blood red // sal fisher x reader

The End

Everybody knows the end
Don't wanna get there wishing that you'd given more

You were a bitch, you knew that.

People often ovetlooked the fact that one can be self aware and an awful person at the same time, and guess what? You were both. Proudly? Not so much. But not delusional, either. You knew just how wrong you were in all this.

But that didn't mean you were about to start doing things differently, being someone who would rather regret fucking up than not even trying in the first place. Crying over what could have been? Nah, not your style. And man, was it worth it screwing everyone's minds over a taste of Sal Fisher.

That boy did a number on you. Nobody could ever compare, no matter how many others you'd have after him. He was it for you, owned everything you once thought was yours — body and soul, every single one of your sinful whispers, erratic breaths, sweet moans and desperate pleas. His.

You knew he had ruined you for anybody else. As sweet and comforting as James was, he was no Sal. He had stopped being enough for you the moment Sal touched your body for the first time. He had marked you, silently told you "You're mine now, even if you're not. There's no escaping what my memories will do to you."

Which is why you often found yourself down that rabbit hole over and over again. Unashamed, admittedly, but uncertain too. Unsure. And afraid beyond belief.

But now? Everything was different. Everything.

Sal had kept his word, like he always did, but you backed down. Of course it had to be you, 'cause God forbid you ever keep your word, right?

So stupid.

That day, after the two of you left to Larry's treehouse, he fucked you again, hard and fast, like he had something to prove. You had no idea how he could keep getting better and blowing your goddamn mind everytime you two had sex, but that was Sal Fisher. Unpredictable and always so deliciously enthusiastic. Truly the death of you.

And once you were both done, once you were left panting and grinning like an idiot after a mind-numbing orgasm, he had looked at you expectantly. Not saying a thing, but with eyes that practically begged you to do your part. Break up with him, be my girlfriend.

That was the deal, wasn't it? But the words sounded foreign to your ears when he finally had enough of your silence and spoke up. It was then that you realized you had — yet again — completely ignored the consequences of your acts simply because you wanted a good fuck. You had heard his proposition, yes, but you hadn't heard it. They had been nothing more than the pathway to lead you to your ultimate goal. Nod and say yes to whatever he asks of you, then he'll give you what you crave.

Then you'll deal with it later.

But when later came, you finally realized that acting upon lust and desire wasn't always worth the outcome. You had taken Sal for granted, thought he would always stick around, always want you, always stay right there, waiting for you to be available like a good boy.

And the hurt on his face and the way he dismissed you when he, for the millionth time, realized you were about to break yet another promise, showed you this.

"Wait, please!" You tried to plead, reaching one arm out for him while you tried to button your shorts with the other, "Sal, please! Let's just talk."

He wasn't looking at you, focused on lacing his shoes as fast as he could so he could get out of there. His hands were shaking so much they made it all the more difficult, and so he considered going barefooted to his house.