synopsis ; You're not closeted. But not out. You don't mind telling people, they just never ask. You're not well known, people usually only know your friend, Maddy Perez. Who is with the notorious Nate Jacobs. No one knows that she fucks you on the side.
Notes : not proofread || part 2 here
in elementary school, you were on a swing at recess. It's recess so what else would you be doing? But after a while a kid with a "Birthday girl" sash wrapped around her body came up to your swing. All the swings were full, and you were the only kid she knew based off looks because you were in the same 1st grade class. She stood next to the railing on your swing, she didn't say much just stood there for a few moments, after those few moments she crossed her arms and sighed. You finally noticed her. You gasped and let your feet fall to stop yourself. You would have given up the swing regardless of if it was her birthday or not but you especially hopped off fast because it was her birthday.
"Sorry", you mumbled, jumping off the swing. She takes the chain connecting the swing to the bars quickly. "It's okay, thanks." she said confidently. She sat in the swing and as a 7 year old you looked at the swing in yearning once more, before going to turn around.
"Hey, what's your name?" she says, you spin back around awkwardly, "Y/N. I know yours is Maddy. Happy birthday." you said quietly at first but you got louder as you went on, more confident too.
She blinks at you, "Oh well hi, and thanks." she says. You stand awkwardly not knowing if the conversation is over or not. She must have sensed it. "Bye!" She says before starting to kick her feet up and down. She didn't say it mean, she didn't say it nice either. It was more so of a "cool alright bye." You left afterwards, heading in the line for the slide.
Later that day, when she passed out her cupcakes and gift bags she brought, she handed you the only pink gift bag, and handed you the cupcake with the second most icing, next to hers obviously. Her best friend at the time, Sasha who moved schools in 7th grade, was so mad at Maddy for not giving her them that they never spoke again after that.
But after that for you and her, you guys were friendly towards each other the rest elementary school. And when you guys entered 6th grade, you had one class together and you were assigned to sit next to her. You guy's become close friends after that, super close.
You guy's would have sleepovers all the time. The first 'sexual' thing you guys ever did was in 6th grade, your guys 4th ever sleepover at her house. You both were talking about crushes, when Maddy brought up her boobs. Saying they're so small and she hates it. She had stood in front of her body length mirror, rubbing at her own boobs. Then she suddenly turned to you, and took her top off. You being stunned, looked right at them.
"Well? Are they too small? You think so?" She said, extremely casually. Which made you want to be casual too. "What? No! Not at all! They look fine." You managed to say it just as casual, mimicking Maddy's usual monotone voice.
She sighs and comes to sit next to you, her boobs still out, and her top somewhere on the floor. She takes your hand, again so fast, so confident, and brings them to her boobs. Rubs them up and down and side to side. "Don't they feel flat though? Ugh, let me see yours." She said whining and making herself taller by sitting on her knees.
You carry on the casual act, "No, they're fine!" you said, not addressing the let me see yours comment yet. She looks down at you, "Oh sorry, I didn't think this was weird. I do this with all my friends. You don't have to do anything you don't wanna." She managed to say it so perfect. She wasn't embarrassed but she also wasn't mad either.
You immediately laugh and say "Oh no, it's fine." before taking your top off fast.
She groans, "Ugh, I'm so jealous. I wish I had boobs like that." She says, then rubs them. The rest of the night you were consoling her on her boob size.
When she started dating Nate, it's not that things changed between you two. She was just very busy with her new boyfriend, upgraded popularity, new friends, and even newer enemies.
You two still would have sleepovers occasionally, and she would try to invite you to events with her other friends, but you always declined those.
The first sleepover you both had together after she started dating Nate, was around 3 months in to their relationship. You had gotten a text one Friday from Maddy.
"Hey, it's been awhile. wanna hang out? miss u . "
You read the message and responded quickly with a "Sure!", she picked you up two hours later. When you both got to her house, she went on and on about Nate and how he's such an asshole, and she hates him so much. But after her rant, she asked you how you were doing.
She got weirdly close the whole time. Laughs where she'd touch your shoulder, she'd zone off looking down at you, she'd play with your hair when you were too deep in conversation to really realize it.
Somehow, the topic of sex got brought up. From Maddy of course. She starts talking about it, carrying on like it's a normal conversation. Just like she used too. Randomly, she stopped and said, "Have you had sex yet?"
You smiled and looked at her, shaking your head yes awkwardly. "Oh my god? Really?" She says stunned, almost a little hurt weirdly.
"Yeah... it was with some random guy at that party Nate threw. But honestly, I don't know if I liked it. It wasn't worth all the hype honestly." You say, laughing in your hands. She looks at you and smiles, "Yeah, honestly having sex with girls is way better."
Your eyes widen, "What? You've had sex with girls before?" your shocked partly cause she's had sex with girls before and partly because she admitted it. Not that Maddy's homophobic or anything, she's always known you felt girls a little. It's just that, that's not something a person like Maddy would want going around the school. But at the same time, you know she knows you. and that you would never tell a soul.
"yeah, don't act all weird about it. It's just happened before. and I say it's better cause men are pigs and just care about themselves and their own masculinity. Every boy I've ever fucked did it either for their own enjoyment or to get their ego up. But girl's is just different. We know how to make each other feel good, and at least in my experience I've never seen a girl struggle with getting her pussy wet like I've seen a guy struggle to get his dick hard." She say's it like its code. Like it's obvious, Biblical even. Like everyone knows it and its common knowledge that fucking woman is just better.
You hum in response, "I've never had sex with a girl so I wouldn't know but what I do know is sex is not all that like I thought it would be."
She sighs, "Tell me about it..." her words fade as she speaks. She looks at you up and down like she's thinking before saying, "Do you want to know what it feels like? I wouldn’t mind showing you.”
You blink, you can pretend like it’s a hard decision but you know it’s not. “Really? Do you want too?”
“Honestly yeah, I feel bad. You cannot be my friend and not know what a proper orgasm is. Lay down.” She pauses and as you slowly lay down on her bed. She just watches, then puts her cup on her nightstand.
You’d hands fiddle with your top before pulling it over your head and laying down on the sheeted service once and for all.
Her hands immediately find your boobs, taking your nipples in between her fingers and rubbing softly. That doesn’t last for longer mf because she then spits out on the and twists them.
“O-ow! Maddy!” You whine. “Shh, shut up-“ she giggles , “don’t pretend like you don’t like that, every girl likes that secretly. I know I do.”
You hate that she’s right. After she twists them and rubs them gently, she takes one in her mouth. Flicking her tongue up and down and swirling it all around in your hard nipple. You whimper softly, already enjoying the experience.
Then she proceeds to go from making out with your boob to your lips, her tongue goes in your mouth, and she grinds into you slow. You whimper while tasting her tongue.
Her hand then slowly makes it down to your pants, she pats your pussy before going an inch up to your waist band and putting her hand in.
Her hands go right under your panties, and her fingers make contact with your clit. She rubs for a second getting a moan out of you before putting her hands down farther to get more slick from your hole. She proceeds to get your clit wet and perfect before just rubbing your clit fast.
She also presses down on it, it’s hot, it feels funny in the best way, and your stomach feels weird. When you had sex with the guy, you didn’t feel any sensation, it just felt invasive. This feels amazing though.
Your already moaning and whimpering out loud, she removes her mouth from yours and her hand from your wet cunt. She pulls your pants down, your underwear with it.
She scoots back, before arching her own back as she takes off her pants and underwear, looking you dead in your eyes.
She lets it drop to the floor as she kicks it off. Then she puts her ass even farther up in the air, and sticking her head right in between your legs. Her tounge goes up and down on just your clit, her sucking also.
You’re getting the funny feeling again and the stomach ache. It grows when she spits on your clit, rubs it in with her finger and then sticks her tongue in your hole.
“A-ah- Maddy- fuck- fuck. How are you-“ you can’t even finish the sentence your breathing so hard.
The stomach ache builds and builds and builds and then -
“Maddy— m-Maddy I- oh- o-oh my god, Maddy holy shit-“ you can’t even finish your words barely.
You had touched yourself before, and officially lost your virginity by some guy. But nothing topped that. You had never felt like that before.
And all Maddy says when she pulls away is “see I told you!”
After that sleepover, you could never get her out of your mind.
You guys still texted once in a while. And every now and then, she would call or text you about how Nate was being a bitch and did you wanna hang out. And you’d always say yes, and every time you guys would have sex.
But then after these sleepovers it’s like she’d forget about you and go back to Nate and whatever other body she managed to get that week.
It hurt so much, because to her it’s not that big of a deal. Or you don’t think at least it’s a big deal for her. But it’s a big deal for you.
Because now you’re starting to see your Maddy, the same Maddy’s who’s always been confident and caring and strong, and the same Maddy who makes you see Jesus once a month.
And you’re starting to really fucking fall for her.
One night, you get the same fuck Nathan let’s hang out text. You say okay, but when you both meet up and get food and then have sex in her car, you can’t help but ask after.
“Do you like girls?” You asked her, she immediately looked at you lie the answer was obvious.
“I mean I’m not 100 percent straight nobody is but I’m definitely for guy leaning.” She says, digging in her purse for her lip gloss.
There’s a moment of silence but you know you have to say it, “Then what is this Maddy?”
She turns her whole body in her seat to face you. “What do you mean? We’re friends, duh. We’ve been friends for ages.”
“Yeah but we have sex and like .. talk and stuff and I just-“
“Listen, I’m gonna try to be as nice as I can, but we’re just friends. I do love and care about you, but I’m not in love with you. You’re nice to fuck but we’re not gonna happen or anything. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression but this- me and you? It’s just helping each other out.”
Oh. Oh. Okay so act like you’re hearts not just broken. “No yeah yeah I mean I knew we weren’t dating I was just wondering.” You laugh it off
She laughs back, “yeah we’re just friends.”
After that, you were so embarrassed you didn’t text her at all.
Until a month later when she reached out too you. “Hey, wanna meet at the park? I wanna talk too you.”
You said of course and waited until the time came to go to the park.
She brought you both energy drinks that you drank while sitting on the playground steps, watching the sunset.
“Listen, I just wanna say I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about you and everything a lot recently. I never meant to like hurt you or whatever but honestly I was just exploring.. i definitely like Nate and I’m definitely straight. And I am sorry that I hurt you but I never lead you on to believe anything, you did that too yourself. We weren’t ever anything, but I’m sorry that I guess I didn’t make that clear.” She broke the silence with that.
You didn’t know what to say, so you choose to not say anything at all.
“I really am sorry, y/n. If you were a boy, you’d totally be for me. But you’re.. just not. I still wanna be friends though.”
You say you understand, that it’s no problem, that you’re not hurt and of course you can still be friends.
But you know you’ll never be able to look at her again the same.
And you also know you’ll still always be there when she’s going through her hating Nate episode and she wants a quick fuck.
I’m obsessed with this Maddy omg . Need that so bad
The bass from the living room thrummed through the floorboards, a deep, insistent pulse that vibrated in the soles of your feet. You leaned against the kitchen counter, the marble cool against your bare back, the cheap plastic cup of warm vodka soda held loosely in your fingers.
Nate's arrival was a vortex of energy, a silent, violent storm that sucked all the air out of the room. He didn't yell, not at first. He just stood there, chest heaving, jaw tight enough to crack teeth, and pointed toward the archway. "Get out," he'd grunted at the cluster of juniors huddled by the island. "Now." They scattered. The space emptied, leaving only the low hum of the refrigerator and the predatory gleam in his eyes as they scanned the wreckage of his party.
That's when they found you. You tilted your head back, draining the last of your drink in one long, practiced gulp, throat working, a single drop of condensation trickling down your chin. You wiped it away with the back of your hand, meeting his glare without an ounce of fear. He was beautiful, in a dangerous, coiled-spring kind of way. All broad shoulders and barely-contained fury. And you were bored. So, so bored.
"The fuck you looking at?" The words were a low growl, meant to intimidate. They didn't. You slowly lowered your cup, setting it on the counter with a deliberate softness that was louder than a shout. You raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a smirk playing on your glossy lips.
"Someone who looks like he's about to pop a blood vessel," you replied, your voice a lazy, confident purr. You pushed off the counter, the tiny triangles of your bikini top doing little more than framing your breasts, the strings digging enticingly into your skin. He watched you move, watched the sway of your hips in the barely-there skirt, and something in his turbulent gaze shifted. The anger was still there, but now it was mixing with something else, something hot and appraising. He saw the challenge in your eyes, the slight part of your lips, and it was exactly what he needed. Not a victim, not another problem to solve. Someone who met his fire with their own.
"Brave little thing, aren't you?" he scoffed, but he didn't move away as you closed the distance between you, stopping just inside his personal space. You could smell the chlorine on him, the faint hint of his cologne, something clean and expensive trying to mask the scent of betrayal.
"Brave? Nah," you murmured, tilting your head to look up at him.
"Just realistic. I figure either you're going to yell some more, or you're going to do something interesting. I'm rooting for option B." You let your eyes drag down his body, slow and deliberate, before flicking back up to meet his.
"What's the matter? Girlfriend find someone better to hold her breath underwater?" You saw the flash of genuine hurt in his eyes, quickly buried under another layer of rage, and you knew you'd hit the bullseye.
"You've got a smart mouth," he snarled, a large hand shooting out to wrap around your arm. His grip was firm, possessive, a clear warning.
"It's gonna get you in trouble." You laughed, a low, breathy sound that made his fingers tighten.
"Promises, promises," you taunted, leaning in slightly. Your free hand came up to rest on the hard plane of his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under your palm.
"Or is that all talk? Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man who needs to fuck the anger out of his system before he does something stupid. And I'm feeling charitable tonight." The raw, unfiltered audacity of it hung in the air between you. It was the final push. The dam broke.
"Upstairs," Nate bit out, the word a command. He didn't drag you, not exactly. It was more like he propelled you, a firm, unyielding pressure on your arm as he cut a path through the lingering partygoers. You went willingly, a triumphant smirk on your face. He shoved open the door to what must have been his bedroom, kicking it shut behind you.
The room was dark, the only light a pale sliver of moon filtering through the blinds, striping the messy floor. You barely had a second to take it in before he was on you, backing you up against the door, his body pinning yours. His mouth crashed down on yours, a punishing, hungry kiss that tasted of mint and fury. It wasn't gentle; it was a claiming.
His hands were everywhere, one tangling in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat, the other ripping at the flimsy string of your bikini top. It gave way with a snap. He growled his approval against your lips, his teeth scraping your lower lip as his palm cupped your bare breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbled into a tight, aching point. You met his intensity with your own, your hands fumbling with the button of his jeans, shoving them down his hips along with his boxers. He was already hard, thick and heavy against your stomach, and the sheer size of him sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust straight through you.
"Fuck me," you demanded against his mouth, your voice breathy and raw.
"Or get the hell out of my way." That was all it took. He hooked an arm under your thigh, lifting you effortlessly. Your skirt was shoved up around your waist, the scrap of fabric of your bottoms pulled aside with one rough tug. He drove into you in one brutal, deep stroke that stole the air from your lungs.
There was no finesse, no preamble. It was exactly what you both needed—a raw, primal act. He set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin, your ragged moans, and his low grunts filling the room. His hands gripped your ass, holding you open for his relentless thrusts. You clawed at his back, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, urging him deeper, harder. The anger fueled him, but it was your defiance that stoked the fire. You looked him dead in the eye as he fucked you against the door, your gaze a blatant challenge.
"That all you got?" you panted, a wicked grin splitting your face. A dark, feral sound rumbled in his chest. He pulled out, spinning you around and shoving you face-first against the wood. Your cheek pressed against the cool surface as he kicked your feet apart. He entered you from behind, even deeper this angle, one hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head swim.
"Is this better?" he gritted out, his other hand snaking around to find your clit, rubbing rough, tight circles that had you seeing stars. You couldn't answer, could only moan and push back against him, taking every inch he had to give.
He was fucking her like he meant to break her. Like he could drive the memory of whoever had hurt him straight out of his body and into hers with every punishing thrust. The door rattled in its frame with their combined force. His grip on her throat was firm, controlling, not choking, but the threat of it was a live wire in the room. His other hand worked her clit with a rough, focused rhythm, his fingers slick with her own wetness.
“You like that?” Nate snarled into her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “You like getting fucked like a slut against the door?”
She couldn’t form words, only a guttural moan that was part pain, part unbelievable pleasure. The angle was deep, so deep she felt him in her fucking throat. Her own fingers scrambled against the wood, nails digging for purchase. “Fuck,” she finally gasped. “Yes. Don’t you fucking stop.”
He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound, and his thumb pressed harder on her clit. “Wasn’t planning on it.” His hips pistoned, a relentless, mechanical drive. The slap of his balls against her skin was a wet, rhythmic beat underneath the creak of the door. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her sweaty back, and his mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. He bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her cry out. “Gonna make you come all over my cock,” he promised, his words a hot, filthy murmur against her skin. “Gonna feel that tight little cunt squeeze me until I lose my fucking mind.”
His dirty talk was as raw and unfiltered as the rest of him. It wasn’t poetic. It was a direct, vulgar narration of exactly what was happening to her body, and it made her burn. Her own arousal was a slick, hot flood between her legs, making every thrust a little easier, a little messier. She could feel the thick, veined length of him stretching her perfectly, the swollen head of his cock rubbing a spot inside her that made her vision blur.
“Nate,” she panted, her cheek mashed against the door. “Right there… fuck, just like that. Your cock… it’s so fucking big.”
He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her back. “Tell me,” he demanded, his pace never faltering. “Tell me what it feels like.”
“It feels like you’re splitting me open,” she gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate, honest stream. “I can feel every fucking inch. You’re so deep. I can feel you in my stomach.” She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. “Fuck me harder. I want to feel it tomorrow.”
With a growl, he obliged. His hand left her clit and slapped down on her ass, a sharp, stinging crack that made her jolt and cry out. The pain bloomed into heat, mingling with the pleasure coiling tight in her belly. He gripped the cheek he’d just smacked, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her apart to watch himself disappear into her.
“Look at that,” he breathed, his rhythm slowing for a moment, becoming almost hypnotic as he pulled almost all the way out. In the dim light, she could feel his gaze on her exposed flesh. Her pussy lips, swollen and glistening, were stretched wide around the base of his cock. They clung to him, a slick, pink embrace. He pushed back in, slow and torturous, letting her feel every ridge, every thick inch. “Your cunt’s fucking beautiful. Soaked. It’s sucking me right back in.”
He began to fuck her again, but differently now. Still deep, still hard, but with a grinding roll of his hips at the end of each thrust, making sure the head of his cock massaged that perfect, aching spot inside her. His hand returned to her clit, his touch somehow more precise, more demanding.
“I’m gonna come,” she warned, her voice a high, thin whine. The tension was a knot at the base of her spine, winding tighter and tighter with every drag of his cock.
“Come,” he ordered, his own control starting to fray, his thrusts becoming erratic, harder. “Come on my fucking cock. Let me feel it.”
It crashed over her like a physical blow. Her whole body locked, a silent scream stuck in her throat for one endless second before her cunt clenched around him in a series of violent, fluttering spasms. Wave after wave of white-hot pleasure radiated out from her core, making her legs shake and her toes curl. A choked, broken sound finally escaped her lips as she came, her inner muscles milking his length desperately.
The sensation of her climax clamping down on him was his undoing. With a raw, torn shout, Nate buried himself to the hilt and held there, his body rigid against hers. She felt the hot, sudden pulse of his release deep inside her, a thick, urgent flood that seemed to go on and on. Each jet of his cum painted her inner walls, a scalding, intimate claim. He groaned, long and low, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he emptied himself, his hsips giving shallow, involuntary jerks against her ass.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant thump of music from below. He was still inside her, still hard, still dripping. His hand on her throat loosened, becoming a gentle, almost possessive cradle. He turned her head slightly, his lips brushing her ear.
“Still bored?” he murmured, his voice a wrecked, husky thing.
She let out a breathless, sated laugh, her body humming. “Getting there.”
He pulled out slowly, and she felt the immediate, sensitive ache of her well-used pussy, along with the warm trickle of his cum starting to slide down her inner thigh. He turned her around to face him, his eyes black in the shadows, studying her face. His cock, still semi-hard and slick with their mixed fluids, jutted out between them. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked hungry. Satisfied, but hungry for more.
“Bed,” he said, the single word leaving no room for argument. He didn’t wait for a reply, his hands sliding down to grip her ass, lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around his waist again, feeling the sticky wetness between them as he carried her the few steps and dropped her onto the rumpled sheets. The mattress smelled like—clean cotton, expensive cologne, and now, unmistakably, of sex.
He stood over her, his gaze roaming her naked body. Her tits were marked from his earlier roughness, her nipples hard and peaked. Her pussy was a swollen, glistening mess. He looked utterly captivated. He crawled onto the bed, hovering over her, bracing himself on his elbows. “Round two,” he stated, his voice a low promise. “And this time, I’m going to taste what I just fucked.”
The air in the room was thick with the smell of sweat and sex. Nate’s weight lifted off her, and she sank into the mattress, her body buzzing, her pussy still throbbing from his brutal fuck. He was staring at her, his dark eyes tracing the mess he’d made of her body. Her tits were flushed, her nipples dark and stiff. Between her legs, his cum was a warm, sticky pool.
She watched him move. He shifted on the bed, kneeling beside her, his cock now standing proud, wet and gleaming. It was a thick, heavy thing, the shaft a deep, flushed red, veined and powerful. The head was swollen, a darker, purplish cap slick with her juices and his own release.
“You look fucking ruined,” Nate said, his hand reaching out to stroke her stomach, his fingers trailing through the sweat.
“I feel fucking ruined,” she replied, a lazy smile spreading across her lips. “And I want more.”
His answering grin was sharp, predatory. “More?”
“You promised you’d taste me,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But I have a better idea.”
Nate’s eyebrow lifted. “Do you?”
She didn’t wait for permission. She moved, rolling onto her side, then pushing herself up. Her body felt loose, pliant, but a new energy was crackling through her veins. She put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back until he was sitting against the headboard. “Stay there.”
He watched her, curiosity and that raw hunger burning in his gaze. “Taking control?”
“Just a little,” she murmured, crawling over him. She straddled his lap, but instead of facing him, she turned, presenting her back to him. She settled on her knees, her ass hovering just above his thighs. She leaned forward, planting her hands on the mattress, arching her back until her spine was a long, graceful curve. “Look at me.”
From this position, Nate had a perfect, unobstructed view. Her ass was two firm, rounded cheeks, still pink from his slap. Between them, her pussy was a glistening, swollen slit, lips parted and dark. And above it, nestled in the shadowy crease, was her asshole—a small, tight, puckered ring of skin.
She heard his breath catch. It wasn’t a hitch, just a sharp intake.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“You said you wanted to taste,” she said, her voice muffled against the sheets. “So taste. But not there.” She shifted her hips slightly, emphasizing the other target. “There.”
Nate’s hands came up, his palms hot and rough on the cool skin of her ass cheeks. He spread them, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh, pulling her apart. The exposure was intense, vulnerable. She felt the cool air of the room on her most private places. She felt his gaze, a physical heat.
“Your cunt is dripping,” he observed, his voice thick. “My cum is running down your thigh.” One thumb swept through the wetness, collecting it, then smearing it upwards, over her pussy lips, towards her asshole. The sensation was filthy and electric. “But this… this is clean. Tight. Pretty.”
She shivered. “It’s yours if you want it.”
His answer was a low, possessive growl. He leaned forward. She felt his breath first, a warm exhale against that hypersensitive skin. Then, the blunt, wet tip of his tongue.
It wasn’t a gentle lick. It was a firm, deliberate press. The flat of his tongue swiped over her entire asshole, a broad, wet stroke that made her gasp and push her ass back towards his face. He did it again, slower, tracing the tight circle, feeling the muscle resist then relax under his pressure.
“Fuck,” she moaned, her hands clutching the sheets.
Nate didn’t reply with words. He replied with action. His tongue pointed, becoming a rigid, probing instrument. He pressed it against the center of her asshole, a steady, insistent pressure that didn’t enter, but promised entry. He circled it, teasing the rim, his saliva making the skin slick and shiny. Then he pulled back and spat, a deliberate, wet sound, and a fresh layer of wetness coated her.
“You want this?” he asked, his voice muffled against her skin.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I want you to lick my fucking asshole, Nate. I want you to get it wet and open for your cock.”
He chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. His tongue returned, more aggressive now. It pushed, not just pressed. The tip breached the tight ring, a shallow, incredible invasion. The sensation was unlike anything else—an intense, focused pressure on a nerve-rich area that had never been touched like this. She cried out, her hips rocking, seeking more.
Nate held her open, his thumbs keeping her cheeks spread wide. His tongue worked in and out, shallow little fuck-motions that made her whole body tense. He was getting her ready, softening her, making her accept him. The wet, sloppy sounds were obscene, and the feeling was overwhelming. It wasn’t just physical; it was psychological. The submission, the vulnerability, the sheer nastiness of it sent sparks through her brain.
“So fucking tight,” he murmured, pulling back to look at his work. Her asshole was glistening, relaxed, visibly wetter and more open than before. “Think you can take me?”
She pushed her ass back again, a clear invitation. “Try.”
Nate’s hands shifted. One stayed on her ass cheek, spreading her. The other moved to his cock. He gripped it at the base, his fingers slick with their mixed fluids. He guided the head, pressing the swollen tip not against her pussy, but higher, against the slick, prepared ring of her asshole.
The contact was a shock. The difference in texture, in sensation, was immediate. Her pussy was soft, yielding, familiar. This was tight, resistant, a thrilling unknown. The head of his cock was broad, and it felt huge against that tiny entrance.
“Easy,” Nate whispered, more to himself than to her. He applied pressure, a slow, relentless push. The muscle resisted, then gave way with a soft, internal pop. The head of his cock slipped inside, just the first thick inch.
She screamed. It wasn’t a scream of pain, but of overwhelming, intense sensation. It was a burning stretch, a fullness that went deeper than her cunt. Her body clenched around him instinctively, which only made the feeling more acute.
“Shit,” Nate groaned, his hand tightening on her ass. “You feel that?”
“I feel it,” she gasped, her voice strained. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He pushed forward, another inch, a slow, torturous invasion. His cock was a solid, unyielding column of heat spreading her apart internally. It was so much tighter than her pussy, the friction so much more intense. Every millimeter of progress was a battle, a conquest. He worked his way in, his breath coming in ragged bursts against her back.
“Your ass is swallowing my cock,” he said, his voice rough with awe. “It’s so fucking hot. I can see it. I can feel it squeezing me.”
She was panting, her face buried in the sheets. The initial burn was fading, replaced by a deep, spreading fullness that was sparking a different kind of pleasure. It was raw, it was taboo, it was fucking incredible.
Nate got another inch in, then another. He was halfway now, his cock buried deep in her ass, a thick, burning presence. He paused, letting her adjust, his hand stroking her back.
“You okay?” he asked, the question surprisingly gentle amidst the filth.
“Fuck yes,” she managed. “Move. Please, Nate, move.”
He pulled back, a slow withdrawal that made her gasp at the sensation of his cock dragging through her tight channel. Then he pushed back in, a smooth, deep stroke. He set a rhythm, slow and careful at first, each thrust a deliberate, profound fuck. The sounds were different here—a wet, tight squelch, the slap of his balls against her soaked pussy below.
“God, your ass is so good,” Nate moaned, his control slipping. His thrusts became harder, faster. He was fucking her ass now, properly fucking it, his hips driving forward with a force that shook her whole body. His hand on her ass cheek moved, his fingers digging in, holding her open so he could watch himself disappear into her.
The angle was deep, perfect. Each thrust sent a shockwave through her, a mixture of intense pressure and a weird, thrilling pleasure that was building in her core alongside the ache. Her pussy, neglected now, was throbbing, empty and wanting, which only heightened the sensation in her ass.
His free hand slid down, his fingers finding her swollen, wet pussy lips. He didn’t tease. He pushed two fingers inside her cunt, a sudden, welcome fullness that made her cry out. He fucked her with his fingers, matching the rhythm of his cock in her ass. The dual penetration was overwhelming. Her body was split open, filled in two places, each sensation competing and combining into a tidal wave of need.
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Nate growled, his fingers curling inside her cunt, finding her clit with his thumb. He rubbed it, hard and fast, a rough counterpoint to the deep, pounding rhythm of his cock in her ass. “I’m fucking your ass and your cunt at the same time. You feel that? You feel how full you are?”
She couldn’t speak. She could only moan, a continuous, high-pitched sound of absolute surrender. Her orgasm was building, a coil of pressure winding tight around her spine, fed from both sides. The pleasure was a twisted, complex thing—the brutal fullness in her ass, the familiar, urgent friction in her cunt, the rough stimulation of her clit.
Nate’s thrusts became frantic, his own climax approaching. His cock in her ass felt thicker, harder, like it was swelling. His fingers in her cunt pumped faster.
“I’m gonna come in your ass,” he warned, his voice a ragged scrape. “I’m gonna fill you up. You want that?”
“Yes! Do it, Nate, fucking do it!”
With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the root in her ass and held there. His body locked, and she felt the first hot, thick jet of his cum burst deep inside her. It was a scalding flood, a sensation so intimate and filthy it tipped her over the edge. Her own orgasm exploded, a violent, shaking release that clenched both her ass around his cock and her cunt around his fingers. She screamed into the mattress, her body convulsing under him, waves of pleasure crashing through her so hard she saw white spots in her vision.
Nate groaned, long and deep, as he emptied himself into her ass, each pulse of his release a hot, claiming gift. He stayed there, planted deep, until the last shudder passed through him. Then, slowly, he pulled out. The sensation of his cock leaving her ass was a slow, tender ache, followed by the feeling of his cum beginning to seep out.
He pulled his fingers from her cunt, and she collapsed forward, her body spent, trembling. Nate fell back onto the bed beside her, breathing hard. For a minute, there was only silence and the heavy scent of their sex.
Then, she moved.
The exhaustion was there, a deep physical drain, but underneath it was a simmering, triumphant energy. She had taken his anger, his dominance, and she had given him something new, something raw. And now, she wanted something for herself.
She rolled over, facing him. Nate was lying on his back, his eyes closed, his cock now soft and wet against his stomach. She crawled over to him, her movements slow but deliberate.
“My turn,” she said, her voice husky but firm.
Nate opened one eye, a smirk playing on his lips. “Your turn?”
“You fucked me. I’m gonna fuck you.
He laughed, a short, surprised sound. “Alright.”
She didn’t wait for more permission. She straddled his hips, but this time she faced him. His cock lay between them, soft but still impressive. She reached down, taking it in her hand. It was warm, heavy, slick with sweat and his cum from her ass. She stroked it, from base to tip, her touch firm and knowing.
“You’re going to get hard for me again,” she stated, leaning down. She didn’t kiss him. She put her mouth on his cock.
She started at the base, licking the length of him, tasting herself and him—a salty, musky, deeply sexual flavor. She worked her way up, her tongue tracing the veins, circling the head. She sucked the tip into her mouth, letting her saliva mix with the existing wetness. Nate’s breath stuttered. He watched her, his dark eyes fixed on her face as she serviced his cock.
She sucked him with purpose, not just to please him, but to claim him. Her mouth was hot, wet, demanding. She used her tongue to press against the sensitive underside, she used her lips to create tight pressure. She took him deeper, her head bobbing, her hand working the base in tandem with her mouth. She could feel him responding, the flesh thickening and hardening under her attention. Within minutes, he was fully erect again, a hard, throbbing column in her mouth and hand.
“Good,” she murmured, pulling off with a pop. She looked up at him, his cock glistening with her spit. “Now you’re ready.”
She shifted, rising up on her knees. She guided his cock, positioning it at her entrance. Her pussy was sore, wet, messy, but it was hers, and she wanted him in it again, but this time, she was driving.
She lowered herself onto him, taking him inside her in one smooth, controlled motion. The feeling of fullness was immediate, a deep, welcome ache. She sat down fully, his cock buried to the hilt inside her cunt, and she let out a long, satisfied sigh.
“Look at me,” she commanded.
Nate’s eyes were locked on hers, a mix of shock and intense arousal. He was letting her lead.
She started to move. She rose up, almost letting him slip out, then sank back down, a slow, grinding descent. She set a rhythm, a deliberate, powerful ride. Her hands planted on his chest, her fingers digging into his muscles. She used her thighs, her core, every muscle in her body to control the fuck. She rolled her hips as she took him, making sure the head of his cock rubbed against the deepest, most sensitive parts of her.
“This is my cock now,” she said, her voice low and confident as she moved. “I’m going to ride it until I come again. And you’re going to watch me.”
Nate’s hands came up to her hips, not to control, but to feel, to guide. “Fucking do it,” he urged, his voice rough. “Your cunt feels amazing. So wet. So tight around me.”
She sped up, her movements becoming more urgent. The pleasure was building again, a fresh coil tightening inside her. The angle was different now, the control was different. She could feel every inch of him, and she could manipulate exactly how he touched her. She leaned forward, changing the angle, and a bolt of sharp pleasure made her cry out.
“Right there,” she moaned, circling her hips on that spot. “Your cock is hitting me right fucking there.”
Nate’s thumbs dug into her hip bones. “I can see it,” he said, his gaze dropping to where they were joined. Her pussy was swallowing his cock, lips stretched wide, glistening and dark. “I can see you taking me. You’re so fucking sexy.”
She rode him harder, faster, her breath coming in sharp gasps. The bed shook under them. Her tits bounced, her skin flushed. She was a picture of pure, selfish pleasure, and Nate was riveted.
“I’m gonna come,” she announced, her voice rising. “I’m gonna come on your cock, Nate. You’re going to feel me squeeze you.”
“Make me,” he challenged, his own hips starting to thrust upwards to meet her, a subtle betrayal of his need for control.
She ignored it, focusing on her own rhythm, her own peak. The tension snapped. Her orgasm this time was a soaring, triumphant wave. It crashed through her, making her shout, her cunt clamping down on his cock in rhythmic, desperate pulses. She ground down on him, milking him through her climax, her body shaking with the intensity.
As her waves subsided, she felt him tense beneath her. His control broke. His hips bucked, driving up into her with a few final, frantic thrusts.
“Fuck, I’m coming!” he groaned, his hands gripping her ass hard.
She felt the hot burst inside her, another flood of his cum filling her already soaked cunt. She kept moving, riding him through it, slowing to a gentle rock as he emptied himself.
When he finished, they were both panting, slick with sweat, tangled together. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest, his cock still inside her.
After a moment, she lifted herself off him, his cock slipping out with a soft, wet sound. She didn’t collapse. She knelt beside him on the bed, her energy still buzzing. Nate’s cock lay on his stomach, wet, glistening, and utterly spent.
She looked at it, then at his face. He was watching her, a deep, satisfied exhaustion in his eyes, but also a curiosity.
“Not done,” she said softly.
The silence was thick, a warm blanket draped over their exhausted bodies. Nate’s hand lay heavy on her hip, his fingers splayed across her skin. She could feel his heartbeat slowing against her back where she’d curled into him. The air was still musky with sex, with sweat, with the raw smell of their bodies pushed to the limit.
Her tongue had left his cock clean, but the rest of them was a mess. She felt the sticky trails of cum on her thigh, the slick sweat cooling on her stomach. Her asshole was tender, a deep, pulsing ache that felt oddly satisfying. Her pussy was swollen, sensitive, and utterly soaked.
Nate’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She thought he might be asleep.
“You’re sticky,” she murmured, her voice a low rasp in the quiet room.
He stirred, his hand tightening slightly on her hip. “You’re sticky.”
“I can feel your cum leaking out of my ass.” She said it bluntly, a dirty fact stated in the aftermath. “It’s running down my fucking thigh.”
Nate’s breath came out in a soft, amused huff. “Good.”
She shifted, turning to face him. The dim light from the blinds cut across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the dark smudge of his eyebrows. His eyes were open, watching her. They weren’t angry anymore. They were calm. Satisfied. Hungry still, but a different kind of hunger.
“We need a shower,” she said.
“We do,” he agreed. His voice was rough, worn out from grunts and groans and filthy promises.
He didn’t move first. She did. She pushed herself up, her muscles protesting, her body feeling used and magnificent. She stood, her legs a little unsteady, and looked down at him. He was sprawled on the bed, naked, glorious. His cock lay soft against his thigh, a testament to the hours they’d spent. She felt a possessive pride looking at him. She’d taken that anger, that coiled fury, and she’d fucked it into something else.
“Come on,” she said, reaching down to grab his hand.
He took it, his grip strong even in his lethargy. He stood, his taller frame looming over her. They were both a mess. Sweat gleamed on his chest, on the hard planes of his stomach. Her own skin was marked—the red imprint of his hand on her ass, the faint bruises from his grip on her hips, the bite mark on her shoulder. They were trophies.
He followed her out of the bedroom, down the hall to the bathroom. His house was quiet now, the party long gone, the bass silenced. The bathroom was spacious, clean, masculine. A large glass-walled shower stood in the corner.
She walked in, turning on the taps. The water burst from the overhead rainfall showerhead, a hot, steady stream that quickly filled the space with steam. She stepped under it first, the heat hitting her skin like a blessing. It washed over her face, her shoulders, her sore tits. She closed her eyes, letting it run down her body.
Nate stepped in behind her. The shower wasn’t huge, and his presence immediately crowded the space. His body pressed against hers, his front to her back. The water sluiced over them both, mixing the sweat and cum and slickness into a single, warm river that ran down their skin.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing the tense muscles there. “You’re fucking incredible,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.
She leaned back into him, her head resting against his chest. “You’re not bad yourself.”
His hands slid down, over her back, tracing the curve of her spine. They came to rest on her ass, his palms covering the cheeks he’d slapped, held open, fucked. His touch was different now. Not demanding. Almost… appreciative.
“Look at you,” he murmured. He turned her gently in his arms, facing her towards him. The water poured over them, steam rising around their faces. His eyes traveled over her body, taking in every detail under the clear, hot stream. Her tits were full, her nipples dark and stiff from the cold air and now the hot water. The bite mark on her shoulder was a clear, red crescent. Between her legs, her pussy was a swollen, pink flower, her lips parted slightly, her clit visibly prominent. His cum was gone from her thighs, washed away, but the evidence of their fucking was still there in the sensitivity, in the look of her.
“Look at you,” she countered, her own gaze dropping. His cock hung between his legs, heavy even in its soft state. It was thick, the shaft a long, veined column of flesh that she knew could turn into a weapon of pleasure. The head was broad, a darker cap. Water ran over it, dripping from the tip. His balls were full, hanging low. His body was a map of power—broad shoulders, defined chest, the cut of his abs.
She reached out, her hand not going to his cock, but to his stomach. She traced the lines of muscle there, her fingers following the water’s path. “You’re built like you’re meant to fuck,” she said, her voice a low, honest observation.
Nate smiled, a real smile, not a predatory smirk. It transformed his face. “I fucking am.”
His hands came up to her tits. He cupped them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. The touch was gentle, exploratory, compared to the rough handling earlier. The heat of the water made her skin hyper-sensitive. Her nipples hardened further under his touch, a sharp, aching pleasure shooting straight to her core.
“These are perfect,” he said, his voice dropping. “So fucking full. I love how they fit in my hands.” He squeezed gently, then harder, testing her response. She gasped, her back arching slightly. “You like that?”
“I like anything you do,” she replied, and it wasn’t a lie. In this moment, in this steam-filled box with the water washing away the grime, she did.
He leaned down, his mouth replacing his hands. He didn’t kiss her lips. He kissed her tits. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The sensation was electric, a direct line to her already-awakened pussy. She moaned, her hands coming up to grip his head, holding him there. He sucked hard, then switched to the other, giving it the same attention. The water poured over his back, over her hands, mixing with the saliva on her skin.
He pulled back, his mouth wet, his eyes locked on hers. “I want to taste you again,” he said. “Everywhere.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He knelt in the shower, the water cascading over his shoulders, his back. He was on his knees before her, his face level with her stomach. His hands went to her hips, holding her steady. He looked up at her, his dark eyes burning with a new intention.
“Open your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm.
She did, widening her stance, giving him access. The water ran down her inner thighs, into the cleft between her legs. Nate’s gaze was fixed there, on her pussy, now clean but still visibly used.
He leaned in. His nose brushed her pubic bone, his breath hot against her wet skin. He didn’t rush. He studied her, like she was a painting. Her pussy lips were parted, the inner folds a darker pink, glistening under the water. Her clit was a small, hard bead, protruding proudly. The trimmed hair around it was wet, clinging to her skin.
“So pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then his tongue touched her.
It wasn’t a lick. It was a press. The flat of his tongue covered her entire slit, a broad, warm stroke that made her shudder. He lapped at her, collecting the water, the remnants of their sex, her own natural taste. He did it slowly, methodically, like he was savoring a meal. His tongue traced her outer lips, then dipped between them, exploring the entrance.
“You’re still so wet inside,” he said, his voice muffled against her flesh. He pushed his tongue deeper, into her opening. It was a shallow penetration, but the feeling was intense. The hot water, his hot tongue, the slickness—it was a sensory overload. She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his wet skin.
“Fuck, Nate,” she breathed.
He pulled back, then focused. His tongue pointed, becoming a rigid, probing instrument. He found her clit and zeroed in on it. He circled it, his movements precise and relentless. The pressure was perfect—not too rough, not too soft. It was a targeted, wet assault that made her hips jerk forward.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his hands holding her hips firmly. “Let me taste you. Let me make you come in my mouth.”
He sucked her clit into his mouth, his lips forming a tight seal around the sensitive nerve bundle. He sucked, hard, his tongue flicking against it. The dual sensation—the suction and the tongue—sent a bolt of pleasure straight up her spine. She cried out, her head falling back, her eyes closing against the steam and the water.
He worked her with his mouth, a dedicated, filthy worship. He licked, he sucked, he probed. His tongue dipped into her hole again, then returned to her clit. He was mapping her, learning her, tasting every part of her pussy under the streaming water. The sounds were obscene—the wet lapping, her moans, the constant rush of the shower.
Her legs began to shake. The orgasm was building, a tight, hot coil in her belly. It was different from the frantic, pounding climaxes they’d had before. This was slower, deeper, a rising tide of pleasure fed by his unwavering focus.
“I’m gonna come,” she gasped, her voice shaky.
“Come,” he ordered, his mouth not leaving her. “Come on my fucking tongue. Let me drink it.”
His words, so vulgar, so direct, pushed her over. The climax broke, a wave of pure, liquid heat that washed through her. It wasn’t a violent shaking; it was a deep, pulsing release that made her thighs tremble and her pussy clamp around nothing. She felt her own wetness increase, a fresh flood of arousal that Nate lapped up eagerly, his tongue drinking her in as she came.
He stayed there, his mouth on her, until the last pulse faded. Then he pulled back, looking up at her. His face was wet, his lips shiny. He looked triumphant.
“You taste fucking amazing,” he said, rising to his feet. He kissed her then, his mouth meeting hers, and she tasted herself on his lips—a salty, musky, intimate flavor. The kiss was deep, hungry, a continuation of the act.
When he broke the kiss, his hands went to her ass again. “Turn around,” he said.
She turned, facing the shower wall. Nate’s body pressed against her from behind, his cock now hard again, nudging against her lower back. His hands spread her ass cheeks, just like before. The water ran down the cleft, over her tender asshole.
“I want to fuck you here again,” he said, his voice a hot whisper in her ear. “In the shower. With the water running over us.”
Her heart thumped. The idea was filthy, thrilling. Her ass was still sore, still sensitive from his earlier invasion, but the memory of that deep, stretching pleasure was fresh.
“Okay,” she breathed.
He didn’t need more. His cock was hard, a thick, eager presence against her skin. He reached down, guiding himself. The head pressed against her asshole, which was still relaxed, still wet from his previous attention and now from the shower water.
He pushed. The head breached her easily, the initial pop of entry less shocking this time, but still a profound sensation of invasion. She gasped, her hands flattening against the cool shower wall. Nate’s hands held her hips, steadying her.
He entered her slowly, millimeter by millimeter. The feeling was a deep, burning stretch, a fullness that went beyond her pussy. The water ran over them, slicking the passage, making it easier but also amplifying the sensation. She could feel the thick ridge of his cock pushing into her, spreading her internally. It was tight, so tight, but the warm water and the memory of pleasure made it welcome.
“Your ass is so fucking tight,” Nate groaned, his voice strained with control. He was holding himself back, forcing a slow, deliberate penetration. “I can feel you taking me. I can see it.” He was watching, his gaze fixed on where his cock was disappearing into her body. Her ass cheeks were spread wide by his hands, giving him a perfect view.
He got halfway in, then paused. “You good?”
“Fuck yes,” she moaned, pushing her ass back against him, urging him deeper. “Give me all of it.”
He pushed forward, another inch, another. The friction was incredible, a hot, slow drag inside her that sparked a deep, confusing pleasure. Her pussy, untouched now, throbbed with sympathetic need.
When he was fully in, buried to the root, he stopped. He held there, his body pressed against hers, the water pouring over them both. He was inside her ass, a solid, claiming presence. He leaned over her, his mouth near her ear.
“This is mine now,” he said, his voice a low, possessive growl. “This tight little hole. I’m going to fuck it whenever I want.”
She couldn’t speak. The fullness was overwhelming. She could only nod, her cheek pressed against the shower wall.
He began to move. He pulled back, a slow withdrawal that made her feel every inch of his cock dragging through her tight channel. Then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deep. He set a rhythm, a measured, profound fuck. Each thrust was a deliberate conquest. The water made the sounds wetter, slicker, the slap of his balls against her skin muffled by the stream.
“You feel that?” he asked, his hands tightening on her hips. “You feel my cock in your ass?”
“I feel it,” she gasped. “It’s so deep.”
“It’s fucking deep,” he agreed, his thrusts starting to speed up, gaining intensity. The slow, careful pace began to shift into something more urgent. His control was slipping. The pleasure was building for him too.
His hands moved from her hips to her tits. He reached around, cupping them from behind, his fingers finding her nipples. He pinched them, rolled them, his touch rough and demanding even as his cock fucked her ass. The dual stimulation—the deep penetration and the rough handling of her tits—sent her mind spinning.
Nate’s thrusts became harder, faster. He was fucking her ass properly now, his hips driving forward with a force that shook her body even against the shower wall. The water splashed around them, steam rising in clouds.
“I’m gonna come in your ass again,” he warned, his voice ragged. “I’m gonna fill you up. You want that?”
“Yes! Do it, Nate, fucking do it!”
With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the root and held there. His body locked, and she felt the first hot, thick jet of his cum burst deep inside her. It was a scalding flood, a sensation so intimate and filthy it tipped her over the edge. Her own orgasm exploded, a violent, shaking release that clenched both her ass around his cock and her cunt around his fingers. She screamed, her voice echoing in the tiled shower, her body convulsing against him, waves of pleasure crashing through her so hard her vision blurred.
Nate groaned, long and deep, as he emptied himself into her ass, each pulse of his release a hot, claiming gift. He stayed there, planted deep, until the last shudder passed through him. Then, slowly, he pulled out. The sensation of his cock leaving her ass was a slow, tender ache, followed by the feeling of his cum beginning to seep out, mixing with the shower water.
She slumped forward, her forehead resting against the shower wall, her body spent, trembling. Nate stood behind her, breathing hard, his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. The water continued to pour over them, washing away the fresh sweat, the new cum.
After a moment, he turned her around to face him. Her body was limp, her eyes half-closed. He looked at her, his expression a mix of awe and possession.
“You’re a fucking goddess,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She managed a weak smile. “You’re a fucking beast.”
warnings: WLW, Stripper!Reader, S3 setting, back of the car, car sex, strap on, Oral (receiving), fingering, mentions of drugs.
a/n: this was a request I made for a close friend
The neon sign outside flickered like it was on its last breath, buzzing low and uneven. It painted the sidewalk in washed-out pink, catching on scuffed sneakers as Rue lingered just outside the door, jaw tight, fingers twitching at her sides.
She exhaled sharply.
Then pushed her way in.
The bass slammed into her chest the second the door opened, deep and relentless, like it was trying to sync with her heartbeat. Heat wrapped around her instantly, thick with perfume, sweat, and something sharp hiding underneath it all. The lights were low, shifting in slow waves of red and purple, making everything feel unreal, like she had stepped into someone else’s dream.
Rue paused just inside, eyes adjusting, taking it all in.
Bodies moved everywhere. On stage, on laps, through the crowd, fluid, practiced, effortless. Glitter clung to skin, catching every flash of light. Laughter rang out from somewhere to her left, too loud, too forced, blending with the steady murmur of deals being made in hushed tones.
Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek.
“Yeah… this is…” she muttered, trailing off.
Not her world. Not even close.
But there was something about it, the chaos, the noise, the way nobody really looked at you unless you wanted them to, that made her stay.
Rue shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket and took another step forward, letting the door shut behind her with a heavy click.
Across the club, you were already on stage when Rue walked in.
The lights hit your skin in slow rotating colors, painting you in red, then violet, then something almost soft before it snapped back into neon heat. The pole was warm under your palm as you moved, body controlled, practiced, effortless in a way that came from years of knowing exactly how to be watched without giving anything away.
It was your last dance.
That thought sat quietly at the back of your mind, but it never touched your expression. Not yet.
From up there, you saw everything.
And then you saw her.
Rue had taken a seat with the crowd instead of lingering at the edge. Hoodie slightly too big, posture loose but guarded, eyes locked upward like she was trying to figure you out instead of just watching.
Something about the way she looked at you felt different. Not hungry like the rest. Not empty either. Just focused, like she had accidentally walked into something she did not know how to name yet.
You turned with the pole, slow, controlled, letting your body carry you through the rhythm. The room blurred at the edges, but her gaze stayed sharp in your direction.
A man leaned in too close below you. You felt his hand before you fully saw it, the slip of a dollar tucked into your thong, the rough edge dragging against skin in a way that made your jaw tighten for half a second before you smoothed your expression back into something untouchable.
You kept dancing.
But your eyes drifted back to Rue anyway.
The music swallowed everything as you left the stage.
The crowd barely registered the shift, still locked into the lights and rhythm, but your attention had already narrowed to one point in the room.
Rue, She was still sitting there like she did not fully belong to the space around her. Hood up, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes tracking you the closer you got. Not the crowd. Not the money. Just you.
You moved through the edge of the stage with practiced ease, the last of your set fading behind you as the lights shifted.
Rue’s expression tightened when you stopped in front of her.
Not fear exactly. More like surprise she had not prepared for.
You tilted your head slightly, studying her the same way she had been studying you.
“You look lost,” you said, voice low enough that it got swallowed mostly by the bass.
Rue let out a small breath through her nose, like she was trying to decide whether to answer or leave.
“I am not lost,” she muttered, but it did not sound convincing even to her.
You gave a quiet laugh, short and soft, more observation than mockery. You stepped closer,
then instead of crowding her, you turned and slid into the empty seat beside her, close enough that she would feel your presence but not trapped by it.
From here, the lights did not hit you the same way as the stage. Everything felt louder and quieter at the same time.
Rue glanced at you out of the corner of her eye.
“You do not really look like you belong up there either,” she said after a beat.
That made you pause.
For the first time all night, your smile faded just a little, not disappearing, just softening at the edges.
“Maybe I do not,” you replied.
A beat of silence passed between you, heavy with noise from the room but strangely contained inside the two of you. The music cut off abruptly, leaving the air feeling heavier without the bass to carry it.
The lights shifted into something less forgiving, brighter in patches, exposing the reality of the room instead of softening it. The spell of the performance broke little by little as bodies started to reset, conversations flickering back to life.
You straightened, breathing steady, still carrying the afterimage of the stage in your posture.
Then you turned back to Rue.
She was still sitting there, looking up at you like she was trying to catch up to what had just happened. Not uncomfortable exactly, just unsure where she was supposed to place herself in it.
You stepped closer and held your hand out.
“Service is not free, baby,” you said, voice calm but firm. “Pay up or get out.”
For a second, Rue just stared at your hand like she was deciding whether to laugh or take offense. Her brows pulled together slightly.
“I did not ask for anything,” she said, but there was no real bite behind it. More confusion than defense.
Around you, the club kept moving like nothing had changed. Chairs scraping, glasses clinking, the distant call of another dancer being announced. But here, it felt like a pocket of stillness had formed.
You did not move your hand.
Rue exhaled through her nose, then reached into her hoodie pocket slowly. Not rushed, not
scared. Just reluctant, like she was admitting something she did not want to name.
“Yeah, okay,” she muttered under her breath, half to herself.
She looked up at you again, eyes narrowing slightly.
“You always talk to people like this?”
“It’s my job. Now pay up.”
Rue hesitated for half a second, then reached into her hoodie pocket. She pulled out a crisp twenty, a little too neat for how out of place she looked here, and placed it into your hand.
You took it without breaking eye contact, glancing at the bill like you were confirming it was real, then folded it once between your fingers.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then you turned on your heel, already slipping back into the rhythm of the room, like the interaction had been just another part of your shift.
But Rue’s voice caught you before you got far.
“Wait,” she called after you.
You paused, looking over your shoulder slightly.
“What else do you do?” she asked.
There was something in her tone now. Less confusion. More curiosity she was trying to pretend she did not have.
The kind that stuck.
You tilted your head, letting the question sit in the noise for a second. The club kept moving around you, but the space between you and her felt weirdly still again.
Then you gave a small, knowing smile.
“Stay after,” you said softly, “and find out.”
And just like that, you walked away, disappearing back into the lights and the crowd before she could decide whether to follow.
Time blurred in a way that only nights like this could make it blur.
The club had stopped feeling like a place and started feeling like a cycle. Lights, bodies, money, noise. Repeat. By the time your shift ended, your body felt like it was still moving even when you were standing still.
The last client had been exactly what you expected. Too close, too handsy, too confident in ways that meant nothing to you anymore. You smiled through it anyway. You always did. It paid the bills.
Now you were outside.
The air hit colder than you remembered it being when you went in.
You leaned against your car, one shoulder pressed into the metal, blunt already lit between your fingers. The smoke curled up slow, disappearing into the night like it never existed at all.
That was when you heard footsteps.
Not rushed. Not hesitant either.
Just there.
Rue came into view like she had been there the whole night waiting for the right moment to exist in it again. Same hoodie. Same slightly off, almost amused expression. That stupid smile, like she was proud of herself for still being around.
You exhaled smoke slowly, watching her approach.
“You actually waited,” you said, voice flat but not surprised.
Rue shrugged, hands in her pockets like she belonged nowhere and still somehow everywhere at once.
“You said stay after,” she replied. “So I stayed after.”
She stopped a few feet from you, eyes flicking briefly to the blunt in your hand, then back to your face.
The street behind her was quiet in a way the club never was. No bass. No crowd. Just distant traffic and the hum of streetlights.
Rue tilted her head slightly.
“So,” she said, that same half-smile still lingering, “this is the real version of you?”
You watched her for a second, smoke drifting from your lips in a slow exhale.
Rue Bennett stood there like she was trying to decide if she was brave or just bored enough to keep following you into things she did not fully understand yet.
You shifted slightly against the car, blunt still between your fingers.
“Well, I got some stuff left over,” you said, voice calm, almost casual. “You wanna see the real me? I’ll show you.”
Rue’s eyes narrowed a little, like she was clocking the risk in your words but not stepping back from it.
“What kind of stuff?” she asked.
There was no judgment in it. Just curiosity wrapped around caution.
The night felt quieter suddenly, like everything else had taken a step back to watch.
You glanced at her, then toward the car, then back again. Not rushing her. Not selling it. Just existing in the offer.
Rue rocked slightly on her heels, then let out a small breath through her nose.
“You always talk like everything is a test,” she muttered.
A beat passed.
Then she added, quieter, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
And that was her answer more than anything else.
You pulled Rue into a Kiss as you led her back into the backseat of your car. Without hesitation, Rue slipped her hoodie off and tossed it onto the floor. Her hands running along your body reaching to untie your costume top. You dropped your neck to let the fabric slide off your chest. Rue’s teeth pulled on your bottom lip down as she brought herself down to your neck kissing and sucking at what she could. The body glitter you had doused yourself in had transferred onto Rue’s lips making it seem she was wearing glittery lipgloss.
Using her knee, Rue pushed your legs apart with ease. The sudden movement made you jittery inside at what was going to happen next. Your eyes sat low like a panther observing Rue pull the string of your thong down with her teeth and down your legs. The action putting you into submission as you wrapped your legs around Rue, guiding her down. Her tongue targeting your clit flicking it with the tip, letting it get wet. You tensed up from the wet feeling unprepared for what was going to happen next. Rue dug her nails into your thighs causing you to yelp from surprise.
Her lips latched onto you sucking and swallowing while her fingers softly worked you. Your muscles tightened in your thighs trying to move but Rue held you down butterfly style. The lack of AC in the car caused sweat to bead against your forehead.
You could feel yourself getting tight but the way her fingers felt inside of you just felt so right. Your tongue swiped the top of your lip collecting the sweat to prevent you from making a sound but it was too late. You were releasing a hidden moan under your breath.
The sound of that moan made Rue’s ears perk, it alerted her that she was going something right. With the given permission, she continued but using her thumb to rub over your clit as she plugged her tongue inside. Your fingers wrapped the door handle trying to grip onto support as you started to grind against her tongue.
“Fuck…Do you do this with all the girls?” You questioned breathlessly.
Rue didn’t answer. She just moved her hands from your thighs to your hips moving them at the motion of her tongue. It felt like you were riding the wave of an ocean and you were getting seasick.
“I’ll never tell.” Rue muffled with her mouth full of you.
The pupils of your eyes rolled into the back of your head displaying your whites. Your skin prickled and your body hair stood up. You couldn’t help but grab a fistful of Rue’s hair, it helped you control where you wanted her to go. Knuckle deep inside, Rue removed her mouth from you and watched as you pulsated begging for more. The same smug look Rue gave you in the club stayed, letting her cockiness get to her head.
Rue reached into her backpack and pulled out a familiar silicone friend. The purple object gleamed in the moonlight capturing its ridges and all.
“You just came prepared, huh?”
The impatient woman slid off her shorts revealing plaid boxers as she stepped into the straps, securing it around her waist insuring that it wouldn’t fall off.
You used your elbows for support watching as the tip was lathered in saliva from Rue’s mouth.
Inserted in gently, your eyes glued onto her face as your folds clenched around Rue. A fire in your abdomen began to brew, your face grew hot, and goosebumps pricked against your skin.
Rue bent down to you and held your back up, preventing your skin from touching the fabric seats which made your skin itch previously.
Her hips jerked forward pounding into you roughly once she got the hang of where she wanted you to be.
“Feels good doesn't it? Hold that moan for me.” Rue ordered, placing a free hand onto your mouth to muffle your moans.
Your glossed lips rubbing off onto Rue’s palm as they were hidden behind her skin. It felt too good to be quiet, you wanted her in this moment and this one only.
The curve of the strap itching the right places molding itself inside of you.
“Right there—“ you moaned, biting the skin of Rue’s palm.
The strap hammering while the van rocked against the gravel underneath the tires. Your foot accidentally pushing onto the horn causing it to go off. You gasped hoping to not alert anyone nearby but it didn’t stop you in your tracks.
The muscles in your thighs tightened and ached from the stretch of your legs being held open. You wanted a break but you couldn’t stop pushing against Rue with your body. A choked sob caught in your throat as you pushed Rue’s stomach back but it led to her placing your hand above your head.
You screamed out for Rue wanting her to fuck you harder.
“You’re almost there, just a few more.” Rue cooed into your ear.
You slammed your eyes shut and let your body take over from there. Your pleasurable moans turned into cries as you were being pumped into.
The tip of the strap touched at your spot activating your climax. You howled as Rue pulled out from you and began peppering kisses on your collarbone. It had been years since you had come. This one being the best one you had from a woman.
“I guess the party favors are out of the question.” You recalled as you pulled the baggie from your bra.
“No, No we can still take those.” Rue said. “This was just a little preparation for that.”
You chuckled before pulling out your bag of sorts to prep the favors together while Rue began removing her equipment and putting it back in her bag.
part 2 here
SMUT blurb
a/n: back to my roots with this one! love the concept of manager maddy
"trust me, this is going to be big."
then the she taps the record button.
you're already on your back, completely naked on maddy's sheets. you're a little shy, all things considered, but you trusted your manager knew what would be best for your career. you just didn't think it would be her fucking you on camera.
her free hand pushes your thighs apart, the other focusing the phone camera between your legs.
"hmm, already wet for me?"
her fingertips press against your pretty pink thong right over your clit. you hiss in response. your head lulls to one side and your cheek presses into the pillow. maddy watches all of it, her fingers feeling your wetness soak through the fabric.
"look at that. already so needy."
"maddy..." you whisper, refusing to look up at her, which would mean looking into the camera lens. she smiles at your shyness.
"what? i thought you wanted to be famous?" her fingers press even harder and your thighs shake a little. "this is how it's done."
finally she pushes the lace aside and swipes her fingers through your slick, ensuring the phone captures all of it. when she pulls back, a string of your slickness connects her finger to your pussy. she laughs under her breath and you can't help but feel small beneath her.
"what makes you wetter—being famous or fucked by your manager?"
she doesn't give you any warning before she sinks her fingers inside you. your back instantly arches off the bed and a surprised moan escapes your lips.
"bit of both, huh?"
"maddy," you repeat, but it comes out as a whine now. your voice only grows in volume as she curls her fingers. "fuckkk—maddy!"
"right there, yeah?"
she leans over you to get an angle of your face twisted up in pleasure. as she does, her hard nipples press against the thin fabric of her tank top and you find yourself wondering if this is really just all for the video.
but that thought is short-lived as she removes her fingers with a wet squelch before rapidly pushing them back in. your thighs attempt to close around her hand but she nudges one of them back out with her elbow.
"no, no, no, let them see. let them all see how much you're enjoying this."
her fingers find a rhythm that has your hips bucking and consistent whines pushing past your lips. she hears every variation of "please" and "don't stop" and her name as your fingers claw at the sheets. she smiles devilishly realizing you don't need any practice. you're a natural.
Pairing: Rue Bennett x Reader
Summary: You finally see your ex-girlfriend (who you've been avoiding for a month) at a party. This time, you can't run away.
Themes & Warnings: TENSION, wlw, rue is california sober, did i mention tension??, arguing, ansgty, jealousy, i love rue bennett my crush on her is massive, s1/2 euphoria, SPICY, kinda toxic, resolution!
The party reeked of liquor and perfumed sweat. Glitter swirled in the air, a purple hue falling onto your skin and making you feel like everything was a dream. Another party thrown by the football team - somewhere you wouldn't typically show your face. But your best friend didn't give you a choice this time.
Maddy's manicured hand gripped your arm, yanking you to her side.
"Bitch!" She exclaimed, her other hand thrusting a drink, full to the brim with something startlingly blue, into yours. "Drink. You aren't gonna be miserable tonight."
You stared the liquid down like it had personally offended you. The last thing you needed was to get sloppy drunk and embarrass yourself with how you'd been feeling recently. Depressed. Icky. Lonely, but too stubborn to reach out for company. And angry. You couldn't lie, the idea of taking revenge at a party had been alluring to you before. But now that you were here, it seemed too daring.
It was evident, though, that Maddie had finally had enough.
You took a breath to speak, trying to push the cup away.
"No." She held up a single finger, the acrylic tip painted with glaring red, and pressed it to your lips before you could protest. "I've watched you rot in your bedroom for like, a month. You've left me on read, bailed on that thing with Kat, and you haven't even let Cassie give her annoying mom-hug." Her eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. "So tonight, you are going to drink this disgusting blue shit and have fun. With me."
Madeleine Perez had claimed you as her best friend freshman year without asking permission. She'd decided, correctly, somehow, that your energy was the perfect counterbalance to her whirlwind. She'd towed you into her orbit and never let go. Underneath the razor-sharp eyeliner and the casual cruelty she could weaponize at will, Maddy loved with a ferocity that bordered on terrifying. You were hers, and she took your pain as a personal insult.
You rolled your eyes, taking the cup.
"You know I don't want to be here. I don't want to see her, and-"
"And what?" Maddy cut you off with a sharp laugh. "You're gonna hide forever? You think Rue Bennett is gonna vanish off the face of the earth just because you've been ghosting the entire town?" She tilted her head, earrings swaying. "News flash, babe. She's still here. You just need to show her what she fucked up and lost."
"Maddy," Cassie's voice came from behind you, gentle and warning. She'd materialized without you noticing, Kat trailing in her wake. "Maybe don't."
"What? I'm not saying anything that isn't true." Maddy shrugged, unrepentant. "Rue hangs out with Jules now. She didn't cut herself off from planet Earth. My girl isn't going to either."
The name hit you square in the chest. Jules. Of course. Rue and Jules. Jules and Rue. The new girl with the cotton-candy hair and the artistic laugh and the way of looking at Rue that made you want to throw something. You didn't have the right to be jealous, though.. You'd ignored a plethora of texts from Rue.
In fact, that was exactly why you didn't want to be here. You were throwing yourself to the wolves. Exposing yourself to Rue and waiting for her to pounce.
Your phone had buzzed constantly that first week. You'd read every message through the notification preview, never opening them, never giving her the satisfaction of a read receipt.
can we talk
i know you're pissed just let me explain
please
y/n come on
And then, after three days of silence on your end: i'm sorry.
Then nothing for two weeks. Then, just last Tuesday, a single message at 2:47 AM: i still have your hoodie. the grey one with the paint stain. do you want it back?
You hadn't responded to that one either. But you'd cried for an hour afterward, because that hoodie wasn't just a hoodie. It was the one you'd been wearing the night she first kissed you. The night she'd pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed, and whispered, "Is this okay?" like she couldn't quite believe you wanted her.
You'd kept every message. You'd reread them until the words blurred. And you'd never, not once, typed a reply.
You knew, deep down, that Rue didn't deserve one. She couldn't stay clean, she couldn't stop lying, she couldn't stop doing everything she'd sworn she wouldn't. You were angry at her. You were forcing yourself to stay strong. And Maddy was by your side, always.
She plucked the blue drink from your hand and took a sip herself, grimacing. "Ugh. This tastes like battery acid. Why do football players have such terrible taste in everything?"
"They're football players," Kat said flatly. "That's the answer."
Cassie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "Maybe... maybe you should talk to her, though? Not tonight," she added quickly, seeing Maddy's expression. "But eventually. You can't avoid her forever. And she does look really sad."
"Cassie, no," Maddy groaned. "We're not doing the 'she looks sad' thing. Rue is a big girl. She can handle her own feelings."
"I'm just saying! Closure is important. My therapist says-"
"Your therapist also said you should stop dating guys who look like they've never heard of moisturizer, but here we are."
"That's not fair. McKay has great skin."
"And has the emotional depth of a pet rock," Kat muttered.
You let their bickering fade into the background, your eyes drifting across the party against your will. You couldn't help it. Some magnetic, masochistic part of you needed to find her in the crowd.
And you did.
Rue was in the corner, near the speakers, where the purple lights didn't quite reach. She wasn't alone. Jules was beside her, all long legs and ethereal energy, her hair a cotton-candy cloud in the dim room, and some guy you vaguely recognized from your English class was talking animatedly, gesturing with a red solo cup. Rue wasn't listening to him. You could tell by the distant look in her eyes, the way her fingers were absently picking at the sleeve of her hoodie.
But she was watching you.
Those dark eyes, half-lidded and unreadable, were fixed on your face with an intensity that made your stomach clench. Her jaw was tight. Her shoulders were rigid. She looked away the second your gazes met, ducking her head toward Jules like she'd been paying attention all along. But the muscle in her temple was jumping.
"Bitch, are you even listening to me?"
You snapped back to Maddy, who was staring at you with narrowed eyes.
"Sorry. What?"
"I said," Maddy enunciated slowly, "that you need another drink. A stronger one. Because I refuse to let you spiral." She snatched your cup, still mostly full, and dumped it into a nearby potted plant without a shred of remorse. "We're doing shots."
"Maddy-"
"Shots!"
An hour later, you were drunk.
Not tipsy. Not buzzed. Drunk. The kind of drunk where the edges of the room went soft and the music stopped being noise and started being something you felt in your bones. The kind of drunk where Maddy's laughter sounded like wind chimes and Cassie's worried looks stopped registering and Kat's sarcastic commentary became genuinely hilarious.
The kind of drunk where you stopped thinking about Rue.
Mostly.
"She's still looking at you," Kat murmured, appearing at your elbow with a cup of water she'd been trying to push on you for the last ten minutes.
"Who?" You knew exactly who.
"Don't play dumb. Corner. Three o'clock. She's been staring at you since we got here, and honestly, it's getting a little creepy. Like, blink twice if you're being held hostage, Rue."
You didn't look. You refused to look. Instead, you grabbed the water from Kat's hand and took a sip, even though your coordination was shot and a little of it dribbled down your chin.
"Attractive," Kat said dryly, handing you a napkin.
"I'm very attractive. I'm a catch." The words slurred together slightly. "Maddy said so."
Maddy was already materializing beside you, her eyes glittering with a dangerous, scheming light that you recognized all too well.
"Okay," she said, looping her arm through yours. "Don't be mad."
"Why would I be mad? You only say 'don't be mad' when you've done something I'm definitely gonna be mad about."
Maddy grinned, unrepentant. "There's a girl over by the stairs. She's been checking you out all night, and I may have told her you were single and emotionally available."
"You what?"
"Don't freak out. She's cute. Like, really cute. Dark hair, great cheekbones, definitely your type-"
"Maddy, what the fuck!"
"Come," she insisted, steering you through the crowd with surprising strength for someone her size. "You've been moping for a month. A month! And I love you, but you need to get back out there. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Or on top. I don't know your preferences."
"Maddy, stop it." You whined.
But it was too late. You were already face-to-face with the girl from the stairs.
She was cute. Annoyingly cute. Dark hair cropped close on the sides, longer on top, a silver ring glinting in her nose. She had a sharp smile and the kind of confident energy that made your drunk brain short-circuit.
"Hey," she said, her voice low and smooth. "Maddy told me your name, but I want to hear you say it."
Maybe Maddy was right. It was time to explore. After all, you couldn't let all the self-torture be for no reason.
Before you knew it, all of your hesitance flew out the window. A shy, drunk smile spread over your lips as you looked down at your feet, then back up. The girl tilted her head, waiting for you to speak.
"Y/n L/n." You said, holding a manicured hand out for her to take.
"Avery." Her grip was warm and firm, her thumb brushing deliberately over your knuckles before she let go. "Nice to finally meet you. I've seen you around."
"Have you?" Your drunk brain was slow, syrupy, but not so far gone that you missed the way her eyes dropped to your mouth.
"Hard to miss." She leaned a shoulder against the wall, casual, confident. "You're always with Maddy. She's kind of terrifying."
"She's very terrifying," you agreed, glancing back at Maddy, who shot you an exaggerated thumbs up and a mouthed get it, bitch before Kat dragged her away.
And then it was just you and Avery. And the music. And the purple lights. And the two shots of tequila still burning pleasantly in your stomach.
Avery was easy to talk to. She was a senior, she told you, transferred from a school two towns over. She asked about your classes, your taste in music, the book you'd been reading when she spotted you in the library last week. The conversation flowed without effort, lubricated by alcohol and the giddy rush of someone new paying attention to you.
At some point, she'd stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell her perfume - something woodsy, clean. Close enough that her knee brushed yours when she laughed at something you said.
"So," she said, tilting her head, "you're single?"
"Complicatedly single."
"That's the best kind." She grinned. "Complicated means there's a story. I like stories."
"There's definitely a story."
"Tell me?"
You should have said no. You should have changed the subject, asked her about her own stories instead. But the tequila had loosened your tongue, and the words were already spilling out before you could stop them.
"My ex is here." The confession tasted like lime and salt and poor decisions. "She's been staring at me all night. It's... a lot."
She followed your gaze across the room. Rue was still in the corner. Jules had drifted toward the dance floor, leaving Rue alone with her thoughts and her red solo cup and her murderous expression. She was looking at you again - no, not at you. At Avery. The way she was leaning into your space, one hand on the wall beside your head, her body angled toward you like a parenthesis closing around a sentence.
"Rue Bennett," Avery stated simply. "She's your ex?"
"You know her?" The question came out sharper than you intended.
"Everyone knows Rue. Or knows of her, at least." Avery's expression was unreadable. "She's got a reputation. Recovering addict, right? OD'd over the summer?"
Your stomach twisted. Hearing it spoken so casually, so matter-of-fact, made something defensive flare up in your chest. Rue's overdose wasn't gossip. It wasn't a talking point. It was the worst night of your life, the hospital waiting room, the fluorescent lights, the way you'd sobbed into Maddy's shoulder until you couldn't breathe.
"Yeah," you said quietly. "She's been through a lot."
Avery held up her hands. "No judgment. Just repeating what I've heard." She tilted her head, studying you with new interest. "You're still hung up on her."
It wasn't a question.
"I..." You swallowed hard. "It's complicated."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
She hummed, leaning into you. Her lips met your ear with a gentleness that made a warm wave curl down your spine.
"I can help you figure things out."
Your breath caught. The tequila was swimming through your veins, making everything slow and syrupy and unreal. Avery's perfume was dizzying and nothing like Rue's familiar old spice and laundry detergent. Her hand settled on your hip, light, questioning. Providing you with an option if you wanted it.
You didn't pull away.
"Yeah?" Your voice came out breathier than you intended.
"Yeah." She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her sharp smile softening into something more genuine. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... a good time. You look like you could use one."
Maybe she was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed, something simple, something uncomplicated, something that wasn't wrapped up in overdoses and relapses and 3 AM phone calls that made your heart stop. Avery didn't know you. She didn't know about the hospital waiting room or the unanswered texts or the way you'd cried until your ribs ached. She just saw a girl at a party who looked sad and lonely and in need of a distraction.
And God, you wanted to be distracted.
"I don't usually do this," you admitted, but you didn't step back. Didn't remove her hand from your hip.
"What, talk to attractive strangers at parties?"
"Something like that."
"Then I'm honored." She tilted her head, that dark hair falling across her forehead. "Seriously, though. If you want me to back off, say the word. I'm not here to add to the drama. I just think you're beautiful, and your ex is an idiot for letting you go."
Your drunk brain latched onto that. Your ex is an idiot. Rue was an idiot. Rue had let you go. Rue had chosen pills over you, numbness over you, oblivion over you. And now she was standing in the corner with Jules and her red solo cup, watching you like she had any right to be angry.
Screw her.
"I don't want you to back off," you heard yourself say.
Avery's smile widened. "Good."
She leaned in again. This time, her lips found the corner of your jaw. a barely-there brush that sent sparks skittering across your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your hand came up to grip her shoulder, steadying yourself. The party dissolved around you. the bass, the laughter, the purple lights, until there was nothing but the warmth of her mouth tracing a slow path toward your ear.
"Still okay?" she murmured against your skin.
"Yeah," you breathed. "Still okay."
What you didn't see, what you couldn't see, with your eyes closed and your head tilted back, was Rue.
Rue, who had gone completely rigid in her corner.
Rue, whose knuckles were white around her solo cup.
Rue, whose dark eyes had shifted from murderous to something far more devastating. Something broken. The look of a girl watching the only thing she'd ever truly loved slip through her fingers in real time.
Jules noticed. Of course she noticed. She followed Rue's gaze across the room, took in the scene, Avery's lips on your neck, your hand gripping her shoulder, the way your body curved into hers like a plant seeking sunlight, and her expression flickered with something complicated.
"Rue," Jules said quietly, touching her arm. "Maybe we should go."
"No." Rue's voice was flat. Hollow. "I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I said I'm fine."
But she wasn't fine. She was the opposite of fine. She was burning alive, consumed by a jealousy so potent it felt like poison in her bloodstream. Every rational thought was drowned out by the primal, gut-wrenching need to cross the room and pull you away from that girl. To put her body between yours and Avery's. To tell her, in no uncertain terms, to keep her fucking hands off what didn't belong to her.
Except you didn't belong to Rue anymore. That was the problem.
"Rue," Jules tried again, her grip tightening on her arm. "Don't do anything stupid."
And for a moment, it seemed like Rue would listen. She took a shaky breath. She uncurled her fists. She looked down at her shoes, scuffed Vans, and tried to remember all the things Ali had told her about letting go, about accepting the consequences of her actions, about not letting her emotions rule her.
And then Avery's hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, and something in Rue snapped.
She was moving before she could stop herself. Shaking off Jules' grip. Cutting through the crowd with single-minded determination, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her teeth. She didn't know what she was going to do. Didn't know what she was going to say. All she knew was that she couldn't stand there for one more second watching someone else touch you.
No one could stop her, her seething body carving a path through the crowd like a knife through butter. No one even noticed her.
Besides Avery, in the corner of her eye. She could see Rue's wild curls blowing in the slight air flow, stiff shoulders shifting with her walk.
Her lip quirked up into a smirk, pulling off from your skin.
"Incoming."
Before you could process the word, before the tequila-soaked fog in your brain could catch up to what was happening, a hand closed around your wrist, familiar, calloused, urgent, and yanked you backward. You yelped, turning towards whoever had wrenched you off, but the breath was immediately stolen from your lungs.
Brown eyes. Lidded, but full of so much anger that it made your skin burn where they rested. Desperate, angry, jealous eyes that clearly screamed 'enough is enough.' You couldn't decide whether to swoon or to cry.
Rue's grip on your wrist was iron, her fingers pressed against your pulse point like she was counting the beats. She wasn't looking at Avery at all. She was looking at you, only at you, and the intensity of it made the tequila in your bloodstream feel like nothing. Like you'd never been drunk a day in your life. Like you were seeing everything in horrifying, perfect clarity.
"You're done here," Rue said, and her voice wasn't loud. It wasn't a shout. It was quiet and shaking and absolutely terrifying in its restraint. "You and me. Outside. Now."
"Rue."
"Now, Y/N."
Avery stepped forward, her brow furrowing. "Hey, relax."
"I wasn't talking to you," Rue snorted bitterly, turning slightly towards the girl who had her offensive lips all over you. "So shut the fuck up."
The words landed like a slap. Avery's eyebrows shot up, her calm composure finally cracking. For a moment, she looked like she might fire back, her jaw tightened, her hands curling at her sides, but then she glanced at you. At the way you were staring at Rue. At the way your pulse was fluttering under Rue's fingertips.
She raised her hands, stepping back.
"Will do."
Then, without another word, she sent you an amused glance and walked away.
You were now alone with the only person you didn't want to see. You felt the weight of her stare still, stirring up a storm in your chest.
"Outside." She repeated again, pulling you gently but firmly.
"No, I-"
"Nah," another laugh with absolutely no humor in it. "You're coming the fuck outside."
She was already moving, cutting a path toward the back door. You had no choice but to follow, stumbling slightly, the tequila still sloshing through your system and making everything feel unsteady.
You caught a glimpse of your friends as Rue dragged you past them. Maddy was already stepping forward, her expression darkening, clearly ready to intervene, but Kat grabbed her by the elbow and held her in place. Cassie's hand was pressed to her mouth, her wide blue eyes tracking you like you were a car crash she couldn't look away from.
Traitors, you thought bitterly. All of them.
And then the back door banged open, and the cold night air hit your face like a bucket of water.
The backyard was empty. The same string lights from earlier were still swaying gently in the breeze, casting their dim golden glow over the patchy grass and rusted patio furniture. The music from inside was muffled now, reduced to a distant, rhythmic thump. You could hear your own heartbeat. You could hear Rue's ragged breathing.
She finally released your wrist. She took a few steps away from you, her back turned, both hands coming up to rake through her wild curls. You could see the tension in her shoulders - rigid, practically vibrating -before she spun around to face you.
"What the fuck was that?"
The anger in her voice was a living thing, raw and bleeding. You'd seen Rue angry before, frustrated, annoyed, pissed at the world, but this was different. This was volcanic.
"What was what?" Your own voice came out unsteady, and you hated it.
"Don't." She pointed a shaking finger back toward the house. "Don't play dumb with me right now. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
You crossed your arms over your chest, a flimsy shield. "So what?"
"So what?" Rue laughed, but the sound was jagged and hollow. "So I've been texting you for a month. A whole fucking month. And you couldn't send me a single reply. Not one. I thought you hated me. I thought-" She broke off, swallowing hard. "But you show up here, drunk off your ass, and in five minutes you're about to make out with some random girl against a wall?"
"Her name is Avery, and she's not random. She's a senior. Transferred from two towns over. She smells nice and she thinks I'm beautiful and she's not my ex."
Rue's jaw tightened. "Low blow."
"Truth hurts." You shrugged, the tequila making you bold. "Besides, you're one to talk. You've been glued to Jules all night. She's practically draped over you in that corner. What's that about?"
"Jules is my friend."
"Right. Sure. Just a friend who looks at you like you hung the moon."
"She does not-" Rue stopped, her eyes narrowing. "Wait. Are you jealous?"
"No."
"You're totally jealous."
"I'm not jealous. I'm just pointing out the hypocrisy. You can spend all night with Jules, but the second someone talks to me, you go full caveman?"
"I didn't go full caveman."
"You literally yanked me away from her and told her to shut the fuck up."
Rue glared. "I wasn't talking to her. I was talking to you for the first time in a fucking month."
The words hit you square in the chest, knocking some of the wind out of your anger. Rue was standing there, her chest heaving, her dark eyes burning with something that wasn't just jealousy anymore. It was hurt. It was a month of silence and unanswered texts and sleepless nights, all bottled up and ready to explode.
"You could've talked to me any time," you said, your voice quieter now. "You could've found me. Cornered me at school. Shown up at my house."
"I did show up at your house. Three times. Your mom said you didn't want to see me."
"Because I didn't."
"Then what was I supposed to do?" Rue threw her hands up. "Break down your door? Kidnap you? I was trying to respect your space. Ali said-" She stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind."
"Ali said what?"
"Ali said I should give you time. That pushing you would only make it worse. If you wanted to talk, you'd come to me." She let out a bitter laugh. "But you didn't come to me. You came here, got stupid drunk, and then let some random girl put her hands all over you."
"Avery-"
"I don't care about Avery!" Rue's voice cracked. "I don't care about her name or where she transferred from or what she smells like. I care about you. I care that you've been ignoring me for a month, and I just can't get you out of my head. And now someone else is-"
She broke off, her jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscle jumping.
"Someone else is what?" you pressed.
"Touching you, and kissing you, and shit. And you're mine."
The words hung in the cold night air. Possessive. Fierce. Utterly, devastatingly Rue.
"I'm not yours," you said, but your voice came out weaker than you intended. "Not anymore."
"You sure about that?" She stepped closer, and suddenly the air between you felt electric. "Because you haven't pushed me away or told me to leave. You followed me out here, and now you're standing here looking at me."
"Rue."
"Like you want me to kiss you. So, do you?"
Your breath caught. "That's the tequila."
"Is it?" She whispered, looking down at you. "Or is it that you thought you could leave me and forget everything, and you can't?"
The question hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. Rue's eyes were unwavering, dark and searching, like she was trying to see straight through to the parts of you that you'd been hiding for a month.
You exhaled shakily.
"Why couldn't you let me? You know you're bad for me. You're bad for everyone, Rue." You accused, avoiding her eyes. Avoiding falling back in.
The accusation had no effect.
"I know." She didn't flinch. Didn't look away. Her voice was steady, even as her hands trembled at her sides. "I know I'm bad for you. I've known it since the day we met."
"Then why-"
"Because I'm selfish, too. Worst type of person." She stepped closer, and her hand found your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet her eyes. "I'm selfish and I'm fucked up and I'm trying to be better, but I can't-I can't let you go. I tried. I tried to stay away. For a month. And it was the worst month of my life."
You gritted your teeth. Her face, desperate and sorry and intense, peering into yours with the same vibes that you fell in love with in the first place.
"I hate you." You whispered.
"I hate me too. But I love you. And I'm not letting you go."
“It’s not your choice to make. You don’t have the right to pretend it is.”
"Neither do you. Not really. Because if you wanted to leave, you would've done it already. If you wanted me gone, you would've shoved me off the second I grabbed you. But you didn't. You're still here. And I think it's because you hate me, yeah, but you love me more."
"Shut up."
She refused to, her firm hand still on your jaw.
"I'm clean. Thirty-four days clean," She said, her voice firm. Honest, for once. "I go to all my meetings and shit. Drug test any time Leslie says so."
Your eyes, glistening with a thin layer of gathering tears, analyzed her face for any sign of dishonesty, and for all signs of the truth. You sniffled, one tear dropping without your permission.
"Really?"
"Yeah." Her voice was firm. Unwavering. The voice of a woman on a mission to get the only thing she'd ever wanted back. "Not a long time, but it's the longest I've gone since I was, like, fourteen. Think about you more than the drugs. In a way," she laughed bitterly, wiping a tear from your cheek, "you leaving my ass is what kept me clean."
"That's not-" Your voice cracked. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking." Her thumb swept across your cheekbone, catching another tear before it could fall. "All I can think about is you and how to make you come back. Don't give a fuck about drugs."
"That's too much pressure, Rue. I can't be the thing that keeps you sober. That's not fair."
"I know." She didn't look away. Didn't blink. "Ali says the same thing. Says I can't put my recovery on another person. Says I have to want it for myself or it won't stick." She exhaled shakily. "And I do. Want it for myself, I mean. Most days. But on the bad days - on the days when everything feels like shit and the meetings aren't helping and my brain won't shut up-on those days, I think about you. And it helps."
"Rue."
"I'm not saying you have to take me back. I'm not saying you're responsible for me. I'm just saying.." She swallowed hard. "I'm just saying you're the best thing that ever happened to me. And losing you was the worst thing. And I'd rather be clean and miserable than high and dead. Because at least if I'm clean, there's a chance."
The tears were falling freely now, yours and hers, mingling in the cold night air. Rue's hand was still on your jaw, her thumb still tracing back and forth across your cheekbone. She was trembling.
You laughed through a sniffle.
"I can't stand you. You can never stay away and let me heal."
"Let you heal?" Rue's voice was barely a whisper. "Let you move on and forget me? Maybe meet someone who doesn't come with a mile-long list of problems?"
"Yes. All of that."
"I tried." She admitted.
"It was supposed to be a clean break. That's why I didn't answer your texts or come to the hospital. I knew if I saw you, if I heard your voice, I'd cave. And I couldn't cave anymore, its killing both of us."
"But you're caving now."
"Because you grabbed me!" You shoved weakly at her chest, but there was no force behind it. "You couldn't just let me flirt with a pretty girl in peace. You had to storm over and go all caveman and remind me exactly why I fell for you in the first place."
"Was it the caveman thing?" A ghost of a smirk. "Because I can do that more often."
"Don't you dare."
"Kidding. Mostly." Her smirk faded, replaced by something softer. "If you tell me to leave, I'll go. I won't bother you anymore.. probably. I'll try. Again."
You stared at her. At the sharp jaw and the messy curls and the dark eyes that were still glistening. She meant it. You could see it in her face, the way she was bracing herself, preparing for rejection. She'd walk away if you asked her to. She'd actually do it.
And you realized, with terrifying clarity, that you didn't want her to.
"That's the problem," you whispered. "I don't want you to leave. I never wanted you to leave. I just wanted you to stop."
"Using."
"Breaking my heart."
"I know." She pressed her forehead against yours. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I'll be sorry for the rest of my life. But I'm clean and I'm really trying. And I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."
"Stay."
"Yeah?"
"Stay. One more time." You fisted your hands in the front of her hoodie. "But you're on thin ice, Bennett."
"I know."
"And you're not allowed to relapse."
"I know."
"And you have to stop chewing on your hoodie strings. It's disgusting."
With a snort and a mumble that sounded like disagreement, she laced her fingers through yours and tugged you toward the side gate. "Come on. I'll make tea. Leslie bought that weird herbal stuff you like."
"You hate that tea."
"I'll drink it anyway. For you."
"That's... disgustingly romantic."
"I'm a disgustingly romantic person."
"You told a girl to shut the fuck up like twenty minutes ago."
"She had her hands and crusty ass lips on my girlfriend."
"I'm not your girlfriend yet."
Rue stopped walking and turned to look at you, her eyebrow arched.
"You're coming home with me, you told me to stay, and I actually never admitted to anyone that we broke up." She ticked the points off on her fingers. "I'm pretty sure you're my girlfriend."
"I'm your tentative girlfriend."
"Tentative girlfriend." She tested the words, a slow grin spreading across her face. "I'll take it. Seal it with a kiss?" She quirked an eyebrow, her hands reaching out again to cup your face.
She was close before you even realized it, her nose brushing yours.
"You're so-"
"Charming? Romantic? The love of your life?"
"Annoying. I was going to say annoying."
"That too." Her thumb traced your cheekbone, feather-light. "So? Do I get to seal it or what?"
You should have made her wait. Should have made her work for it. But she was standing there with her messy curls and her stupid smirk and her thirty-four day chip heavy in her pocket, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.
"Fine," you breathed. "One kiss."
"One kiss," she agreed.
She leaned in. Her lips brushed yours, soft, almost tentative, like she was giving you one last chance to change your mind. When you didn't pull away, she deepened the kiss, her hands sliding from your jaw into your hair, tilting your head back. A small sound escaped your throat, and you felt her smile against your mouth.
"Missed that sound," she murmured.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
So you did. You kissed her again, harder this time, your fingers twisting in the front of her hoodie, your hoodie, and pulling her closer. She made a surprised noise, then melted into it, one hand dropping to your waist, the other still tangled in your hair. The streetlight flickered overhead. The cold nipped at your cheeks. But Rue was warm, and solid, and here, and that was all that mattered.
The door flew open. You yanked yourselves apart, eyes wide.
Maddy, a manicured hand on her waist and knowing eyes dissecting the situation. Her glossy lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts triumphant and terrifying.
"I knew it," she announced, loud enough for the whole block to hear. "I fucking knew it. Cassie owes me twenty dollars."
"Maddy." You pleaded.
"Don't." She held up a single finger, the acrylic tip glittering under the porch light. "Don't even try to explain. Rue had her tongue down your throat and you look pathetically guilty. You're back together."
"Tentatively," you muttered.
"Tentatively my ass. You're standing in the backyard at midnight making out like the world's ending. I'm not stupid."
You were silenced immediately, a sheepish smile on your face.
"And you." She turned her razor-sharp gaze on Rue. "Fuck up again and I'll key your car. I love you, but I love my bitch more."
"Noted," Rue said, her voice impressively steady for someone facing down Maddy Perez in full protective-friend mode. "But.. I don't have a car."
Maddy's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Then I'll key your face."
"That's... not how keying works."
"Try me, Bennett." She stepped forward, jabbing a manicured finger toward Rue's chest. "I will find a way. I'm very creative."
"I know you are." Rue's voice was steady, but you could feel her hand trembling slightly in yours. "And I'm not gonna give you a reason to get creative. I swear."
Maddy stared at her for a long, tense moment. The backyard was silent except for the distant thump of bass from inside and the rustle of the string lights swaying in the breeze. Then, slowly, her expression shifted. The sharp edges softened, just a fraction, just enough.
"I'm happy for you guys. If you're happy," She said, smiling a little. Then, she waved a manicured hand. "Now, go fuck or something."
With that, she disappeared back through the back door, flicking her hair over her shoulder - the sign of a job well done by Maddy Perez. The night air got a little chillier, a little darker.
You stood there for a moment, stunned into silence, the ghost of Maddy's exit still hanging in the air.
"Did she just.." Rue started.
"Give us her blessing? I think so."
"In the most Maddy way possible."
"Is there any other way?"
Rue laughed, that real laugh, bright and surprised and still a little shaky around the edges. "I guess not." She turned to you, her dark eyes softening. "So. What now? We take her suggestion, or we go drink tea?" She smirked.
You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "She said go fuck, Rue."
It's bloodcurdling, the scream. It's insane, it's raw, it's in his very psyche, it's shooting through his veins, and he's not sure he can make it out alive— his feet aren't fast enough. It's building, it's bullets in his heart, an axe to his skull, and yet, he's not gifted the relief of death. He's forced to run, and the only part of him not touched are his—
Hands. He feels a pair of fingers intertwine with his trembling ones and he's begrudgingly thrown back into reality. He's disgusting. He's breathless, he's sweaty, his chest is heaving, he's barely even aware of what the fuck is going on in his life and— never mind. It's you next to him.
There isn't much you can do for him. "You okay?", you ask. No one's asked him that in a while. He gulps — eurgh, his throat's dry and his saliva tastes like vomit — and then nods. He can't even muster out a 'mm-hmm'.
"C'mon."
You're sitting up, the folds of his t-shirt just barely lit up in the dim moonlight coming in through his window as you do so, and you don't let go of his hand as you attempt to coax him up. You obviously can't just tug him up the way he could do to you, and he reluctantly sits up as well. You crawl off the bed, and he follows, and he feels like a fucking Disney princess, letting someone take his hand to lead him down from somewhere. But he's still out of breath, and his mind is still taunting him with those flashes of the nightmare he's just had, and he's really not in control of his convictions right now.
His eyes burn and close automatically as you turn on the bathroom light, and he squints through his reflex tears to see you cupping your hand below the tap you've just turned on. The water fills your palm, and you bring it to his face, wiping the sweat off him. He wakes with the power of a freight train, and he's suddenly fully conscious again, even as you raise to your tiptoes to dab at his face with the hem of your t-shirt — well, his, you're just wearing it.
"Better?"
He nods. What else can he even do?
"C'mon.", you say, again. He mindlessly follows you out the bathroom door, watching you flick the light off. You silently open the door to his bedroom, and slowly creep your way down the stairs — he's glad you remember his parents are still home because he nearly forgot — with him still in tow.
It's very domestic, this, and he should be thinking more about it, he should be reminiscing in how this may be your future when you've got a maternal glow on your cheeks and a ring on your finger and a baby in a crib somewhere upstairs, but he's really not, because you've never had to make him think of it. This is so normal that it's almost definite that it'll always be like this.
"PB, J, or both?"
He still can't speak. He shrugs, and you somehow understand that, and dip a spoon in the peanut butter before dragging it across two slices of bread. You don't touch the jelly. Takes him a moment, but then he remembers he's told you he's bulking for the football season, and of course, peanut butter is good for bulking. You cut diagonally across the bread, place it on a plate and slide it over to him.
Nate takes one half in his hand, digging his teeth into the bread as you pour out a glass of milk, the spoon in your mouth the whole time — probably to be able to lick the remnants of peanut butter off it so it'll be easier to clean later so his mother doesn't notice you've spent the night — before you slide that over to him, as well.
He takes a sip to wash the bread down. "Wanna talk about it?"
He shakes his head quickly. He's conscious enough to react to that.
You nod. He picks up the second half, pausing for a moment before tilting it slightly to you. You smile, and even the dim light from the refrigerator seems to brighten up, before shaking your head. "All yours."
He nods, biting into it, before gently pushing the milk to you. This, you take, lifting it to your mouth. The milk does well to help his voice find itself. He clears his throat. "Got practice at seven tomorrow."
"I'm aware. I'll leave before then."
He'd meant that the both of you should probably go back to sleep because five hours from now he's supposed to be running across a field, but this is also an important thing to consider. His parents. They don't know about you. He's learned too many times that that just complicates things, that a good thing is shot dead and trampled over and even sometimes skinned, in the Jacobs household. And you're the deer he'd rather preserve, not see hung up on his parents' wall.
"Will you come to the game?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
You don't skip a beat. He only asks as a formality. He knows you'll be there. He's constantly in awe of you for that. You have StuCo duties after school, he knows that for sure, but you don't even show a semblance of hesitation. Your duties, just like his practice, start at seven tomor— well, technically today — and end at pretty much the same time that the game starts, but you'll be there. Somehow, you manage to be in two places at once, and neither party is disappointed. You're still a StuCo Presidential Candidate and Nate's girl at the same time. Crazy. He could never.
He nods, biting at the inside of his cheek for a moment before stuffing the rest of the bread into his mouth, clapping his hands together to remove crumbs. They gently tink onto the plate, and he holds out one arm, his fingers beckoning you over. You come to his side and he tucks you under it before he kisses your forehead, inner elbow in front of your throat as he basically crushes you. But he doesn't mind, and it doesn't look like you do, either. "Drive home safe, okay? Don't stay up."
"Yeah. You sure you're okay?"
He gulps down the last of the milk as he nods, squeezing your jaw with one hand. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll take care of the dishes. Go put some clothes on and wear a seatbelt. It's not an accessory."
You nod, and he releases you from his grip to let you go upstairs, once again, quietly.
He feels your absence like an ice bath in the Sahara.
Nate would be lying if he says you're the first one he's looking for after the game. He knows it's horrible, but he's never claimed to be perfect, has he? But he's working on it. So he pushes past the urge to look for his dad or his ex in the stands and forces himself into the locker room, changing quickly before he exits and tries to find you. It's not a difficult task. You're right in front. He speeds up to a jog as he tucks his helmet under his elbow, kissing you as soon as he reaches, his thumb swiping an arc across your cheek. "Touchdown."
"The winning one, too.", you reply, and he grins.
He feels like he's on a cloud, and you're right up there with him, so he thinks he should probably ask you something about you. "How'd your StuCo thing go?", he asks, wiping some sweat off his brow.
"Doesn't matter."
He fights the urge to tilt his head at that. He's taken the effort to ask, you should at least reply. "Yes, it does." It's sweeter than he means it to sound. He was supposed to be biting. It sounds caring.
"Nothing much. Just standard."
Bullshit. If he remembers right, and he's sure he does, you're supposed to count votes today.
"C'mon, we'll go to Angie's, and you can tell me over a milkshake."
"No, Nate—"
"Not a question."
Angie's is a bit busy, seeing as you're not the only people who like coming and eating greasy, 100% unhealthy food right after a gruelling game, but you're both regulars, so you're seated in your favourite booth. And, true to his word, there's a tall glass of milkshake in front of you. "How was the meeting?"
"Nate, you won. Let's celebrate the winning touchdown."
"I asked you a question."
A pause. "I didn't make President."
He almost throws his own milkshake across the diner and splatters both glass and milkshake across its dingy brick walls. Fucking how?
"Who got it?"
"Sadie."
"Sadie Woodburn? The dumb blonde who just missed repeating the tenth grade?"
"Okay, come on, she is a good candidate."
"My ass!"
"Nate, don't swear, come on."
"She's an idiot! Who decided it?"
"It was a vote."
"Yeah, but teachers need to approve, yeah? Which one was it?"
"Vice Princ—"
"Oh, he wants to fuck her!"
"Nate!"
"What?"
"Shh."
Right. You're surrounded by half the school right now. Can't be talking shit about the school bop, no matter how much she deserves it.
He takes a sip of his milkshake to cool himself down, watching you do the same but for palpably different reasons. "You okay?"
You shrug from behind your straw, and he rolls his eyes softly, standing up and shooing you to the other end of the booth so he can sit next to you, an arm around your shoulder as he does so. "You okay?", he asks again, and you don't shrug this time, just fiddle with the straw a little.
He shakes his head. Great. Thanks to that sick fuck, Vice Principal Garcia, his girl's having the worst night of her life on the best night of his. "Let's go."
"But I'm not done."
"Chug it."
"No, I'll get a brain freeze."
That's... a little too adorable for Nate to give one of his short responses to. He gestures for you to continue, as he downs his own.
When you finish, he slaps the money (plus tip) onto the table, gestures for the waitress to come take it, and then tows you with him to the car.
There's times when Nate thinks that maybe he's holding you back from finding someone better, someone nicer. Notice how he didn't say 'someone who could treat you better', no, he simply said someone better. Because he's not delusional. He knows you deserve better, but could you do better? No.
But there's also times when he realizes this might just be it.
He's had this realization many times, but when he saw you shut down after you lost the StuCo election, that's when he realizes it. He'll be there through every shitty thing life throws at you. He's not sure you'd actually survive otherwise. He's not just hyping himself up, it's true, you're way too naïve for this world. You'd have just gone through life thinking Sadie Woodburn was actually a better candidate than you. At least he put some sort of doubt in your brain about the real reason you lost, though you'd never admit it was because Garcia was a biased perv.
So when he tucks your hair behind your ear to put on one of the earrings he's bought for you — silver S-shape with a pearl dangling at the end of it — he's got nothing in his eyes but love. You let him do these things without any hassle, and that's something else he adores. He gets to put your earrings on for you, sometimes pick clothes out to complement his, and sometimes do your hair up for you. You don't see it as an imposition, not at all, and he knows of at least one other girl who might have.
He pulls his phone out to show you how the earring looks, selfie-mode, of course, and watches you through the screen as you smile, fixing a strand of your hair, before he kisses your cheek. "Pretty.", he says. "You like it?"
He's got a drawer full of other things back at home — he keeps buying shit and forgetting that you won't take them all, at least not at the same time — and he can't wait to see your reaction to them. But not now.
You nod, and he gives you another kiss on the cheek. "Great."
"But why?"
He shrugs. "Just 'cause. Saw it. Thought it was cute."
"Yeah? Nothing to do with the fact that you feel really bad about my StuCo president thing?"
You're perfect. You can read through him as easy as it is to look through air particles. He's sometimes scared of you. You know everything about him, and it's so perfect he's scared to fuck it up. Because he'd not only lose you, but he'd lose control of where his secrets go.
"That, as well.", he shrugs, fiddling with his chain. "Just take the present, okay?"
"Thank you."
Nate smiles, beckoning you with a single crook of his finger. You move closer and he kisses you. As is your routine.
Sometimes, he feels like a creep, a predator, but not the sexual kind. No, he feels like an actual predator, like the wolf that's raising a deer — you — in safety and fragility, when in reality, the only natural threat to you is him. He's afraid one day he'll reach the point of starvation that his baser instincts take over, and instead of circling you for protection, he'll circle you to size you up before going in for the kill.
But his worst fear is that he'll go from predator to hunter. He's terrified that he'll end up being the one to shoot you and your head will hang on his wall for all eternity.
He's still himself, though. He yells, he's even broken your phone once in a fit of rage, but he's proud to say he's never made you cry. He's done that to his exes and he's not sure he could handle seeing it on you. Wait. Has he never made you cry, or has he just never seen you cry? Oh, no. Yet another thing to keep him up at night, now. Fine. Whatever. Not like you spend entire nights with him anyway.
But he figures he'll just drive himself insane and drive you away if he continues like this. "You'd tell me if I hurt you, right?", he asks, shifting so now he's leaning on the hood of his car.
You tilt your head, real gentle. "Uh-huh. Why?"
"Have I ever hurt you and you didn't tell me?"
You pause at that, and he immediately knows the answer's in the affirmative. But your response is : "Not as far as I can remember."
"Thought we said no lies."
You break immediately. "Well, yeah, but it doesn't matter now, does it?"
"Who are you to decide what matters when? How did I hurt you?"
"It was when we first started dating, you know? You were still obsessed with one of your exes — I don't even know which — and wouldn't even look at me in public."
Holy shit. He didn't know you'd seen that. He'd started dating you before he started falling in love, not the other way around.
Nate runs his tongue across his teeth, and you backtrack almost immediately. Okay, he knows he runs a tight ship, but he's not that scary, come on.
"But you're not now. You're amazing and I love you."
I mean, yeah, you're right. He isn't now, and you do love him. But the guilt is something he's not used to feeling. Your fingers on his arm, though? Soft and practically gliding? He's used to feeling them.
"Nate? It's okay, I love you, and you're amazing now.", you urge softly.
He doesn't fucking deserve this. You're actually perfect. You do what he tells you, because he's never unreasonable, you care about his feelings, not just yours (actually, never yours, and that's too extreme, even for him), you listen to what he says, you try helping him out, fixing things he wants you to fix, but he's still too chock-full of his own ego to apologize for being a prick?
Maybe he skipped a step. Maybe he's already the hunter, and didn't even get to the wolf stage, which is essentially the warning stage. Has he already been subconsciously planning where to mount your head?
And yet, shamelessly, he takes your comforting touch. Because he feels like he deserves it, selfishly enough. Yes. He's been through rough touches — demand and abrasion — and then clingy touches — claw marks and desperation —and maybe, just maybe this is compensation. A blessing. He's been gifted a deer to protect, to admire, to cherish, who protects, admires and cherishes him right back, but still, he's focusing on how she's compliant, acquiesces to anything he says, apologizes when he's in the wrong, and not how to love her better.
He could just try to work on himself to be more deserving of you.
But this is just him.
And you don't seem to be complaining.
He kisses the top of your hair as you tuck yourself under his chin through his hand's coaxes. "Promise?", he asks. It manages to succeed in its feeble attempt to get you to feel sorry for him.
"Yes, of course."
"Okay."
The wind kisses his face almost as gingerly as you do, and the two of you watch people come out of Angie's, stumbling, giggling, hooting, cheering. And it's almost like the universe knew Nate's day's been pretty shit after the game, because every boy who stared at you, he noticed. Usually he doesn't notice. He doesn't care, actually speaking. He either kisses you right in front of them, or ignores them because he's better.
But he's realising quickly that being a wolf guarding a deer implies that there are other wolves with their eyes on the deer. This thought hadn't crossed his mind, especially because you're so soft with him, and it makes him feel each and every drop of affection you have in your heart like a tsunami. But you're a catch.
He means it when he says you're naïve. He can't count the number of times he's had to rescue you from some guy at a party or the opposing team member after a game who you couldn't understand was hitting on you.
But you're like him in many ways. When you love someone, there's little you wouldn't do for them. And he doesn't say it often, but he's glad he's that person. That being said, he's also prone to his own problems, and you do well to help him solve them.
And that usually starts with other wolves.
Especially those in sheep's clothing.
Okay, maybe you couldn't provide him with valid solutions because you didn't know the whole context — he made sure you didn't — but you do make him feel better. If he wants a fight, you give him one, you let him yell, you let him throw. Once, he even accused you of cheating. Not his finest moment, but he did feel better afterwards, and you let him have that. It's rare, but you're always there, and he's glad for it.
To make up for all of this predator-hunter-prey dissonance, he fucks gently. He kisses even gentler. You'd never had anyone before him and as much as he liked to pretend he was progressive and nonchalant, he really liked that. He's your first and hopefully your only one. He won't say you've changed his life, but you've changed parts of him, sort of accommodating so that you can safely and snugly squeeze yourself into his everyday. He can't say he complains. He's just sure it'll end, just like everything in his life.
"You free this weekend? We can go to that fancy sushi place you've been avoiding like you're the one paying the bill."
"I have plans, actually."
"If it's not family or academic, I don't want to hear it."
"My friends—"
"Can wait. I can't."
"I ditched them last weekend as well, though."
"What, the opera was less fun than roaming the mall with your friends?", he questions, his hands sliding into your back pockets as one particular tipsy guy stares at your ass as he aggressively clicks his car keys to locate the car that will probably crash and end up in the news tonight, seeing as there's no sober friend with him.
You shake your head. "I love the opera, you know that. But I haven't been able to hang out with them at all, and they feel like I'm prioritizing you over them."
He tilts his head, innocently, cosplaying the deer. "What's wrong with that?"
A kiss to your shoulder, and his teammates parading across the parking lot of Angie's with enough jovialty — and alcohol — to look around for chances to score are made to shut the fuck up by his glare from in front of you. They whistle at the positioning of his hands. They leave. As is their routine.
"Just—"
"Is there something wrong with prioritizing your partner over your friends? Do you see me celebrating my big win with my teammates right now?"
The reason for that was that he was cutting back on alcohol, but you don't need to know that.
"No." You look tired. Like you knew he was going to have a seemingly valid point to deny your humble request to spend the weekend with your friends.
"Why? Because you're upset. I can't function properly when you are. And I can't party if I can't function." His index finger bends, and he uses it to lift your chin up so he's looking up at you. "You know that."
You don't, but you'll say you do. Probably. Hopefully. If you know what's best for you.
"Yeah."
"Come on. Sushi then lake. You. Me." His lips are all over your face and neck now, doing a pretty good job of toeing the line between bruising and praising. He needs you to know he's really fucking serious but also feel like you came to the agreement on your own, no coercion. "Whaddayasay, beautiful?"
"Alright, alright."
It's almost illegal, how easy this has become.
He opens the car door for you. You sit and he does as well, fingers rapping on the steering wheel. "Hey."
"What?"
"Belt. Not an accessory."
You strap yourself in. "What are you wearing? For the graduation party?", he asks.
"Nothing."
"That's after.", he says, trying to coax a smile out of you. Doesn't work. Right. He'd almost forgotten about the whole StuCo thing. You still haven't opened up to him. Remind him to fuck VP Garcia's shit up later in the week.
"I'm not going."
"What? Why not?"
"Didn't get a clue."
The graduation party was being thrown by the juniors for the seniors — that is, yours and Nate's batch — as a sort of send-off, a farewell, of sorts. They'd planned it out pretty well, too, with these vague, sporadic notes — clues — that were all puzzle pieces that the seniors had to work out in order to figure out when and where the party was.
"I'm sure you did. We'll look tomorrow, starting with your locker."
"Nate, it's fine, could you just take me home?"
"Yours?"
You nod, and he sighs. He knew you wouldn't come over — not after a game, neither of you are that dumb — but still. He backs out of the parking lot. "That voting shit is rigged, you know."
He's 100% sure he's not helping. He's not trying to. He's trying to ragebait you. He wants a reaction. He wants you to explode. Anything but this fake nonchalance that he's sure will break the second your head hits the pillow. His shoulder has to be wet with your tears, not your pillow.
"Nate, just let it go."
"It's stupid."
The problem is, you're a little too great. You're always lovely, always ready to hear him out, cheer for him, be outraged for him, that you don't know what to do when he's offering to do it for you.
A little while goes on in excruciating silence. You're watching the raindrops trickle down the window and he's watching his breath control because he's driving, and he can't afford a crashout.
The rain also pisses him off, but your house isn't too far from school.
He can make it.
He gets out to open your door, offering his hand to help you out before opening the backseat to grab your backpack for you. "Hey.", he calls, as you sling it over your shoulder.
You turn. "Yeah."
Nate sighs, gesturing for you to come to him, holding his arm out, his fingers beckoning you, similar to this morning. He hugs you , kissing the top of your head as he streaks his hand through your hair. "You should've won."
"Thanks."
You're speaking to him like you're acquaintances. 'Thanks'. Eurgh, what the fuck. But he supposes he gets the same way when he's disappointed, and god knows how you deal with him then, so he can take this. "Pick you up at 7 on Saturday.", he adds, before he gets back in his car.
His deer's trotting away from him and it almost bothers him, but he'll be able to corner her at a lake all alone this weekend.
After years of being shaped into the perfect daughter, you find freedom in the last place anyone expects: Fezco's couch, his quiet loyalty, and the messy, smoke-filled warmth of his home.
summary. how maddy and bishop would connect after the final episode; a set of headcanon.
ft. madeline "maddy" perez x bishop
: a/n. i knew they were buzzy from the very beginning.
২ part 1 | part 2 ২
⊱ MADDY would be quick to notice that bishop harbored some kind of feelings/attraction toward her ever since he drove kitty & her back to cassie’s house after the alamo incident.
⊱ BISHOP knows that she knows, but he’d just continue staring blankly at her as maddy sized him up– her mind working quickly in assessing this new bit of information. plotting, marking, connecting. bishop lets her.
❧ —— “wait,” she’d say, stopping bishop from pulling away from cassie’s driveway that night. “where will you go?”
“i have a place. not too far out from here.”
“okay,” maddy nodded, carefully storing away cryptic pieces of the former right-hand man’s life. “but how would i reach you?”
bishop would stare right into her dark eyes. lifeless to her intense pair. they’ll have these staring matches often in the near future, though right now, bishop opted to give an answer instead of his usual silence.
“i’ll reach you,” he’d say.
“well, that’s not fair,” she quickly countered. “i need to know how to reach you too.”
“why?”
kitty– still cold and shocked– would mutely watch their interaction from the side, pressing down the needy urge to flee inside for comfort after everything she went through that night, but she couldn't exactly sprint without her boss in tow.
thankfully, maddy just cocked her head to the side, shrugging at the man in the car. “just because.” —— ☙
⊱ they ended up becoming business partners of some sort. MADDY would text him first, asking for a meet-up to discuss finances since their worlds are heavily intertwined and always would be, anyway.
⊱ MADDY would ask for these “strategic meet-ups” a lot and BISHOP would be in his car before he could even text her back with a short “Alright.”
⊱ people genuinely think BISHOP is maddy’s bodyguard with the way he would always be glued to her like a second shadow.
⊱ would ask him to come over for “advice” because … her business affects his business and vice versa, obviously.
⊱ “the metal strap-on is definitely more eye-catching. bee, what d’you think?”
she’d earn an immediate “yeah.” from him, even though he wouldn’t spare a glance at the barely clothed models sprawled over cassie’s bed.
⊱ MADDY would shove two different gag balls in front of his face & he’d just stare at her smirking face all unimpressed, knowing she was trying (failing) to tick him off.
❧ —— “which one, bee?”
“neither.”
she’d snort. “you’re no fun.” —— ☙
⊱ deep down, BISHOP never minded that maddy “drags”– as Q’s disrespectful ass would say– him around because the other option would entail him just coming over unannounced like a fool to a house brimming with women. worse: he’d be a fucking creep.
❧ —— “i think snowflake misses you.”
maddy would glance up from her phone, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “yeah?”
“yeah,” he’d confirm. so unaffected.
“did he say that he misses ‘the pretty lady with the designer fits and great hair’?”
he’d hum. the edge of his mouth quirking up the tiniest bit and maddy would smile at his reaction.
“word by word,” he’d say. —— ☙
⊱ would call BISHOP for pretty much everything.
⊱ need a new toy for the girls’ content? bishop. forgot the bikini set she'd order three weeks ago? bishop, since he’s heading this way anyway. lunch for the entire house? bishop knows a great place where they went once & she’ll tell him order it from them.
⊱ drunk out of her mind? god have mercy, BISHOP’s her speed dial.
⊱ MADDY would wake up up in bishop’s neat bed more times than she’ll ever admit. an advil, water, and a sandwich already perched on the side table.
⊱ BISHOP wouldn’t be there.
⊱ he’d hang with snowflake in his living room as MADDY makes her way to the massive couch, toppling down beside him.
⊱ BISHOP would look away from the TV. ten seconds later, he'd still be watching maddy– disheveled with mascara running down her eyes, perplexingly gorgeous– trying to massage out her headache.
❧ —— “you good?” he’d ask.
she’d hum back in response, and he’d slowly return to his TV, LOST blaring over the wide flat screen, as she watched him in return.
“you’re never there when i wake up,” she’d point out. blunt, matter-of-factly.
he’d slowly swivel his head back toward her. his left hand still mindlessly combing through snowflake’s impeccable fur. it would prove contagious, and soon maddy would be busy petting the poodle’s round head.
“i never sleep in my bedroom when you’re here,” he’d simply answer.
maddy’s eyebrows would furrow as she continue scratching snowflake behind the ears. “why?”
“that’d be inappropriate.” he’d gaze right at her. “impudent.”
“well, you should,” she’d tell him. “it’s fucking freezing at night in a bed that big.”
his dull eyes would track over her face in earnest. “i can turn the heater up.”
maddy would grin, eyes now on snowflake who had began yelling out his excited little barks.
“that’s stupid,” she’d comment. “i prefer human warmth. i might get hypothermia, you know.”
“you won’t.” and there’d be a note of fondness threaded through his monotone voice. “but alright, maddy perez.” —— ☙
