a slow, undeniable pressure in the air. Her sounds—soft whines, quiet groans, and breathy sighs—are so intoxicating, so raw, that Paige can hardly breathe, let alone move.

"Azzi..." Paige’s voice trembles with desire, barely audible over the intensity of what she’s witnessing. Her eyes stay glued to Azzi, transfixed by the way she’s moving, her body begging for something more as the heat in the car rises with every sound, every shift of Azzi’s hips.

Azzi looks down at her with a knowing, intense gaze, and Paige can feel her heart racing in time with Azzi’s movements. She’s lost in the rawness of it all—the sound, the look, the feeling—as Azzi’s body moves against hers with a quiet desperation, each sound marking the space between them like a rhythm that only the two of them understand.

Azzi’s gaze locks with Paige’s, her breath shaky as she leans in closer, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear as she whispers, her voice breathy and laced with anticipation, “What exactly did you want to do to me?”

Paige’s breath catches in her throat, the sound of Azzi’s voice making everything inside her feel warm. It’s as though the spell that had been cast over her is broken. Her body reacts instinctively, and with a sharp intake of breath, Paige takes control. She slides her free hand to the back of Azzi’s neck, pulling her closer, crashing their lips together in a more urgent kiss than before. The kiss is deep and slow, laced with the power of the question Azzi had just asked.

Azzi's breath quickens as Paige starts moving inside of her, the balance of power shifting as Paige’s fingers move with more confidence, pushing Azzi’s body closer to hers. The energy in the car shifts as their kiss intensifies, moving beyond just desire.

The album continues to play softly in the background, the mellow tones of Steve Lacy’s voice creating a calm, almost hypnotic atmosphere as they lose themselves in one another. The windows of Paige’s Jeep fog up from the heat building between them, the condensation on the glass becoming a blur of the world outside, leaving only the two of them in their own space, their own universe. The world beyond the car doesn’t matter anymore.

For hours, they drift in and out of each other’s embrace, neither one of them paying attention to time. The soft, steady rhythm of the music plays on as they explore every inch of the moment, every whisper and touch, the sensations of being so close to each other for the first time pulling them deeper.

The hours slip by unnoticed, the tension between them never quite breaking, just ebbing and flowing with each kiss, each gentle caress as they explore one another completely.

…

The air in the car is sticky with the aftermath of what just transpired, the faint sound of Steve Lacy finally being turned off as Paige sits back in the driver’s seat, her lips curling into a smirk as she glances over at Azzi, who’s adjusting her clothes, her body language still completely relaxed from their time in the backseat. Paige lets out a slow breath, clearly pleased with herself.

“So…” Paige begins, her voice low and teasing. “How was that?”

Azzi, still catching her breath, looks at her with a knowing grin. “You tell me.” Her tone is just as confident now, the playful challenge in her eyes matching the sharpness of her words. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’ that many times before.”

Paige chuckles, her smirk widening. “I didn’t know you could scream that loud,” she says, her voice dripping with mischief.

Azzi rolls her eyes, unbothered by the teasing, though a faint blush creeps up her neck. She doesn’t say anything back, the silence settling between them in a comfortable way.

But when Azzi looks back at Paige she finds the blonde looking at her the same way she was before—undeniably intense, eyes filled with that same hunger as if they didn’t just go for hours. It’s the same gaze that got Azzi in the back seat in the first place.

Azzi arches an eyebrow, lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “You can’t look at me like that all the time now,” she says, her voice teasing yet laced with a hint of warning.

Paige just grins, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s. “I’ll try my best,” she replies, her voice low but full of promise. As she says this, she reaches over to fasten Azzi’s seatbelt, her fingers brushing lightly against her exposed skin. As the belt clicks into place, Paige leans in and presses a lingering, soft kiss to Azzi’s lips before she fastens her own seatbelt.

The car pulls out of the spot, the engine humming softly as they start the drive back to Azzi’s place.

[leighsartworks216]

Your Majesty

Zayne x fem!Reader x Sylus

I got this idea outta nowhere but thank fucking god I did. There was gonna be more build up but nahhhh

@comatosebunny09 IT'S HERE BABEYY

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: pwp, smut, polyamory, threesome, royalty AU, kissing, cuddling, cum swallowing, blow jobs, face sitting, hair pulling, anal sex, fingering, oral, 69, light dom/sub, sweat, banter, teasing, biting

Word Count: 2,247

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Zayne was never very vocal insofar as moaning, but with every slap of Sylus's hips against his ass, breathy whimpers rose from his throat. Gasps of air, choked up and shaking with pleasure. He reaches back and holds onto your arms, trying not to hold on too tightly for fear of hurting you. You brush his hair back from his face, caressing his flushed cheeks. He's so beautiful like this, glistening with sweat and eyes glazed over as he watches his stiff cock bounce against his stomach in tandem with Sylus's movements.

"You sound so beautiful, my love," you coo sweet praise by his ear. He's putty in your hands, a little doll for you and your other consort to play with. So easily do you tilt his head back, until his Adam's apple cranes toward the ceiling and his eyes hazily focus on you. "So pretty..."

You swallow his gasp while you thumb circles around a pert nipple, pinching it between your fingers. His back arches away from the plush of your bed, seeking more. Sylus strokes along his side, petting up along his ribs. "And he's being such a good boy tonight. Don't you agree, Your Highness?"

You hum, pulling away from Zayne's mouth. Saliva glistens in a silver strand, coats his lips, tastes as sweet as the grapes he ate earlier. "He is," you agree. You push your thumb into his mouth. He sucks on it greedily, lapping at the pad of it like a dog. You pull it out with a wet pop, and rub the slick over the pretty pink bud once more, rolling it under your thumb as you finally draw a breathy moan from his throat. "What do you want for being such a good boy?"

"Taste..." he pants. His whole body shudders as he rolls his hips to meet one of Sylus's thrusts, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Taste you, my lady... Please, I beg, let me taste you..."

With a small gesture, Sylus slows considerably. His large cock drags slowly out of Zayne's needy hole, until only the tip remains inside, before just as slowly pushing it back in. It's torture. Slow, beautiful torture. Zayne's chest heaves with pleading pants, stomach coated in the sticky precum leaking from his flushed head.

"Is that really what you want, darling?"

He nods, a tear or two finally breaking free as he aches for Sylus to ravage him again like before. Yearns to feel so close to cumming just from being fucked and cradled alone, without either of his lovers giving attention to his weeping cock.

You brush the tears away and kiss him chastely on his lips. "As you wish, my love."

He releases your arms. As you slide out from under his head, Sylus cradles Zayne's neck and leans over the man to kiss him deeply. The slick precum clings to Sylus's own stomach where it touches him. His tongue pushes deep into his partner's mouth, swallowing every sound he makes as he rolls his hips in gentle thrusts. Sylus's grunts and groans mix with Zayne's breathy sounds; both only serve to add to your desire.

You tangle your fingers in white hair and tug. It hurts, sure, but your consort has always enjoyed the pain, especially when you use it to command him in the bedroom. He starts to straighten back up, but you don't let him. Halfway up, he has to rest his hand on Zayne's chest to support himself as you kiss him roughly.

Zayne watches in a daze. The way your throats bob and tongues meet before each kiss, teeth bite at lips and pull. The furrow in Sylus's brow as he tries leaning more into you despite the pull on his hair. It's addicting. There is always something so arousing when he gets the opportunity to watch his partners enjoy each other. Something that challenges the natural possessiveness he keeps locked away, tamed only by the fact that he is a partner to you both. How could he be jealous of his own partners when he himself is just as loved and doted on by either of you?

When you finally release Sylus, his face is flushed and a smirk dances on his lips. He straightens out, returning his hold to Zayne's hip and spread legs, as you position yourself to straddle over his face. You smell divine. Saccharine and sinful. His hands grab your hips and sit you onto his awaiting mouth before you can do it yourself.

You moan at the sudden wet heat licking you. The unholy sounds of slurping as he drinks every drop of slick from your pussy. Sylus even groans at the delicious noises. "Ah- I thought this was a good boy?" You grind your cunt down onto his face. He laps at your swollen clit as his nose swipes against your dripping hole. You rest your hands on his abs for support. "Yet he takes more than his master is willing to give him."

"You blame a dog for lunging for the bone held before him?" Sylus teases. Sweat beads at his forehead, creates trails down his chest. The effort it takes not to speed up once more and take his fill is evident in the way he grips the pale flesh of your lover, digging fingertips in so harsh they will leave bruises later. "The poor pet only wanted his treat."

You huff, playing annoyed, but you can't fight your grin or your arousal any longer. "Then let's treat him, shall we?" You give Sylus a nod. Immediately, he draws back and rams forward into Zayne, so harshly his whole body shifts against the bed. His pace doesn't relent. The gleam of lubricating oil decorates his veiny cock as it pistons in and out of his tight hole. Zayne is caught between a whine and a moan as he doubles down in his efforts to taste and please you.

Sylus hooks Zayne's leg over his shoulder to reach deeper than before. Hand now free from holding said leg, he grabs your jaw and draws you into another kiss.

It's always a fight for dominance against him. You may be the Royal Highness, you may sit upon your throne, he may just be a consort - but that all means nothing in here. You fight for your own right to rule the bedroom.

He bites your lip harshly, nearly breaking the soft skin, before sucking it between his lips. You suck his upper lip into your mouth, biting just as harshly on his cupid's bow. Angling his head, he kisses you deeply, delving his tongue into your mouth, eager to claim his dominance over you tonight.

Maybe you put up a good fight, or maybe you choose to let him win. Regardless, the outcome is the same. He draws from you, hand roughly holding the back of your neck to push your face down, until you are face to face with Zayne's needy cock.

"Return the favor to our beloved," he commands in a growl. "Lick him."

Zayne can feel your cunt clench around his tongue from his order. Your hands support yourself on his thigh and hip as you obey. You lick a long stripe from the base of his dick to the head, sucking lightly at his dripping slit and prodding it with the tip of tour tongue.

"Good, Your Highness. How much can you take of him tonight, I wonder?"

His hand releases your neck to grip your hair. You have just enough time to open your mouth wide and relax your throat before you're shoved down onto his cock. It twitches against the back of your throat, blocks your airway, nearly makes you gag with the sudden intrusion.

Zayne pulls your pussy closer to his mouth as he jerks his hips upward. This time you do gag, tears springing to your eyes. Sylus lifts you up, giving you a second to breathe as he addresses Zayne. "You won't last long now, will you, pretty boy?"

He answers in the way his fingers curl against your lower back, clutch at your ass cheek. Sylus chuckles breathlessly at the sight.

"Good boy. You want me to fill you?"

This time, he whimpers pitifully. His hips jerk again.

"You want to fill her pretty mouth?"

His cock twitches against your tongue as you lightly suck around him. He whines something that almost sounds like, "Please."

"I think you've earned it."

Sylus guides your head. You bob on Zayne's dick, slower than his own thrusts, reduced to a mere toy to be commanded and controlled at his will. Zayne frees one hand to press his fingers inside your sweet pussy, so soaked he doesn't have to wait to use multiple fingers. He thrusts them into you desperately, curling them into your g-spot perfectly as he does so, but his mouth on your clit fights to keep a slower pace. The difference works to draw you quickly toward your release.

Sylus adores this. Adores watching his partners pleasure each other under his watchful eye. The drool that drips down your chin as he guides you up and down Zayne's shaft and the way you rock your hips against his face. Zayne's interspersed breaths when he can no longer go without air and his hips constantly trying to meet his thrusts and your mouth. The wet sounds of it all. The way he can watch his cock disappear into his lover, over and over, feel him clench around him as he gets closer and closer to finally reaching his orgasm. It's maddening. It's addicting. He wishes he could stay here forever.

But forever doesn't last. And it's eternally better that it doesn't.

How else would he feel Zayne clench so tightly around him as his cock twitches and shoots hot strands of his cum down your throat? How else would he hear your muffled moans and see your arching back as Zayne works you through your orgasm, fingering and sucking you until you're squirming? How else would he fuck into Zayne until his abs clench, his hips stutter, and he's buried himself as far as he can go to fill him with cum as deep as possible?

How else would he enjoy releasing you from his hold and watching the last, unswallowed bit of cum drip down onto Zayne's softening cock and messy stomach? How else would he help you roll onto the bed beside your partner to reveal Zayne's glistening chin and heaving chest? How else would he be able to slide out of his lover with a quiet hiss and watch his cum drip out of him and to the floor?

He gently lowers Zayne's leg from his shoulder and massages the tense muscles there. Zayne hums breathily to express his appreciation, still coming down from his high. You tiredly reach out for him, grabbing his arm to try pulling him down to join you. He chuckles, but does as you wish. Sweaty and messy and exhausted, and much too warm to cuddle, you all seek out each other regardless, until you're in a heap of heavy breathing and bodily fluids.

A knock sounds at the door. "Your Majesty? Lord Eldwin is requesting your presence! He wishes to discuss the-"

"Tell him kindly to choose a better time to discuss such matters!" you call back, not bothering to hide your aggravation. Your voice is slightly hoarse. She doesn't seem to notice.

"He insists, my lady! He refuses to leave until you meet with him!"

You sigh. You're in no shape to be meeting with this pompous idiot, mentally or physically.

Sylus chuckles lowly, too quietly for the handmaid to hear. "If he won't leave until you see him, then you can take as long as you want getting ready, hm?"

Zayne turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your body and pressing his face to your neck. "It would be rude to leave a lord waiting."

"It is rude to demand the time of royalty," Sylus counters, smirking. "Especially when she's so occupied with much more interesting men than Lord Eldwin."

The maid knocks again. "Your Highness?"

You huff. "I'll see him as soon as I am ready."

"Would you like any assistance, my lady?"

Before you can answer, Zayne does for you. "Ready a large bath for Her Majesty."

The maid squeaks. It's no secret you have two lovers, but she certainly did not expect to hear a man's voice reply. "Y-Yes! Of course! Right away!" She scampers off, leaving you all behind to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"How long should we make him wait?" Sylus asks.

You hum, relaxing further against your lovers. "How long do you think it would take before he gives up?"

Zayne gives you a mildly disapproving stare, but it's immediately undermined when he says, "It will take ages to wash you, Your Majesty. We must be thorough." He peppers light kisses against your shoulder with a slight grin.

"And you must decide what to wear for such an occasion." Sylus sighs with faux melancholy as he sits up in order to lay across you both. His weight combined with the mess you've all made is slightly uncomfortable, but no less welcome.

"Not to mention Her Highness will need to rest after so much strenuous activity."

"So..." you trail off. "Tomorrow, then?"

Sylus chuckles. Zayne turns his head to kiss the man's shoulder. "We'll see."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko 

[navybrat817]

Hey, I saw your ficlet Friday, and if you still do some, could it be some fluffy, comforting with Bucky, please? (Guess I could need my big bear right now hehe…)

With the prompts:

cuddling under a blanket while watching their favorite show

Holding them tightly, protectively

Sending you all the hugs, Syd!

Room for One More

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 400

Warnings: Talk of anxiety, comfort, cuddling

You always tried to focus on the good, but your mind wouldn't let you today. Anxiety crept up for seemingly no reason, hitting you so hard and suddenly that it left you worn out in a matter of minutes. The feeling wouldn't last forever, you knew that, but it wouldn't magically go away either. You just had to ride out the storm and pray it would be a quick one.

Bucky found you under a couple of blankets when he got home, the television on in the background. He wasn't sure if you were actually watching it or if you were just staring off, but he wasn't about to turn it off since it was your favorite show. “Hey, doll,” he said, bending down to give you a kiss.

You perked up slightly as his lips touched yours, but you still had to force yourself to smile. “Hey,” you said, your voice rough like you had been crying.

“You okay?” he asked, frowning when you shrugged. “What’s wrong?”

Guilt ate away at you as he waited for an answer. “Nothing,” you finally whispered, which was true since there wasn't an actual reason for you to feel the way you did. “I’m sorry,” you muttered. He had enough to worry about each day, and you didn't need to be a burden on top of it.

It would break Bucky’s heart if he knew what you were thinking. He would never view you as a burden. He loved you more than anything.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he smiled softly. He understood that there would be off days. He had them, too.

“Still love me?” you asked in a small voice.

“Still love you,” he smiled, your heart skipping a beat and repeating his words in your mind you wouldn't forget his love for you. “Still love me?”

“Always,” you whispered.

His lips touched yours once more. “Got room for one more?”

“Always,” you said again.

Giving him room to lay behind you, he curled an arm protectively around your waist once he was under the blanket. He was so warm, his touch so comforting, and you couldn't help but sigh and press back against him to be closer. Being in his arms helped. He was so good to you.

“Guess what?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re my favorite person,” he whispered in your ear, holding you tighter.

“You’re my favorite person, too, Bucky,” you sighed, a real smile touching your lips. “You're my favorite person, too.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️

[lady-of-endless]

Seong Gi-hun (player 456) x player!reaader headcanons (season 2)

Author's Note: I woke up with notes on my other Gi-hun post and watched season 2, got hooked again, and decided to write this. I hope you'll enjoy it! Click here for a masterlist because there's more to come.

- The innocence from the first game is lost once and for all. He's unintentionally less approachable now, always stoic, always tense. After the first game, some thought he was either crazy or suspicious. Your gratitude for his help during the first game surpassed any way you pictured him before. So you decide to keep an eye on him.

- Gi-hun is too focused on the game system and guards to notice you studying him from time to time. He's both amazed and worried about how different the players are from the first time he was there. But if there's one thing that remains the same, it's the sudden greed when the prize is getting higher with each elimination.

- But he doesn't see that in you. After the first game, you understood the gravity of the situation and forgot about the money. The moment the piggy fills with money and everyone is in awe except for him, you look around and your eyes lock with his. He finally notices you then and there. Why? Because you're the only one not looking at the money anymore.

- The second time he will notice you is when you won't eat well because of all the stress and shock. Gi-Hun silently approaches you, sits next to you, and calmly explains how you must eat to have energy for the next game. Despite his stoic tone, you can see worry in his eyes.

- During one night, when he is the only one awake to watch around, you join him in silence. That's when you start opening up to him more. He wasn't expecting it at all.

- He will never judge your reasoning for entering this wicked game. Gi-hun will just listen and try to show understanding.

- Since then, you stayed close to him. He didn't mind it at all. Plus, his mind was already busy with plans and possibilities to save as many as he could.

- You'd think that he might've developed trust issues but his heart didn't allow that. Not when he got attached so fast. You were always there to support him or help him find the right words to convince other players to stop the game from continuing. Slowly, you become something like his confidant even if he forced himself to be cautious around other players.

- When he opens up to you, he opens up about his experience first. He's done it before, telling people what he went through with this damned game but no one asked him how he feels after everything, except for you. He's stunned. It feels like you somehow made your way inside and he's powerless, he can't do anything about it,

- His hands twitch and his body tenses every time you risk getting hurt. He's not even aware of how ready he is to rush to you and help if you need it. But the others are aware. Some will notice how you two simply gravitate closer to each other. Watch out for a jealous-looking Hwang In-ho (player 001).

- Seon-Nyeo (player 044) talked to you two about how you are doomed because of a curse and other scary spiritual details, the way she does with everyone. Gi-hun was unfazed but his eyes softened when he saw you a little bit worried and disturbed. He comforted you, put a hand on your shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze with a half smile (it's still hard for him to smile again, but he'll do it for you).

- He promises you that he'll get you safe out of there, every day and every night.

- Whatever you two will have, he will insist on being kept secret so you won't be in any additional danger because of him.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

That’s Not What Friends Do (part 1)

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: smut, cheating

Request: Lando and the Reader have been best friends since they were babies. Lando has been in love with the Reader since he was a teenager, which is why he has never had a serious relationship. He has flings with girls, but nothing serious. On the other hand, the Reader has been in love with Lando for the past one to two years but thinks he doesn't like her that way, which is why she doesn't propose. Lando is very protective of the Reader, and the Reader is equally protective of Lando.... She knows he sleeps around and is protective of him in a way that she advises him to be smart about who he sleeps with and to stay out of the headlines for anything other than racing. The story starts after the Brazil race, where Lando had a tough time and went without sleep for 24-48 hours. When he returns from São Paulo, he finds the Reader already there, ready to comfort him after a bad race. - I changed it up a bit adding Charles into the story, but I hope you still like it!

"Oh, yes, yes, yes-ah.." The girl moans breathlessly into the pillow as Lando animalistically continues pounding her from behind.

"Just like that, Lando, give it to me" She continues talking even though Lando hates hearing it.

He hates the way his name sounds coming from her lips. He also hates that he's giving her what she wants. And most of all, he hates the fact that once again he's fucking someone else, imagining it washer.

Once he closes his eyes and thinks of your innocent face, it sends him over the edge, he twitches pulling out his cock and cumming inside the condom. "Fuck.." He moans throwing his head back as his thighs shake.

"You didn't have to pull out, you know? You have a condom on anyway" The girl smirks turning to look at him and trying to pull him down to her.

Lando doesn't say anything, he raises his eyebrow at her, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes at her stupid comment.

He's been with so many girls he can't even count them, but even when he's drunk out of his mind, protection is a must have. He's not fucking around when it comes to that, not when he doesn't even know half of those girls' names. Nor is he interested in their names. All he cares about is emptying himself, giving himself a short-term pleasure and maybe just maybe running into someone who is at least slightly similar to her.

"You're not gonna stay?" The girl asks when he gets up from the bed and starts pulling his pants up.

"No, sorry, I gotta go" With curt, almost no explanations, he always leaves minutes after he finishes. Not that he's proud of it, but to be honest, he doesn't care either.

On the other hand, y/n doesn't spend her free nights the way Lando does. She doesn't fuck around with guys to keep her mind off Lando because she knows that's impossible in a way.

Although she spends some of her evenings wishing she had never seen that article a year and a half ago. It was a perfectly normal Monday night, the day after the race, when after a long flight she finally lay down on her couch, snuggled under the blanket and started scrolling through her phone. At one point, her best friend Ruby sent her an article titled "Friends"? and a picture of y/n and Lando that y/n hasn't stopped thinking about ever since.

The picture captured the moment when, after the race, Lando had both arms tightly wrapped around y/n and was kissing her temple with his eyes closed.

At first it seemed like an ordinary picture, I mean it wasn't the first time they shared a close moment like that before. After all they're friends? Friends do that, right? But the longer y/n stared at it, the more it awakened something in her that hadn't been there before.

When she found herself thinking about Lando and herself at night to fall asleep, she realized she was in trouble because she knew she was in love with her best friend. But since she also knew that the night she was staring at their picture, he was fucking some girl because he himself had told her he was meeting her that night, y/n knew she had to suppress her feelings.

That's where y/n had a little help named Charles.

"Where were you?"

Y/n startles almost screaming when she walks into her apartment and turns on the light revealing Lando on her couch.

"Oh my God, Lando!!" She said, barely able to catch her breath as she held her hand over her heart thinking it would jump out at any second. "You scared the shit out of me! How did you get in here?"

"You gave me the key?"

"I did, but to use it in case of emergency only!"

"You not answering my calls is an emergency" He says and you roll your eyes at him as you take off your shoes. "So?"

"So?" You mimic him.

"Where were you?"

"I was" You sigh. "On a date."

"You were on a date?" He asked a little panicked, following you like a puppy into the kitchen where you had gone.

"Mhm" You mumble, avoiding his gaze. "Ready to conquer Brazil?" You ask trying to change the subject.

"Who were you on a date with?" He asks not dropping it.

"Can we please not talk about it?" You sigh. You really had no intention of telling him anytime soon that you were seeing Charles. You knew Lando was never much of a fan of Charles. Although the reason for that was never clear to you, Lando had actually seen the way Charles secretly looked at you on a couple of occasions, and he confirmed his suspicions when Carlos told him that Charles had said he wanted to get to know you better.

"Why not? Since when am I not allowed to know who you're seeing?"

"Oh please, as if you tell me about every girl you see"

"Well..that's n-not the same"

"Oh really? And by the way, the other day Instagram was full of you and some blonde at a club again. I could see how drunk you were through the picture, you know?" You've scolded him for the umpteenth time already. "You really should be more careful who you associate yourself with, it's getting out of hand"

Lando remained silent because he knew you were right and he hated that he knew you were always right.

"Lando, you know I'm only saying that because I don't want them to talk badly about you and play with your head..."

No one really knew Lando the way you did. After all, you've known each other since childhood, inseparable since you were little. Your relationship has always been one of a kind, both of you very protective of each other. For Lando, it was like he wasn't afraid to hurt anyone but you. You were something that cannot be touched.

"I know, but I don't want to talk about that either." He says. "Are you coming with me to Brazil?"

"No, I'm sorry, Lan. I have a project to finish. I have so much to do and so little time."

"So you have time to date but you don't have time to be there when I need you?"

"H-how can you even say that?" You were offended because that was far from the truth. If anyone was always there for Lando, it was you. You just didn't know he was saying this only out of jealousy and because he had a hard time accepting that you had someone in your life besides him.

"Let me guess, he'll be your moral support while you work on your project?"

Oh, if he only knew that the "moral support" he was talking about would be much closer to him than to you that weekend, he would surely lose his mind.