#head in my hands i'm in for such a bad time

[kiplex]

You hated parties. They were loud, overstimulating, and there were too many strangers. So when Gideon invited you and Caleb to a party he was having you were hesitant to say the least. You thought having your boyfriend there, your emotional support Caleb, you would be fine; especially once you had a little bit of alcohol in your system. But alas, the universe has a different plan for tonight.

You're three cups of something deep, probably some vodka and a splash of juice, and glued to the side of the wall which were vibrating with how loud the music was, the hum of people yelling over the music certainly wasn't helping. Caleb was god knows where, the second you guys got to the party Gideon whisked him away to go take shots with him and some of the guys they went to college with. Your finger drums a consistent beat against your red plastic cup, your eyes scan the room for any sign of him. Sure, you could go and talk to people, mingle a bit but… Something in your stomach lurches at the thought of doing that.

You take another small sip. You pull out your phone check to the time. “You're Colonel Xia's girlfriend right?" Someone shouts to your left. He looked about the same age as Caleb. “Ah! Yeah! Yeah I am." Your voice wobbles, slightly startled. “Man, he is one lucky guy. I was assigned to his fleet shortly after he took over." The man extends his hand offering his name, that you definitely don't catch. Instead you politely smile, shaking his hand and yelling your name back over the music.

He starts going on and on about fleet stuff, with the amount of liquor in your body you really can't make heads or tails of it, you just politely nod. He wasn't a bad guy or anything, you just clearly were uncomfortable and didn't want to be there. When you feel a hand wrap around your waist, you nearly jump ten feet in the air. “Woah woah! Pips, it's me." Caleb's voice is soft in your ear. Your whole body immediately relaxes into his touch. “Oh Colonel! Good to see you off duty." The man you're talking to acknowledges his superior. “Good to see you too, if you don't mind I'm gonna steal her away for a bit." Caleb smiles at the man. You are always in awe of how charming and charismatic Caleb is naturally. He makes it look effortless.

The man nods, and Caleb grabs your wrist taking you to a free spot farther down the wall. His body blocks your view of the crowd, his cologne flooding your senses calming your nervous system down exponentially. " You okay pretty girl?” He asks, his hands cupping your cheeks intentionally making you maintain eye contact with him. Regardless you down cast your eyes. " I'm fine.” You answer, not wanting to ruin this night for him.

He rarely gets time off, let alone gets to spend it with his friends. His eyebrows furrow. " No you aren't.” He sighs, pulling you against his chest before wrapping his arms around you. " Pips, I've known you, your whole life. I know when you're lying to me.” He kisses the top of your head. " Let me ask you again. Are you okay?” He repeats gently. You shake your head no into his chest. "Not really, it's loud and I'm a little tipsy and… I'm sorry Caleb." Your eyes gloss over slightly, tears threatening to spill over.

He pulls you back a bit so he can look at you. “Aw you sweet girl, don't apologize. You've never really been big on this stuff. I'm proud of you for even tagging along with me. Even Gideon was singing praises about you being here tonight… I mean I did shove him for talking about my girlfriend like that, but semantics.” You giggle slightly.

Caleb kisses your forehead. " Do you wanna get the hell out of here?" He asks, grinning at you. “Are you sure? I know you don't get to do this often…" You mumble. He smiles, shaking his head. “I already got to hang out with Gideon for a while, besides my girlfriend is clearly overstimulated and trying to be brave for me. That's my job Pips, how dare you steal my thunder." He squeezes you slightly. You lean up kissing him gently. “Let's go home." He grabs your hand again, leading you through the sea of people out the door. “Oh also, if I see you talking to another man at a party again I won't be so kind next time, I can promise you that. " You roll your eyes, a dumb smile on your face. If you're being honest, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You can find my master list here

[darkbluekies]

Countryside getaway

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: Silas has decided that the two of you should spend some time together, far away from his world, and you get to experience each other's real sides. No fear, no worries.

Warnings: mentions of crimes, mentions of murder, Silas dirty minded humor, but overall a softer oneshot

Word count: 2.3k

No one knows where you're going. Not even you. He has one hand on the steeringwheel, the other one holds your thigh. 

He's wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos on his arms.

“Keep your eyes on the road, map reader, or we'll never get there”, Silas says, giving you a teasing look.

“You have a GPS”, you mutter and turn your head more comfortably against the pillow.

“My GPS does not have your voice.”

“I don't even know where we're going.”

“You don't have to. Just read the directions.”

“How much further do we have to go? We've been sitting here for hours …”

“I did not know I had brought a child with me. I've planned something romantic and you're just complaining.” He caresses your thigh with his thumb, chuckling. “One more hour, little thing. That good enough for you?”

You groan and hide your face in the pillow and he laughs. He's different like this, when he's not surrounded by his men. When he's not in that space. Here, in his sports car with just the two of you, he's different. Softer. Human. It loosens your walls too.

“So whiny”, he chuckles. “Slept bad?”

“Don't kid”, you mutter and make yourself comfortable against the pillow again.

“Maybe we both need this. I need a break and you need to be able to sleep. Can't do that at home, can you?”

No, you can't. Not when he comes home in the middle of the night, bloody and roughed up. At home, you wake to every little sound with your heart beating in your chest.

“You know”, Silas starts, “its important to do this. To get away. Especially in my industry. Otherwise you get consumed.”

“Will SIC be able to handle things?”

“He has no choice.”

“Are you really okay to go by yourself? You’re recognizable.”

“Darling, they can't do anything. Thankfully, the law is strict and as long as there is no evidence connecting me to something they can't actually take me. They can suspect me, but never catch me. I'm fine.” He smirks, glancing at you. “Why? You're worried?”

You give him a glare and turn your head out the window.

“I'll break that facade down, Y/N”, he smiles and leans back in his seat. “We have four days all to ourselves. And I'll make the most of it.” His smirk deepens. “With no one around … I can take you just however I want to, whenever. And if I'm not wrong, SIC said that the house is remote. You can be as loud as you want.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Ouch, I'm driving here”, he chuckles. “Mind your hands?”

“Focus on your driving then.”

“How can I when you're sitting right here?”

His free hand on your thigh squeezes ever so slightly. You stare at him, contemplating opening the door and throwing yourself out on the highway.

The car has since long ago pulled in on a gravel road with no cars. Red flowers cover the fields around you, and for a second you're sure he has orchestrated it. 

The house is smaller than Silas's house back in the city, less modern. 

“Jump out, little thing”, he says as he unbuckles himself. “We're here.”

You stretch, legs wobbly from hours of sitting down. Silas unlocks the trunk and carries your bags inside. You stand in the middle of the gravel driveway, looking around and listening to the absolute lack of noise.

“Are you coming or what?” Silas asks from the front door. “Don't be slow or I'll carry you too. No gentler than these bags.”

You hurry after him. He smirks.

It's not hard finding the bedroom. A note lay in the bedding. Silas picks it up and scoffs at the familiar handwriting.

“Be nice to the bed, it's old, you break if you pay for it — SIC.”

“That son of a bitch”, Silas chuckles and turns to you, showing the note. “Seems like he read my mind.”

“You are kind of predictable”, you say.

Silas starts to walk towards you, backing you up against the nearest wall, wearing a soft smirk. “Me? Predictable? If I was predictable I wouldn't be a crime organization leader, my dumb little Y/N.”

You shrug. “I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, you’re good at saying things.” His hand sneaks up to your jaw. “How about you put your poor mouth to other uses for once? I know a pair of lips that would die to meet them.”

His cheesiness makes you scoff out a small smile, enough for him to close the distance. Ever since you’ve forced him to start using lip balm, his mouth is soft when it moves against yours. You sigh out and he swallows the sound in a greedy inhale. He holds you close, one hand on your back, the other on your jaw. 

“Silas, you’ll bruise my lips”, you chuckle and try to turn your head away. 

“Let me”, he breathes and directs you right back to his mouth. 

And he does. He doesn’t half-ass things. He pulls back with proudness in his eyes. 

“Let’s go shopping now.”

“Shopping?”

“We need food. Can’t just live off each other, unfortunately.”

He grabs your hand and leads you back out to the black sports car and you’re once again put on map reader duty to find the nearest grocery store. You can’t remember the last time you’ve actually grocery shopped with him. Normally, he sends out someone to buy things, and if he can’t trust anyone, he sends SIC. Just because Silas can’t be arrested, doesn’t mean he’s a hundred percent safe. 

“Alright”, he mutters and grabs a cart. “Let’s pretend to be a normal couple.”

You can’t help but chuckle and he gives you a quick look. 

“Let’s get this shitshow on the road, let’s go”, he mutters and nods at you to follow. “Don’t start running around or I’ll place you in the cart like a three year old. Okay, what do we need?”

“You need steak”, you joke. 

“Damn right I do, but I get my steak from high quality butchers, I’ll get sick if I get it from a grocery store.”

“Aw, is your little tummy sensitive?” you ask, making sure it sounds more like “wittle”.

“Y/N, I’m warning you.”

His warning isn’t serious. Not now. Not like this. It only maks you smile. 

“Are you going to be a brat all vacation just because you think I won’t do anything?” Silas asks behind you, pushing the cart into your back. “I did tell you we are remote, didn’t I?”

“Don't touch me or I'll scream.”

“Oh, you'll scream alright.”

“Silas!”

He chuckles, eyes softening. “I couldn't help it. You played that into my hands a bit too good to pass up on.”

“You’re so childish. Maybe you should tone it down on the threatening part if you don’t want more people staring at you. You don’t need to give them a reason to recognise you.”

Silas scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. He enjoys this side of you way too much. He can only enjoy it in situations like this, far away from his world. When you're not scared of him.

“What's the budget?” you ask him.

“What?” 

“The budget? You said to pretend to be a normal couple. Normal couples don't have your credit card.”

Silas groans audibly.

“I'm not compromising my money”, he says. “Stop messing around, grab what you want.”

You handle the actual shopping part while he pushes the cart behind you. People glance at him, if not for recognising him, then for his tattoos, but he pretends to be unaware. 

“Little thing.”

“Hm?”

“Grab those.”

You follow where he nods. Chips. They fall into the cart. So do a lot of other things Silas usually doesn't buy.

“Might as well go for it now that SIC can't bully me”, he shrugs. 

The cashier seems to recognise Silas, but she doesn't say anything. Silas is polite and wishes her a good day, as if he wasn't who she thought he was, before turning to you and grabbing the plastic bags.

Back at the house, he puts everything into the fridge and starts to cook right away. 

“You’re not allowed to help”, he says and taps your forehead. “I want to actually eat tonight.”

“I can cook”, you insist. 

“Yeah. Sure. How about you go and set the table while I handle the knives and the stove?”

“Fine.”

You do as you’re told, searching the drawers for cutlery and plates. He glances at you from time to time and can’t help but smile. Maybe this was what he wanted all along? To play family.

“It’s not often we get to do this”, he says as he plates the food. “Domestic things, I mean. Should enjoy it while we can. Oh, I saw a pool out in the backyard, by the way. I think we should try it out after dinner. I brought alcohol from back home.”

“Drinking and swimming doesn’t sound very safe.”

“Then you’ll just have to rescue me. They didn’t teach you life guard duty in swimming class?”

“Yes, but they didn’t prepare me to drag a man that weighs enough to crush a car.”

“So my workouts are working?” His grin widens as he takes a sip of his water. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Conversation die out for a moment, but Silas won’t let the night pass. 

“So?” he says. “Don’t you have something to say?”

“What?” you ask. 

“We don’t often get to just talk. Spew something out. Anything.”

You think for a moment. You usually have a lot of thoughts, but when put on the spot all seem to vanish. 

“I like the food.”

Silas laughs. Actually laughs. You haven’t hard a genuine, carefree laugh from him in a long time. His back eyes curl into half moons. 

“What?” you ask. “What is it?”

“You can say a million things and that’s what you choose to say?” he says. “That the food is good? I didn’t think I cooked that good food, enough for that to be the only thing you think of.”

“You put me on the spot, I just said the first thing that came to mind!”

“Try again, then.”

“Well … I … could really go for some alcohol right now.”

Silas smiles and rises from his chair. He disappears out of the room and returns with two bottles. One brandy, one red wine.

“Okay, your majesty”, he says. “Which fancies your taste buds?”

“Wine, probably. Fits better with dinner. You'll get brandy, I suspect?”

“You know me well.” He opens both bottles and pours. “I'm responsible for you, so it's my duty to make sure you don't get absolutely decked.”

“I thought I was the one that had to make sure you didn't fall face down in the pool?”

“Yeah, but let's be realistic for a second. I can hold my alcohol … you? Please.”

“Rude.”

“It is not rude if I'm stating facts, you just want to deny your incapable alcohol consumption.”

You take a sip of your wine and glare at him.

Silas jokingly suggests you both skinny dip. You shoot down the idea. He's a predator, taking your whole arm if you foolishly give him a finger. You'd like your body working for your getaway.

You're not sure what prompts him, the alcohol or his childishness, to jump into the pool like a bomb. Water splashes everywhere, both on your dry form and your towels, and he breaks the surface with a wide grin. He pushes his black hair back and swims over to the edge. His tattoos warp under the water.

“I’m wet now”, you say in a ‘matter of fact’ tone. 

He looks up at you, squinting one eye full of water shut. “Yeah? Jump in then.”

You decide to get in slowly, but he has other plans. His hand grips your wrist and pulls you into the pool. You yelp, but never have a second to worry about inhaling water, because he holds you.

“So much drama for nothing”, Silas chuckles and wipes water out of your eyes. "I've got you.”

His tattooed arms half hug you, half cradle you as he sways back and forth in the water.

“Today”, you start, hesitant, “when we were at the grocery store, and people looked at you, and what you said before that … I started to think about something just now.”

“What?” he asks softly.

“What do I do if you're taken? Or killed?”

“That will never happen.”

“But what if it does?”

Silas sighs, arms around you tightening slightly.

“If I ever were to never come back home for whatever reasons”, he started slowly, “then SIC would follow the instructions I’ve told him.”

“What are those?”

“To get you far away from everything and everyone and keep you safe. You'd get a cute little house on the coast where you could live peacefully. You'd have my dog, and how many bodyguards it takes to replace me. SIC would be there too. He’d check up on you.”

“That sounds pretty lonely.”

“What? Are you planning to become the Great Gatsby after I disappear?”

He caresses your face with a wet hand.

“I have money put away for you in case anything happens”, he promises and rolls his eyes. “And I might have made a deal with the devil to get you new papers in case something happens.”

“Who?”

“The parasite I'm unfortunately to call brother.”

“Ares?”

“Don't say his name. Let's drop this now. I don't want to think about it. Especially since it won't happen.”

The entire wine bottle is empty once the two of you get out of the pool and head to bed. Silas wears a dark Grey hoodie and sweatpants, insisting you wear comfy clothes too. He thinks it is better for cuddles. You're wrapped in his hoodie covered arms, face pressed to his chest. You'll be damned if you try to get out of his arms any time before morning hours.

Somehow, you wish this little getaway could last forever. Life would be easier that way. Silas sighs out, unbeknownst thinking the exact same thing. 

[cherrygirlfriend]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: spencer x reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: morgan thinks that spencer has been closing himself off more than usual, so him and garcia come up with a plan to get him to meet someone new.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff. first meetings. nerding out over edgar allan poe.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this layout took an embarrassing amount of time but i wanted to try something new 😭

SPENCER MASTERLIST ♥︎ 5K MASTERLIST

everyone at the BAU had noticed the way spencer had been acting. sure, he was never the most social person in the world, someone could tell that with one glance at him. but lately... he was more withdrawn, more distant. when the team tried to coax him to go out with them, spencer simply smiled and told them that he was tired 'but maybe next time'.

"baby, you think reid's been acting more doomy and gloomy lately?" derek asked, cocking his head to the side, his eyes on spencer, the curly-haired man deeply immersed in his paperwork. derek then turned to look at garcia, the woman sitting at the edge of his desk with her unicorn mug in hand, narrowing her eyes, "maybe it's seasonal depression. now that i think about it, i've also been feeling a little low-energy."

"you? low energy?" derek raised his brows in slight amusement before turning to look back at spencer, "i dunno, mama. i think he's lonely." "lonely? why would he be lonely, he has us." "yeah, but does he have anyone else? i mean, outside the BAU, i don't think he has anyone other than his mom."

"true..." garcia looked at spencer with a frown, "what should we do? i think we should do something." she thought for moment before letting out a gasp, "maybe we should suggest a blind date!"

"hmm..." derek chuckled lowly, "that's not a bad idea. but he'd never agree if either of us suggested that he goes on a blind date."

the two turn to each other with matching grins, "are you thinkin' what i'm thinkin', handsome?" "if you're thinking of setting him up, then yeah, i am. now we just have to figure out who we could set him up with."

garcia smiled, "i think i know just the person."

although penelope adored theater with her heart and soul, you practically had to beg for her to attend a play based on a few of edgar allan poe's short stories, your friend never too fond of the macabre. but now, as you were standing in the middle of the lobby of the theater, she was nowhere to be seen.

your phone pinged with a notification, and you pursed your lips, pulling it out to see a text from her. 'so so sorry! the cat i'm catsitting started throwing up and i have to take her to the vet :( please try to have fun on your own! tell me how it goes <3' you frowned, but after sending her a quick message telling her it was okay and that you hoped everything was alright with the cat, you started to make your way towards the auditorium.

although spencer was bummed that morgan had to cancel due to a pipe leaking in his apartment, especially since morgan had been the one to get the ticket for him, spencer couldn't help but buzz with excitement; he could remember all the times when he was young and he’d lay under the covers, holding up a flashlight to a copy of poe's compiled short stories.

"sorry." a woman mumbled to him apologetically as she walked past him, and spencer simply nodded to her with a tight-lipped smile, but instead of sitting a few seats away, the woman sat right next to him. on the seat that was supposed to belong to morgan.

as you were settling down on your seat, the curly-haired man on your left cleared his throat, "i'm sorry, i don't mean to be rude..." he said quietly, making you turn to him with a soft hum, "that seat's... supposed to be reserved. my friend was going to sit there."

"no, this is my seat." you said with a slightly stunned chuckle, showing him your ticket that indeed showed that you were in the right seat, your brows furrowing when you realized something. he was sitting on a seat you'd reserved for penelope, "actually, the seat you're in was supposed to be my friend's seat."

"what?" the curly-haired man said, taking his ticket out of his jacket pocket and showing it to you; he was also in the right seat.

"oh, i know what this is!" your furrow eased up and you rolled your eyes, "they must have double booked these seats. this has happened to me before, the computer sometimes messes up."

"that's why i don't trust technology." he mumbled quietly, but you caught his remark, your lips quirking up into a tiny smile, "really? me neither."

"well, in any case, my friend can't make it, so if there are seats available, i can just move over once your friend comes." the man smiled warmly, "oh, she can't make it either. vet trip."

"well, i promise i'm not the kind of person who talks during shows. i'm spencer." "thank god, i can't stand those kind of people. nice to meet you, spencer." you chuckled softly, telling him your own name, "so, spencer, which story are you the most excited to see?"

"i'd say... the tell-tale heart. it's been my favorite since i was young. always made me shiver. what about you?" "i thought i was the only weirdo who read poe as my bedtime story." you laughed softly, "but i'd say the oval portrait. i always thought there was something romantic, yet... inredibly depressing about it."

"this is indeed life itself." spencer quoted softly, your smile widening as you looked into his hazel eyes, the man looking right back into yours as if you were having a conversation without words.

"oh my god!" you laughed softly as you and spencer walked out of the auditorium together, "your face was so pale when the knocking started!" "to be fair, it's very different to experience it right in front of you than just read it as words on a page!" spencer laughed softly, "and don't think i didn't see the way your eyes glistened when he was painting her."

"it was sad! imagine having a husband like that!" you sniffled, still continuing to laugh, "i'll admit, it was sad." spencer smiled softly, "uh, are you... are you in a rush?" he asked, and you pretended to check the time on your watch, already knowing your answer.

"no, i should have some time. why?" "you don't have to, but i was just wondering... if you wanted to get a cup of tea, or something?" you pursed your lips in thought, "i think i could go for some tea. i know a lovely cafe nearby." you smiled softly.

"great. great." spencer's lips turned up into a goofy smile, "uh, if you give me your coat check ticket, i can go get our coats."

you took the ticket out of the pocket of your cardigan, handing it to spencer, the man nodding before turning around and walking towards the coat check. once you were sure he wasn't looking, you took out your phone, biting down on your lower lip to contain the smile threatening to take over as you went to your message thread with penelope.

'i think i just met a great guy. we're going to a cafe.'

"oh!" penelope exclaimed when her phone pinged, quick to open it to your text thread, a pleased grin taking over her face as she turned the phone to show it to derek. "told you. dream team, babygirl." derek winked and lifted his glass of whiskey, penelope clinking her own glass of wine with derek's glass.

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[idkyetxoxo]

Five | Burning Cold | Shadow and Flame

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2k

Warnings - Parental abuse, angst (who's surprised x)

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"You embarrass me beyond reason."

Beron's voice struck like a blade, sharp and deliberate.

The dining room was almost eerily quiet. The candles had burned low, casting elongated shadows across the table, and the fireplace crackled behind him like it too knew what was coming. 

Rhysand and Azriel had already been shown to their respective rooms. The staff had long since been dismissed.

It was just him, Eris, and me now. A ritual in cruelty.��One we'd all rehearsed too many times.

Beron remained seated at the head of the long table, one hand curled around a glass of wine he hadn't touched, the other drumming slow, deliberate fingers against the polished wood. 

I stood before him, hands twisted together in the front of my dress, heart rattling against my ribs like a prisoner trying to escape.

Eris stood beside me. Tense. Too still. His eyes locked on our father like he was calculating exactly how much defiance he could get away with before he was forced to watch me bleed.

I knew this was coming.

I had felt it simmering beneath Beron's skin during dinner, even before I'd forgotten the name of my supposed betrothed. Even before I stumbled over my words like some foolish, fidgeting girl. 

My silence, my trembling hands, my avoidance of wine—all damning in his eyes.

But I hadn't anticipated just how bad it would be.

"I apologise," I said, voice low and tight. "It simply caught me off guard. I didn't know—"

"You didn't know?" he repeated, his tone mockingly aghast. "And is that not the root of your failings? You do not know. You never know."

He set the wine down with quiet precision, then leaned forward, voice lowering into a pitiless rasp. "What use is a daughter who crumbles under pressure? Who flinches like a whipped dog and forgets her place like a simpering maid?"

I swallowed, hard. "It was sudden. I was just shocked."

"Shocked" he echoed, voice thick with derision. He laughed once, a sharp, joyless sound. "Does the battlefield offer surprises, girl? Do alliances form and break without warning? And what then? Will you stammer your way through strategy while your enemies slit your throat?"

He stood. Slowly. With the terrible weight of inevitability.

"You are weak," he said flatly. "Weaker than before. I see it in your shoulders, the way they slump. In your eyes—there's softness now. Contamination. And you reek of something else. Something foreign. Untrustworthy."

Beside me, Eris stepped closer. His hand found the small of my back in a subtle, silent gesture. A warning not to provoke. A tether, so I didn't float too far away from myself.

But it was too late.

With one violent sweep, Beron's hand smashed across the table sending silverware and glasses crashing to the floor. The force of it made me flinch, and before I could recover, he was there.

His fingers were in my hair, twisting and yanking my head back until I was forced to look up at him. The pain was sharp. White-hot.

"You dare flinch from me now?" he snarled, his breath hot and thick with wine and rot. "You've forgotten what fear feels like? Let me remind you."

"Father—" I gasped. "I'm sorry," I cried out, the words choking on my tongue.

Eris's hand dropped from my back as he stepped between us. "Stop. Just—wait," he said quickly, voice low and firm, but Beron didn't even look at him.

"Eris, leave." His voice was razor-edged.

Eris didn't move. His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing. "No."

"Eris, leave now!" Beron roared, and a ball of flame exploded near the door, bursting in a rush of heat and smoke. The flames danced along the stone walls like predators hungry for more.

For a long heartbeat, Eris stood rooted. Then, with eyes that burned with guilt and helpless rage, he turned and left. I watched him go, just for a second and the look he gave me... It undid something in me.

It was sorrow. It was apology. It was useless.

Beron yanked my face back toward him, his other hand grabbing my chin so tightly I could barely speak.

"You are no daughter of mine when you falter like this," he snarled. "You've gone soft. Frail. Sluggish. And I will not have it." His breath was hot and sour. His grip turned bruising.

"You're hurting me," I sobbed, voice cracking as tears slipped down my cheeks.

"Good," he hissed. "Maybe pain will remind you what's expected of you. Maybe fear will shake this lethargy out of your bones."

I tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, nails digging into my skin. He shook me, hard enough that the room spun.

"You think tears will save you? That Eris's pity will shield you from what you are meant to become? No. You will not be soft. You will not be weak. You will be what I command you to be."

His nails dug in. My legs buckled.

"You are not a creature of sentiment," he growled. "You are not soft. You are not kind. You are Autumn's flame, and you will burn when I say burn."

He released me so suddenly I stumbled back, clutching at the edge of the table to keep from collapsing completely. My scalp screamed. My lungs heaved for breath.

The doors to the dining hall burst open with a force that echoed through the room like thunder cracking through frost.

But it wasn't Eris this time.

Azriel stood in the threshold, shadows slipping off him like smoke from a smothered fire, writhing toward me in instinct—those tendrils of darkness already reaching, already knowing. They curled around my ankles, my wrists, brushed the bruised corner of my jaw with ghostlike care.

Of course they knew. Of course he knew.

"High Lord," Azriel said coolly, voice devoid of emotion, like he was carved from ice and steel.

Beron turned slowly, irritation flickering like flame behind his eyes. "What?"

"Rhysand wishes to speak with you before you retire for the night," Azriel replied, words casual but precise.

It was quiet. Polite. Submissive. It was also a lie. To Beron, it must have sounded routine. A servant simply doing his duty.

But not to me. To me, it was code. It was calculated interference.

Beron stared at Azriel for a moment too long, suspicion simmering behind his gaze. Then he glanced at me, my flushed face, trembling hands, the way I stood too still, too quiet. His mouth curled in distaste.

But he turned and left. His footsteps disappeared into the corridors like the closing of a cage.

Silence followed in his wake.

"Rhysand doesn't want anything," I rasped, my voice cracking like dried leaves.

Azriel took a single step toward me, and in it was restraint, fear, reverence. "Well," he replied softly, "he does now."

I let out a breath that shook on its way out. My hands fumbled to smooth the bodice of my dress, to pull my sleeves back into place. Anything to look less ruined. Less broken.

When I looked up, I wished I hadn't.

Azriel's expression was... shattered. Quiet, steady Azriel, the male who never let a single crack show—he looked at me like something inside him had just died. 

The devastation on his face made me feel like I was drowning in it. It made me angry. Made me ashamed. I looked away.

He reached toward me slowly, gently, as though approaching something wild and wounded. His fingers found my arms first, featherlight on the sleeves of my dress. 

A breath later, his hand moved to my face. He brushed back a strand of hair, one of many that had been yanked free just minutes ago.

The contrast of it, kindness after cruelty was too much.

It undid me. I almost crumpled. Almost collapsed into him right then and there.

"How long?" he asked, his voice roughened with emotion.

I looked up at him, and my eyes betrayed me. The tears welled, then spilt, despite everything in me that tried to hold them back.

His jaw clenched. His eyes turned stormy.

"It's nothing," I whispered. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters," he said, voice firmer now, edged with something dangerous. "But you shouldn't have to take—"

"Do not meddle in our family's affairs," I snapped.

I meant it to be sharp. Meant it to push him back where he belonged. But the words fell flat. Brittle. Useless.

His shadows recoiled as if wounded. I felt the space between us widen, the silence become unbearable.

And still, I couldn't stop my body from leaning forward, couldn't stop my hands from curling into fists just to keep from reaching for him. 

I wanted his arms around me. I wanted to bury my face in his chest and pretend the last twenty minutes hadn't happened.

But I couldn't.

Because if he touched me like that, I might not be able to let go. Because if he comforted me, truly comforted me, the illusion of strength would fracture for good.

And that would be dangerous.

For him. For me. For the tiny life inside me that I hadn't even dared to speak of.

"Is this why you've pulled away—" Azriel began, his voice quieter now, no longer edged in frustration but something softer. Something close to hurt.

But he didn't get to finish.

Pain—sharp and sudden ripped through my abdomen. A jolt that stole the breath right from my lungs.

I doubled over without meaning to, a sharp gasp tearing from my lips as my hands flew to my stomach—my glamoured stomach still concealed beneath layers of illusion and silk. 

My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the table beside me to steady myself.

"What's wrong?" Azriel was at my side in an instant, shadows coiling around me like a net ready to catch me if I fell. His arm reached for mine, his hands steady and sure.

I shrugged him off before his touch could truly land.  Because I knew what it was.

Because the baby—his baby had just kicked. For the first time.

It had been subtle, not the kind of thing someone else would notice. A ripple, a flutter like wings brushing against skin from the inside. 

But to me, it was seismic. A soft little tumble inside me that sent everything reeling.

My heart stuttered. My fingers splayed protectively over the illusion hiding the small curve that had begun to show beneath the glamour.

I straightened slowly, schooling my expression as best I could, even though I felt like my world had just shifted off its axis. 

Azriel was still watching me, concern carved into every line of his face.

"I'm fine," I managed though the words were hollow.

"You doubled over in pain—" he started again, voice tight, jaw clenched.

"It's nothing," I snapped too quickly. "I just... I hadn't eaten. Probably a cramp."

It was a terrible lie, one that passed my lips before I could think better. But it was all I had. 

If I told him the truth, if I let it slip—what then?

His child. The one I hadn't planned for. The one he hadn't planned for. The one who had just made themselves known, as if to remind me they were real. Alive. Growing.

Azriel was still watching me, too perceptive for his own good. His shadows hadn't recoiled either they hovered close, sensing the deception, the tension, the truth I refused to let free.

"Every time I try to speak to you, you shut me out. Now you're in pain and you won't even look at me—"

"Because you don't get to know everything," I bit out. My voice was harsher than I intended, cracking at the edges. "You don't get to demand pieces of me just because you decided to care too late."

That stunned silence again. The kind that cut deeper than shouting.

I hated this. I hated the look on his face—of ache and confusion and maybe even guilt. I hated how part of me wanted to fall into his arms and just tell him. Tell him everything.

But I couldn't. Because once he knew, he'd never leave.

And I wasn't sure I could protect him, not from my father, not from this court, not from the consequences of what we'd done.

So I turned away. Clutching my stomach as gently and secretly as I could, fingers spread over the place where life had just moved for the very first time.

My chest ached with everything I couldn't say.

The baby kicked again, just a flutter this time, almost as if they were responding to my heartbreak. As if they already knew they'd have to be strong, even inside of me.

And behind me, Azriel stood in silence. 

Still waiting. Still not knowing.

A/n - This part is a bit shorter than usual, but intentionally so—I didn't want to rush into the next part just yet. Next part, well, the beginning of it is my fav so far (hint hint kinda?).

Azriel finally sees the abuse firsthand and, of course, steps in. He assumes it's the reason reader has been pulling away—understandably, but it's not!!

And then... the baby makes their presence known. For the first time. The timing couldn't be worse, but in some small, bittersweet way, it matters that both parents were there x

It's definitely one of the more graphic ones with the abuse so I apologise for that.

Thank you for reading <33

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[brokenbough]

Thinking of mean!Ghost who just... does it wrong.

At first, you were into it. Yeah, maybe you liked being manhandled in bed, liked when he squeezed just a little too hard, liked when he put you where he wanted.

And yeah, maybe you liked being told what to do, liked challenging him only to lose in the most delicious way.

But you've had sort of a shitty day and being called dumb time and time again hasn't had the best effect on your already decaying sense of pride.

"Cmon doll." He sneers, the way you like, pulling your hair a little to get you to look at him.

You'd usually like it, but now it just hurts and you think it's giving you a headache.

He doesn't clock his mistake immediately, only realizing when your wrestling his hand away from you, mumbling about him being too mean.

He's confused, rightfully so, because usually you'd be pulling him closer, asking him what he'd do if you didn't listen.

"Can't hear ya, speak up." His says with his usual gruff tone. He tries putting his finger under your chin, making you look at him-- just the way you like it-- but you're pulling away and he just doesn't understand.

"You're being mean." You say again, unable to look at him.

He tilts his head, looking like you just told him the sky isn't blue.

"You-- huh? You said you liked that." He says, defensive. Like you're the problem. "That's what this whole thing was." He argues as if you're not just trying to have a conversation with him.

"Yeah, but you just..." you start, mulling over your next words. "I... just not right now." You explain.

His words aren't as reassuring as you would've hoped. The opposite in fact.

"So, you just pick and choose when you feel like being degraded and I'm supposed to read your mind?" He says more like a statement than a question. Blunt as ever. Something you usually like but now he's sounding like a dick.

"I didn't say that, I just--"

"That is exactly what you said." He scoffs, pulling away. "Come to me when you're in a better mood, yeah?" He states curtly before just leaving you there to sift and sort through your actions and his words.

------------

You spend the rest of the day holed up in your room. You start to question most of everything, wondering if you were in the wrong and overreacting or if he was being a dick to you. You question if you even want to be around him anymore.

He doesn't give you much choice in the matter because he's at your door at the end of the day, incessantly knocking.

You open the door, much to your annoyance. "I thought you didn't want me around until I was in a 'better mood'." You say, immediately coming in with the venom.

He realized around noon that he was in the wrong and would take whatever you threw at him. He should've listened to you instead of painting you as the bad guy because you didn't stick to a set of rules he made up in his head.

You hadn't followed the agreement in his head, and he had blamed you for it.

He knows now you weren't something he could put in a mold and control. You had feelings too. You weren't a mind reader either.

The silence between the two of you stretches on before he sighs, shaking his head.

"I was being an asshole. Sorry."

"I don't accept your apology. You.." you quiet down. "You hurt my feelings." You admit barely above a whisper.

He sucks in another breath. "I know. I..." He mulls over his own words, looking at you properly now.

Your face was tear streaked, puffy, red eyes and cheeks. All accompanied by dark circles under your eyes.

It wasn't in him to feel bad, but it made his stomach churn and chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to.

"I was being mean, and you didn't like it. I understand that now." He finally says, forefinger under your chin. But he wasn't squeezing, he wasn't grabbing, he was... holding. "I'm sorry." He says again.

You stare at him for a long moment, not wanting to give in just yet, but it was exactly what you needed to hear. Accountability and an apology.

You huff, rolling your eyes at him and pulling away from his hand. It pains him in a way he can't describe. He isn't sure what to do as you take a step back, looking at him again.

His hand falls back down to his side but you haven't shut your door on him yet and that sliver of hope is carving its way up and up and over each vein, climbing higher and higher before burying itself in his chest. His very heart.

"I'll be nicer." He coos, looking at your reaction. You almost seem to recoil at the very thought.

"I don't want you nicer, Simon." You say quickly, the thought almost laughable. Almost.

"Then what do you want?" He says, his voice sounding more pleading than he intended.

"I- I don't know. I just... I don't want you nicer, but I don't want you mean right now." You explain looking at your fuzzy socks, wording it the best way you could.

"Alright. I can... I can do that." He answers as if he knows exactly what you mean.

A breath of relief flooding between the two of you at the same time.

"Don't cry over me though. 'M not worth your tears." He says, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your face again. You hadn't even noticed you started crying again. He doesn't know if he can live with himself knowing he made you cry.

When you start full on sobbing, he pulls you to his chest, walking the two of you backwards into your room, into your bed. You curl up to his side, clinging to his shirt. And despite how uncomfortable he is-- your tears wetting his shirt and all-- he lets you. Cause these tears aren't for him, they're for the shitty day or week or month you've had. That he can live with.

He doesn't question or prod. He just stays.

Plus, he's sure you'll tell him all about it in the morning.

[kdh-tally]

Hi! If your requests are open, is there a chance you can write a oneshot about Mystery and Zoey from Kpop Demon Hunters? They're my favorite characters. I know all of the Saja Boys, except Jinu, are unfeeling demons, but I'm choosing to disregard what's canon. For the story, I was thinking of a scene where Mystery notices Zoey ogling Abby's abs. Seeing this makes Mystery jealous and self-conscious, and he asks himself, "What does he have that I don't have?" I would also lol if Mystery then starts barking at Abby.

Prompt : Mystery is a tad bit insecure

Author's Note : A tad bit on the longer side maybe?

Mystery didn’t intend on enjoying the idol life so much. Jinu had to spend most of his time persuading him out of the four other boy-band members. Mystery had enjoyed his home in hell to some degree. There was nothing to do really, and he wasn’t disturbed as long as Gwi-ma remained focused on someone else.

Of course there were still voices. The voices were always there. Well, they were. Jinu, the idiot, had the bright idea to debut their little boy band sooner than needed.That’s how he and the other 3 boys found themselves being shoved into a sketchy alleyway. 

“Look good!” he whispered yelled orders at them. The boys groaned in unison, annoyance visible in their tones but they listened anyway. 

Mystery was the first one turning the corner. He heard silent squeals coming from the other end but couldn’t see what was going on. He tilted his head slightly, hair flowing gracefully in the wind. The other boys seeing this copied his move, making it look synchronized and purposeful.

He took note of the three girls. Two of them seemed to be fangirling over Abby’s muscles, he didn’t understand why Jinu gave them such basic names, and the other girl looked so done with the situation. 

The girl that stood in the center, short with little space buns, began to turn red. She was the first human he’d noticed and, not that anyone could tell, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. But there were more important things than a cute human girl. Especially when she was a hunter that killed his king for a living. 

Killed them with her voice. Her beautiful, gentle, siren… 

“Mystery?” someone interrupted his thoughts. The man hadn’t even noticed that they had passed by the girls already and were standing near the center of the market place.

“What is it Baby?”

“You need to lock in”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Mystery scoffed at the new terminology the youngest demon had begun using. Baby seemed to really enjoy human humor.

“We’re about to perform so focus you idiot”

—

Jinu never seemed to run out of dumb ideas. None of the boys knew how they found themselves camping outside of the fan sign hall. All Mystery could remember was playing this game called Valorant or something of the sort, only to be summoned away to the front of a line. 

As they were letting it Mystery understood everything. Jinu wanted to flirt with his girl- enemy. Yep. Ignoring the sudden fuss when the purple lady said the groups would sit together, Mystery quickly found himself sitting beside the girl with the space buns again. 

He quickly learnt that her name was Zoey and she was the main rapper of the group. This shocked him slightly seeing as she was so bubbly and sweet. He’d honestly thought the scary pink lady was the main rapper, but seeing as Baby was their rapper he should've known better.

Eventually, Mystery mustered up the courage to ask her a question only to be interrupted by a fan. How dare they interrupt him? He didn’t even notice he was barking at them to scare them away until Zoey began to chastise him for it. 

“No! Bad Saja Boy!” she shamed, tapping his head with the pen until he calmed down. Mystery slouched back into his chair, what was coming over him?? From just two seats across, he could hear Baby snickering at him.

As he watched Zoey reassure the fan that everything was alright, why did she have to hold the fans hands???, he realized this feeling might have started to become a bigger problem than he thought it would be. —

The battle was over. Gwi-ma was finally defeated and the underworld was closed up for good. With the odd stillness that followed, Mystery found himself in a strange place. He found himself at peace. Well.. kinda?

He still couldn’t sleep properly as he wasn't used to the silence of the overworld at night, and his hair still got frizzy and big when it was humid, and sometimes Baby stole his earrings, but all in all, it was fine. Livable. Manageable. Different.

The dance practice room was empty aside from him and Zoey. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretched across the front wall, reflecting the two of them. Zoey in her grey sweats and a tiny white crop top (which was so unfair), and Mystery, slouched on the floor, playing dead.

“You’re not even trying to learn the moves,” Zoey said through a laugh, twisting her water bottle open.

“I am,” he groaned. “Just give me a week to actually get interested first.”

Zoey rolled her eyes at his dramatic behaviour, something that only ever seemed to pop out around her. “That choreography isn’t even that hard.”

“Says the girl with demon hunter blood and abs. This must be so easy for you.”

Zoey blinked. “Excuse you?”

Mystery sat up, one knee drawn up, resting an arm on it as he spoke, “It’s distracting.”

“You’re distracting,” she said pointedly, and then immediately flushed when she realized what she said. “I mean..!”

Mystery smirked, tying his hair up into a bun. He was fully aware of the fact that Zoey believed he was ‘just her type’ and took full advantage of it whenever he could. “You think I’m distracting?”

“I meant your weird slouchy pose was distracting,” Zoey huffed, face red, eyes looking everywhere but his face as she sipped her water too fast.

He liked this. The way her cheeks puffed when she was annoyed. The way she was clearly trying not to look at him while fixing her buns. The way she…

Stopped. Right in front of the mirror.

“Oh my god,” she said, squinting at the mirror.

“What?”

“I look jacked,” she whispered, checking her arm. “Is this what Abby feels like all the time?”

Mystery’s smile faded. “Abby?”

“Yeah. Look at this.” She lifted her arm slightly, flexing, and raised a brow in approval. “No wonder people like his stage presence. He’s a wall of charisma and strength.”

Mystery’s eye twitched. “What does he have that I don’t?” he muttered.

Zoey turned. “Hm?”

“Nothing!” Mystery said too fast. “Just… practicing the dance moves.”

Zoey snorted. “Sure you are. Just like how you were 'barking to protect our image' at the fan sign.”

Mystery’s eyes narrowed. “That fan was sketchy. Their aura was weird.” Aura was a word Baby taught him.

“Uh huh. You were jealous,” she teased, walking past him to grab her towel.

“I was not,” he lied poorly. “I’m incapable of jealousy. Demon, remember?”

“Right,” she dragged, throwing the towel at him. “And I’m incapable of sarcasm.”

She left him there on the floor, towel over his head, ego bruised. But even as she walked away, Mystery found his eyes trailing her again. He hated how soft he’d become.

Hated how often his thoughts drifted back to that first fan sign. To the first time he saw her in the overworld. Laughing. Blushing.

She'd been so red when they passed her in the alleyway, her and Mira swooning over Abby’s opened shirt while she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. He’d noticed her immediately. And it wasn't just because she was cute. (Okay, that was part of it.)

It was because she was human. So very human. Something he, at the time, didn’t realise he would want so bad. And yet she’d stayed in his mind like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

Even now, months later, with the world no longer ending and his contract with Gwi-ma gone, Mystery still found himself aching whenever she looked at someone else with even a fraction of the warmth she gave him.

Abby. Abby.

The name echoed in his mind again like some cursed chant. Summoning courage, he stood and marched up behind her. “You didn’t answer me.”

Zoey glanced at him in the mirror. “About?”

“What does he have that I don’t have?”

Zoey blinked. “Wait. You were serious?”

Mystery folded his arms. “I barked at a fan for you. I gave up my spot as center for that weird duet stage. I let you touch my hair. That’s practically marriage in demon culture.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped in laughter. “Mystery, I pat everyone’s head when they’re being a weirdo.”

“You don’t call everyone a good boy.” he pointed out.

Zoey flushed bright pink. “That was one time! I was trying to calm you down!”

“It worked.”

“Stop being dramatic.” Zoey laughed, softer this time, walking closer.

He hated how fast his heartbeat got when she stepped into his personal space.

“You’re not Abby,” she said gently.

“I know that,” he huffed.

“But you’re Mystery,” she added, poking his chest, her eyes peering into his. “You’re weird and intense and accidentally funny and overly stylish. And I like that.”

Mystery blinked. “Wait. What?”

Zoey turned, clearly trying not to look at him anymore. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You like me?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m pushing it,” he said, stepping beside her. “You said you like me.”

“Fine,” Zoey grumbled. “I like you.”

Mystery grinned.

“I knew barking was the right way to go.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m going to bark at Abby next time I see him.”

“No!”

But Mystery was already planning it.

If he had a heart, it would be doing cartwheels.

He glanced at her reflection again, her cheeks warm, eyes shy, and something settled in him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly.

Zoey looked up.

“I like you too. Even if your abs are unfair.”

Zoey broke into laughter, her head tilting back.

And for once, Mystery didn’t mind the quiet that came with the over world. He didn’t mind the quiet anywhere as long as it meant he could listen to the girl he probably shouldn’t have fallen for, laugh her heart out.

[nocturnebite]

Someone Like You ౨ৎ

(Its always been you) - bestfriend!enha (ot7) x fem!reader

synopsis: You’ve had enough of bad dates and bare-minimum effort. But when your best friend shows up for you in their own soft, thoughtful way… you start to wonder why you’ve never looked at them like that. Turns out, they’ve been waiting for you to. fic notes: friends to lovers || comfort & fluff || soft confessions || bad date recovery || dreamy slowburn mutual pining || emotional support kings wc: about 800ish per member (5.7k total)

ash's notes: heyy back again! this one was so fun for me to write, i'm a sucker for friends to lovers troupes.. especially when it's "they knew all along". get me a man like this PLEASE.. enjoy :3

౨ৎ Heeseung - You always know

The door clicks softly behind you as you slump inside your apartment, heels dangling from your hand, mascara slightly smudged from the stress of the night. Another date gone wrong. Another charming-on-text loser who spent more time talking about himself than asking a single question about you. At one point he even took a call at the table. You’d sat there swirling a straw in a watered-down drink, wishing you were literally anywhere else.

You drop your bag by the couch and sigh into the quiet. It hums back at you with the same kind of hollow loneliness you’ve gotten too used to.

Your fingers tap against your phone screen before you even think about it.

you: had another trash date lol sorry if im bothering u just rly bummed out

You don’t expect a reply right away. But before you can even toss your phone aside, it buzzes.

hee ౨ৎ: open the door

You blink. Then look up.

Another buzz.

hee ౨ৎ: i was already on my way. figured something was up

Heart hiccuping, you shuffle to the door, unlocking it slowly—and there he is. Hoodie half-zipped, hair tousled like he just left in a hurry, one hand clutching your favorite takeout and the other carrying a fuzzy blanket you've been trying to steal from him for weeks.

“I didn’t know if you’d eaten,” Heeseung says, stepping inside like he always belongs here. He doesn't wait for an answer, just sets everything down on the coffee table and opens his arms.

You melt.

Your face tucks into the curve of his neck like it’s muscle memory. He’s warm and steady and smells like laundry detergent and vanilla and home.

You mumble, “You really were already on your way?”

“Mmhm,” he hums against your hair. “Just had a feeling.”

You don’t even question it. He always knows.

You eat curled up on opposite ends of the couch, his long legs tangled with yours under the blanket. He doesn’t ask about the date. He doesn’t need to. He just listens while you vent, eyes soft, gaze focused on you like you’re the only thing that matters.

Eventually, you’re lying with your head in his lap while he scrolls through movies on the TV.

“Something comforting,” he murmurs, already queuing up your favorite. “The one with the sad girl who finds herself and the cottage with the vines—”

“That’s a romance,” you whisper, half-laughing.

Heeseung just smirks. “Exactly.”

As the movie plays, you watch him in the flickering light — the soft shadows against his jawline, the slight smile when a familiar line hits, the way he rests his hand gently over your arm like he wants to keep you tethered here with him.

And somewhere between your chest aching and your heart warming, it slips out.

“Why can’t the guys I date be more like you…”

Heeseung flinches.

The remote fumbles in his hand and clatters to the ground with a sharp clack.

Your eyes widen. He stiffens. “Oops—uh. Sorry.” He leans down too fast to grab it, smacking his head lightly on the table and cursing under his breath.

You blink at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just—clumsy.” He clears his throat, setting the remote back carefully like it might explode again. His ears are glowing pink.

You stare at him, heart thudding.

He doesn’t look at you. Just leans back against the couch and mutters, “Want me to rewind the movie?”

You pause. “No. I’m good.”

He nods, quiet.

But the atmosphere has changed. Charged. He’s still close, still comforting, but his posture’s too stiff now, too careful, like he’s thinking too hard about breathing near you.

Later, when the movie ends and you both sit in the hush of the credits, you speak again.

“I just…” you whisper, watching the glow from the screen reflect in his eyes. “I wish I could find someone who treats me like you do. You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Heeseung freezes.

Then turns to you slowly, expression unreadable. His voice is low.

“Then why don’t you date me?”

You laugh, confused. “What—”

“I’m serious.”

You blink.

His eyes are locked on yours. No teasing. No smirk. Just honest, vulnerable silence.

“You’re serious?” you whisper.

He nods once. “I’ve always known it was you. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. And then—flutters.

His fingers inch toward yours, tentative, until they’re brushing lightly, and when you don’t pull away, he laces them together.

“I didn’t think…” You breathe out. “I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“I do.” Heeseung smiles softly, then leans forward until your foreheads touch. “I have. Every time I showed up for you, every night I stayed over just to keep you company, every moment I wished you’d look at me like that…”

You do now.

And this time, when he leans in — slow, careful, trembling with hope — you meet him halfway.

౨ৎ Jay - The way you look at me

You’re already in tears by the time you leave the restaurant.

Not the dramatic, mascara-running kind. Just the quiet, aching kind — the ones that slip out even when you don’t want them to. This one stung a little more than usual. The guy didn’t just talk over you — he insulted your interests, made snide jokes about “emotional girls,” and scoffed when you said you wanted something real. It left you wondering if you were asking for too much.

You don’t text Jay.

You don’t have to.

The second your key turns in the door, the smell hits you — warm, comforting, something buttery and spiced — like childhood and safety all rolled into one.

You step inside and blink.

Jay stands in your kitchen in a dark t-shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a striped apron tied lazily around his waist. He looks up like he’s been caught red-handed.

“I was gonna text and say come over,” you mumble.

“I figured you’d need something sooner,” he says simply, stirring the pan once before lowering the heat. “So I let myself in.”

Your chest tightens.

There’s a pot on the stove, steam rising lazily from it. A pan of something golden browning beside it. Plates already set. A candle burning low.

“You made—” Your voice cracks. “You made the pasta?”

“The one you said reminds you of your mom’s.” He shrugs, trying to seem casual. “You sounded tired last time we talked. Thought you’d need it tonight.”

Your throat feels too full to respond. You cross the kitchen slowly, eyes burning in that way that says thank you without the words.

He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head, stepping behind him, letting your arms wrap around his middle as you press your face into his back. He stills, surprised—but only for a moment. Then one of his hands reaches down to cover yours.

“You’re not asking for too much,” he says softly, like he’s already guessed the thing you didn’t say.

You don’t speak. You just hold on tighter.

Dinner is quiet, the way it always is when you’re feeling raw and Jay is being careful with you — soft glances, gentle hands when he passes the parmesan, a million unspoken things in every motion. Afterward, he makes tea and sets up the couch for a movie night without asking.

“You pick,” he says, stretching across the cushions to pass you the remote.

You curl under the throw blanket and sigh, not even looking at the screen.

Jay turns his head toward you. “Wanna do nothing instead?”

You nod.

So you sit. Shoulder to shoulder. Familiar and close and quiet.

After a while, he gets up and starts tidying the kitchen. And that’s when you catch yourself watching.

The way he moves—careful, confident, focused. The way he takes his time with everything. The soft hum in his throat as he dries dishes. The way he set aside the last bite of garlic bread because he knew it was your favorite.

And suddenly, something slips out.

“I wish the guys I went out on dates with were more like.. you.”

The sound of ceramic shattering on tile cuts the air in half.

You jump.

Jay freezes mid-motion, staring down at the cracked plate on the floor like it betrayed him. “Shit—sorry.” He crouches quickly to clean it, not looking at you.

You rush to help. “It’s okay, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s—” He’s already sweeping the pieces into his hand, face turned so you can’t see it. “It’s fine.”

But his hands are trembling.

You blink. “Jay?”

He doesn’t answer.

You touch his wrist lightly. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

He finally looks at you, and it’s like the air has changed again — his expression unreadable, jaw tight, eyes searching yours for something you don’t quite understand.

You try to laugh it off, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, that was kind of a weird thing to say.”

Jay finishes sweeping and stands slowly, leaning against the counter like he needs a second to think.

Then you say it again, more quietly. “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

He lets out a breath — sharp, disbelieving.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs.

You blink. “Why not?”

“Because…” He looks at you like you’ve cracked something in him. “I’ve been trying so hard not to say it first.”

The silence that follows is thick.

You stare. “Say what?”

Jay steps toward you, then stops — unsure, unreadable.

“That I’m in love with you,” he says quietly. “That I’ve been in love with you. That every time you cry about some guy who couldn’t see how lucky he was, it kills me because I’m right here. And I’ve been here.”

Your lips part, but you can’t speak.

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes wild and warm and terrified. “I know you weren’t ready. And I never wanted to make you feel like you had to see me that way, but tonight—” His voice softens. “Tonight you looked at me like you finally saw what I’ve been trying to show you this whole time.”

Your heart thunders.

You had looked at him that way. You’d always admired him — his calm, his kindness, the fire in him that always warmed you up when you felt too cold. You just never thought…

“I didn’t think you’d want me,” you whisper.

Jay’s breath catches. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He takes another step.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

You look at him—really look at him—and all the times he showed up for you play in your mind like flashes of sunlight.

Slowly, you take his hand. It’s still a little shaky, but when you hold on, he steadies.

You whisper, “What if I want more too?”

He doesn’t speak. He just pulls you in and kisses your forehead, gently, reverently—like he’s waited a lifetime for this moment to finally arrive.

౨ৎ Jake - Never not you

It starts with your phone vibrating on your chest, just as your eyes are starting to sting from holding back tears too long.

You don’t check the screen. You don’t want to talk to anyone. You just stare at the ceiling of your bedroom, replaying the disaster of tonight’s date — the awkward silences, the backhanded compliments, the fake polite goodbye at the end. All you wanted was someone who’d make you feel seen. Instead, you feel lonelier than before.

Another buzz.

Then another.

Then a knock at your door.

You sit up, confused, wiping your eyes.

“Delivery?” you mumble, shuffling to open it.

But it’s not food.

It’s Jake.

He’s standing there, hair a little windblown, hoodie zipped up halfway and cheeks pink from the chill. In one hand, he’s holding a small bouquet of fresh wildflowers. In the other, a bag from your favorite bakery—the one that’s only open late on Fridays.

“I was already on my way,” he says softly. “Something told me you needed me.”

Your bottom lip wobbles.

You don’t cry, but you do fold into him the second he opens his arms.

He doesn’t say anything. Just hugs you so tight it’s like he’s holding together all the parts of you that want to fall apart.

Twenty minutes later, you’re in your pajamas under a mountain of blankets on the couch. The warm scent of baked pastries fills the air. Jake’s got your feet in his lap, his thumbs gently massaging the arch like he’s trying to erase all the tension of the night.

You’re both watching one of those cheesy rom-coms he secretly loves more than you do, though he always pretends otherwise.

“Tonight sucked,” you mutter.

He doesn’t ask for details. He just leans back, still holding your feet. “He didn’t see you, did he?”

You glance at him. “How do you always know?”

Jake shrugs one shoulder. “Because if he had, you’d be smiling. You always light up when someone gets you.”

Your breath catches. You don’t respond. You just look at him.

His profile is soft in the glow of the TV. There’s a slight crease in his brow, like he’s still worried. You want to reach out and smooth it with your thumb.

Instead, you say quietly, “Why can’t guys be more like you…”

Jake stills.

His eyes don’t leave the screen, but his fingers stop moving.

You sit up a little, trying to meet his eyes. “Seriously. You’re so thoughtful. You always know what I need. You never make me feel like I’m too much or not enough—”

Jake suddenly fumbles the pastry bag in his lap and spills the last croissant right onto the floor.

“Ah..shit—sorry,” he blurts, scrambling to grab it. He drops the tongs trying to pick it up.

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine!” he squeaks. Then clears his throat and tries to play it off. “Yeah. Just… butter fingers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He nods a little too quickly. “Totally. I just… wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

You tilt your head. “Say what?”

He carefully places the rescued croissant on a napkin, still not looking at you. “That you wish guys were like me.”

Your voice softens. “Well… I do.”

The silence stretches, almost like the room’s holding its breath with you.

And then, because the ache in your chest is too much to sit with, you add, “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Jake turns to you, eyes wide.

He looks like you just told him the moon said his name.

Then, very quietly, he says, “Then… why not me?”

Your heart skips.

You blink. “Wait..what..? Are you serious?”

He nods, slowly this time. The corners of his mouth twitch up—hopeful, nervous, a little amazed you haven’t laughed him off yet.

“I know we’ve been best friends forever,” he says gently, “but I’ve loved you for almost as long. I didn’t want to ruin what we had by saying anything. But it’s you. It’s never not been you.”

Your lips part. “Jake…”

“I didn’t want to be another guy who hurt you,” he whispers, voice shaking a little. “I wanted to be the one who reminded you how loved you are. I just never thought you’d actually—feel the same.”

You swallow hard.

Your chest is doing that tight fluttery thing again. Because you do. Deep down, you’ve always known it. The way you’d light up when his name appeared on your phone. The way his laugh made everything easier. The way you looked for him in every crowd.

You whisper, “I think I’ve always wanted it to be you.”

Jake beams.

Not a smirk. Not a flirty grin. A full, radiant, stunned smile like you’ve just made his entire year.

He reaches for your hand, then changes his mind and gently cups your cheek instead, brushing his thumb just under your eye.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, breathlessly.

You nod.

And when he leans in, it’s slow and sweet and full of every unspoken thing you’ve both carried for so long. And when he pulls back just barely, lips still brushing yours, he murmurs,

“You’re my favorite everything.”

౨ৎ Sunghoon - Say something

It’s late.

The kind of late where the streets outside are quiet and your bedroom ceiling is glowing dimly with the light of passing cars. You’re curled up under a blanket in your hoodie, trying not to cry but very much failing. Again.

The guy from tonight wasn’t mean, exactly. Just… indifferent. He scrolled through his phone when you talked. Showed up twenty minutes late with no explanation. Didn’t even pretend to walk you home.

And maybe it wouldn’t sting so much if it didn’t feel like a pattern.

You don’t text anyone. You just throw your phone facedown and try to forget it.

Until, barely five minutes later, there’s a knock at your window.

You freeze.

Another knock.

You scramble out of bed and yank the curtains aside — and there he is.

Sunghoon. In his gray zip-up and a beanie pulled low over his brows, standing on your fire escape holding two steaming cups of hot chocolate and a very unimpressed expression.

You open the window with wide eyes. “What the—Hoon??”

“I figured he’d flake,” he says flatly, climbing in like this is something he does every day. “You ghosted the group chat. That’s never a good sign.”

You blink as he hands you one of the cups.

“I made it with that fancy cocoa you like,” he mumbles. “With the cinnamon.”

You stare at him.

Sunghoon doesn't meet your eyes. He just kicks off his shoes and settles onto your bed like it’s his.

“I didn’t get ghosted,” you say quietly, sitting beside him.

He nods. “But you are sad.”

You sip the cocoa. “How do you always know?”

He shrugs. “You always blink a lot when you’re trying not to cry.”

Your throat tightens.

Silence passes for a bit. Your room is dim, your fairy lights casting soft little shadows across his jawline. You watch him — the way his hands cradle the mug, the furrow in his brows even now. He’s always like this. A little standoffish. A little too observant. And yet always there the second you fall apart.

And maybe it’s the warmth in your hands, or the fact that you’re so, so tired of being disappointed — but the words come out before you can stop them.

“Why can’t guys be more like you…”

He freezes.

Like actually freezes.

No blink. No breath. Just wide, stunned deer-in-headlights stillness.

Then he promptly chokes on his hot chocolate.

You lunge to pat his back. “Hoon??”

“I’m good—” cough cough “Totally fine—” cough “Jesus—”

You bite back a laugh. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’m great.” He clears his throat aggressively and looks everywhere but at you. “Just… went down the wrong pipe.”

“Mmhmm,” you say, clearly not buying it.

He shifts on the bed, suddenly tense. “You… didn’t mean that, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He swallows, hard.

You lean back against the pillows, watching him over the rim of your cup. “Seriously. You’re thoughtful, reliable, good with your words—when you use them—”

“Okay—”

“You always show up when I need you,” you add, voice soft now. “You’d be the perfect boyfriend.”

Sunghoon just stares at you.

You don’t even realize how intense your gaze is until he finally looks away, the tips of his ears glowing red.

“You’re messing with me,” he mutters.

“No, I’m not.”

He sets down his cup slowly. His voice is quieter when he says, “Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

You sit up straighter. “But I do mean it.”

Sunghoon finally meets your eyes, and there’s something raw there now. Something just barely holding itself together.

And then, because he’s Sunghoon and horrible at vulnerability, he blurts:

“Then maybe you should date me.”

Your mouth opens. “What?”

He looks away again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

You reach for his hand before he can pull it away. “Sunghoon. Look at me.”

He hesitates—then does. And your heart cracks wide open.

“I want to say yes,” you whisper.

He blinks. “You do?”

You nod. “I didn’t think you liked me that way.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever look at me that way,” he breathes. “You’re always chasing guys who treat you like crap. Meanwhile, I’m here, dying every time you tell me about them, and all I want to do is tell you they don’t deserve you.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I was scared.” His voice rises slightly, then softens again. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But tonight… when you said that…”

He pauses, then lets out a soft breath.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad I forgot how to breathe.”

Your eyes soften. You shift closer.

“Then don’t forget now.”

He stares at you.

And then he kisses you.

It’s tentative at first — almost like he doesn’t believe it’s happening — but it grows, slow and sure and full of everything he’s held back for so long.

When you pull apart, you press your forehead against his and whisper,

“You know you can come through the door next time, right?”

He grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

౨ৎ Sunoo - If only you knew

You don’t say anything when the door swings open.

You just step inside, drop your purse on the floor, and crawl straight onto the couch face-down, muffling a scream into the cushions.

There's silence.

Then the sound of slippers shuffling quickly across hardwood.

Then:

“Oh no. Which flavor of man failed you this time?”

You peek out of the couch to see Sunoo standing over you in an oversized sweatshirt, hair in a clip, face cream still dotted on his cheeks like he was mid-self-care ritual when you texted the dreaded “can I come over”.

You groan. “The worst one.”

He gasps. “Worse than finance bro?”

“Worse than vape in the Uber guy.”

“Girl.”

“I know.”

Sunoo lets out the most offended noise you've ever heard and immediately shuffles toward the kitchen. “I’m making tea. And I’m putting on that sad cottage movie you like. You’re not allowed to argue.”

You don’t.

You just melt further into the couch and let yourself exhale.

Because somehow, Sunoo always knows exactly what to do when the world feels heavy.

By the time the kettle whistles, you’ve been tucked in with three blankets and a stuffed animal you pretend isn’t yours.

Sunoo returns with a tray of snacks, two mugs of tea, and a disgusted look on his face.

“So what did he do? Tell me everything. I’m ready to judge.”

You shake your head. “He… didn’t even try, Nuu.”

He sets the tray down and climbs onto the couch beside you. “Try what?”

“To know me. To see me. I spent half the night trying to think of things to talk about. It felt like I was trying to impress someone who couldn’t care less.”

Sunoo's eyes narrow. “Should I fight him?”

You let out a laugh — small, watery.

He leans his head on your shoulder. “You know you’re not hard to love, right?”

You stay quiet.

Sunoo reaches for your hand under the blanket and squeezes it. “Some people just don’t know what they’re holding until it’s gone.”

You glance at him, heart aching.

He’s right here. Warm and thoughtful and sharp as ever. He always has been.

And somehow, you whisper it before you can think better of it.

“I wish guys were more like you…”

You feel him tense.

He sits up, blinking, and nearly spills the tray trying to set his cup down.

You blink back. “Nuu?”

“Did you mean that?” he says quickly, voice just slightly higher than usual.

“I—yeah?”

He just stares at you, lips parted, like his brain has fully exited the building.

You sit up. “Why does that freak you out so much?”

Sunoo clears his throat, crosses his legs, and clasps his hands like he's giving a TED talk to himself. “No no I’m fine. Totally calm. Just casually losing my mind that the person I’m in love with just said that.”

You blink. “Wait. What.”

He freezes.

You gape. “You’re in love with me??”

“OH MY GOSH,” he says, loudly, throwing a pillow over his own face. “FORGET I SAID THAT—”

“Nuu!” You pull the pillow away and stare at him, heart pounding.

He groans. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out, okay?! It’s not like I planned to tell you after a garbage date like some B-list plot twist—”

“You’re in love with me?”

He falters, looks at you properly — flushed, anxious, but still so Sunoo.

“…Yeah,” he whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Your chest tightens.

“You… never said anything.”

He gives a tiny, shy shrug. “You were always dating someone. I didn’t want to confuse things. Or ruin us.”

“But you always—” Your voice cracks. “You always take care of me.”

He smiles sadly. “Because I want to. Because you deserve someone who actually shows up when it counts.”

You look at him — really look at him — and suddenly, all the late nights, all the surprise coffee deliveries, all the “I brought your favorite just because” texts make perfect, blinding sense.

And suddenly, this feels like the only real thing you’ve ever known.

“I think…” you whisper, “I’ve been in love with you too. I just didn’t let myself believe it.”

Sunoo blinks, stunned.

“You what?”

“I kept waiting for someone who’d treat me like you do,” you murmur, leaning in. “I just didn’t think that person could be you.”

“Why not?! I’m amazing!”

You laugh through a tear.

He grins, then cups your face with both hands. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but so fondly it makes your stomach flip.

Then, very softly, “Can I kiss you now?”

You nod, heart in your throat.

He kisses you like he’s waited a lifetime — careful, steady, warm. When he pulls away, you’re still smiling.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and whispers, “You’re never going to cry over another date again.”

“Because you’re going to fight them?”

“No.” He grins. “Because you’re done dating losers. You’re dating me now.”

౨ৎ Jungwon - What took you so long 

You don’t expect anyone to be waiting when you get home.

Your date was forgettable in the worst way — vague answers, barely-there eye contact, the kind of guy who asked questions only to talk about himself. You left early and walked home alone under a gray sky, the city lights blurred through a curtain of drizzle.

You don’t text anyone. You don’t want to talk. You just want the night to be over.

So when you push open your apartment door and find Jungwon sitting on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands and a small box of takeout on his lap, you stop in your tracks.

He looks up casually. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

You blink. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I figured you’d need me.”

The way he says it — need me — sinks under your skin like something dangerous.

You walk in slowly, wet hair dripping onto your shirt, and collapse onto the couch beside him without a word.

“I brought your favorite,” he adds, offering the box. “That noodle thing you get when you’re upset but pretending not to be.”

You take it silently, the warmth of the container grounding you.

He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t have to.

A while later, you’re curled up together under the same blanket, the food half-eaten and a soft playlist humming through the room. You’re both quiet, the way you always are when things get too heavy to name.

You tilt your head toward him.

Jungwon’s watching the rain trail down the window, his profile lit faintly by the glow of the streetlights. One arm rests behind your head, casual but close enough that your shoulders touch. Always close. Always almost.

“You know,” you say softly, “you’d make the perfect boyfriend.”

He blinks.

Then — too quickly — he shifts.

The blanket slips from his shoulder as he moves to set his drink down, knocking over a napkin in the process. He fumbles it. Misses. Swears quietly under his breath.

You blink. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbles. Then, softer, “Just… surprised you’d say that.”

You smile faintly. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flick toward yours, unreadable. “Because you’re always chasing guys who aren’t me.”

The words land like a pin dropped in a still room.

You stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungwon lets out a long breath, then looks at you fully — not shy, not sarcastic, not teasing. Just… honest.

“It means I’ve been here this whole time,” he says quietly. “Watching you get your heart broken over and over and wishing you’d just look at me.”

Your heart lurches.

“Jungwon…”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought maybe you already knew,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper. “But tonight, when you said that—when you said that—I couldn’t not say it anymore.”

You don’t speak. You’re not sure you can.

“I know I’m quiet about how I feel,” he murmurs. “But I show up. I always show up for you. Because I love you. And I’ve been loving you quietly for so long, I don’t know how to stop.”

Something cracks open in your chest.

You reach out, almost without thinking, fingers brushing his wrist. “I think I’ve always loved the way you love me,” you whisper. “I just didn’t realize that’s what it was.”

He exhales shakily.

And then — like gravity pulling him forward — he leans in, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is soft, barely trembling:

“I’ve been yours for a long time.”

You whisper, “Then maybe it’s time I caught up.”

౨ৎ Ni-ki - Not just a phase

The rain has stopped by the time you make it to his place.

You’re soaked anyway — not just from the weather, but from the date that ended in a fight over whether your standards were “too high.”

You didn’t cry this time.

Not until you walked home in the drizzle and realized how tired you were of pretending the bare minimum was enough.

You’re still blinking away the sting when the door swings open.

Ni-ki stands there in a hoodie and pajama pants, hair messy from sleep, one wireless headphone still in. He blinks once. Takes in your face.

Then without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you in.

“You look cold,” he mumbles, already guiding you toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get the fluffy blanket.”

You don’t even argue. You just drop onto the cushions and watch as he disappears down the hall.

You don’t remember when it started—this instinct he has. This quiet caretaking. One second you’re friends who bicker over cereal brands and game scores, and the next he’s handing you tissues without asking. Wrapping you in the same blanket he used to cocoon himself in during movie nights. Like you’ve always belonged here, even if no one ever said it.

Ni-ki returns with the blanket and throws it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a second too long.

He doesn’t ask what happened.

He just sits beside you, legs sprawled out, staring ahead like he’s waiting for you to speak.

So you do.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for dating.”

He glances at you. “That bad?”

You nod. “It’s like… I want something real. But everyone I meet makes me feel stupid for asking.”

Ni-ki stays quiet for a second.

Then: “They’re the stupid ones.”

You glance over. “What?”

He shrugs. “For not seeing it. For not recognizing you’re the kind of person people should want.”

Your heart stutters.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it. His eyes are on the floor, hands fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie.

You laugh weakly. “Why can’t I just date someone like you?”

His whole body stiffens.

You blink. “Ni-ki?”

He moves too fast. Reaches for the glass on the table. Misses. Knocks it over. It clatters loudly — empty, but loud enough to make you jump.

“Shit—” He rushes to grab it. “I—sorry, sorry. I wasn’t expecting—”

“What did I say?” you ask slowly.

He freezes with the glass in his hand. Doesn’t look at you.

You sit up straighter. “Ni-ki.”

He exhales hard, then sets the glass down. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

You stare. “What do you mean?”

Finally — finally — he turns to you. And his eyes are bare.

Not guarded. Not teasing. Just real.

“Because I’ve spent years trying to convince myself that this—” he gestures between you “—was just a phase. That eventually you’d stop showing up at my place with tears in your eyes. That I’d stop wondering what it would be like to be the one you chose.”

You go silent.

Ni-ki lets out a small laugh, bitter and soft. “But I never got over you. I don’t think I ever will.”

Your throat tightens. “You never said anything.”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t want to lose you just because I caught feelings first.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

The Ni-ki who made fun of your bad taste in ramen. Who used to walk you home in high school just because. Who showed up at every breakup with your favorite snacks and a movie cued up. That Ni-ki has been in love with you this whole time?

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same,” he murmurs.

You whisper, “What if I do?”

He stops breathing.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his — slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

“I think I’ve been trying to find pieces of you in everyone I’ve dated,” you say quietly. “But no one comes close.”

Ni-ki swallows hard. “You’re serious?”

You nod.

The quiet between you stretches — long and full of something new. Something changing.

Then he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod again.

So he does.

And it’s everything — every unsaid word, every held breath, every day he stood at your side wondering what it would feel like to be wanted back. His hands are gentle. His lips are soft and searching. And when he pulls away, his voice is the quietest it’s ever been.

“I’ve always been yours,” he whispers.

Thanks for reading! Reblogs + notes always mean a lot 💌

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

[sunshinedaisywrites777]

Post-Mission Intimacy (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

A/N- Hello everyone! I'm deeply sorry for being late. Vacation got the best of me and I was (still am) slacking so hard right now but you're all waiting for a smut so here you go! I kinda rushed it to be honest and I know it's not going to be the best smut you'll ever read BUT it's my first time writing smut soo yayy! I hope you like it and don't forget to leave comments and give me feedbacks 🙂💜

Warnings- Smut! MDNI! +18, tigh riding, no foreplay?, aftercare, feels of aftershock, sex without lube, softdom!leon, praise kink.

The clock read 12:43 AM. You were curled up on the couch, lights low, the faint hum of the TV playing a rerun of some show neither of you watched. A cup of chamomile tea sat cold beside you. You hadn’t touched it in an hour. Not since the last time you checked your phone for any message, any update. Still nothing.

Then the door finally opened.

You were on your feet before you could think. Leon stepped inside, shoulders heavy under his black jacket, hair sticking to his forehead, the weight of a mission lingering on every inch of his body. His blue eyes found you instantly. And softened.

He didn’t speak right away. He just stood there, breathing in the sight of you — small in his oversized flannel, barefoot, eyes red from waiting. You closed the distance first, hands curling around the back of his neck.

“You’re home,” you whispered.

“I’m home,” he murmured back, voice rough and low.

He kissed your hair, your temple, your cheek, before you finally pulled back and wrinkled your nose. “Leon… you smell.”

That made him huff a tired laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Go shower,” you said, nudging him toward the bathroom. “I’ll wait.”

He didn’t take long, but every second felt stretched thin. The sound of running water was oddly comforting. When he returned, steam trailed behind him, his chest damp and pink from the heat. His hair was messy, curling slightly at the ends, his body wrapped in nothing but a towel low on his hips.

He looked like a dream — exhausted, but clean, real, yours.

“Still waiting for me?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

You nodded, eyes lingering on the droplets trailing down his chest. “Always.”

Leon came to you slowly. The towel slipped to the floor before he even reached you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, skin-on-skin, his body warm and damp against yours.

You reached for the buttons on your flannel, but Leon stopped you. “Let me.”

He undid each one with deliberate slowness, exposing more of your bare skin with every pass. No bra, no underwear. You hadn’t been wearing anything beneath it. His eyes darkened.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You were just sitting there like this?”

You smiled and nodded.

He growled low and kissed you hard, backing you toward the couch, hands never leaving your skin. You dropped back into the cushions, and he followed you down, slotting his hips between your thighs.

“Need you,” he said, voice rough. “Been thinking about this since I left.”

You guided him in, no resistance, just slick warmth and the sigh of relief that left both of your lips as he filled you.

Leon moved slow, deep, deliberate. He wasn’t trying to fuck the pain away. He was savoring you, grounding himself in every kiss, every touch, every breathless moan you made. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails in his back.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Take me. Let me feel you.”

Your orgasm built slowly, coiling in your stomach, heat pulsing behind your eyes. He whispered to you the whole time, telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect, how tight you felt, how much he missed you.

When you finally came, it was sharp and silent, your body seizing around him, head thrown back, lips parted. Leon held on as you broke, kissing your shoulder, your throat, your jaw. He followed you moments later with a deep groan, burying himself inside you.

You laid together tangled on the couch, your body still twitching from the aftershocks. One leg was draped over his, and Leon felt the slight pulse of your hips shifting.

“Still shaking,” he murmured, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. “You need to ride it out, huh?”

You nodded, barely able to speak. He guided you, gently shifting your hips until you were straddling one of his thighs, bare skin against bare skin.

“Use me,” he whispered. “Come on, baby. Just let it out.”

You moved slowly, grinding against the solid muscle of his thigh, slick and sensitive, trembling as the last waves passed through you. Leon held you steady, kissing your cheek, his hand splayed on your lower back.

“That’s it… Good girl.”

When it was over, you collapsed onto his chest, breath ragged. He held you close, wrapping both arms around you, rubbing small circles into your back.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he whispered.

You believed him.

And in that moment, you didn’t need anything else.

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Do You Trust Me?

Bang Chan x F! Reader Synopsis: Your best friend tries to make your day better Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v, praise, light bondage(?) A/N: I need to get finished with orders for Larie's Libations! So be expecting that! I'm also cooking up an event so y'all stay tunned for that! As usual, comment to be added to my tag list Xoxo💋

Your day had been rough. It started off when you bumped into someone at the coffee the shop and both of you spilled your daily caffeine, staining your white blouse and making you late to work.

Then you find out your boss transferred you to a different floor and expected you to move your desk that morning to make room for the replacement. After that, the printer screwed up right as you were printing an important document. Come lunch time you realized you forgot your lunch at home, causing you to eat only a bag of chips.

You shot Chris a message on your lunch break grumbling about how it was a shit day and you couldn’t wait to just chill at home.

After lunch, you go back to your desk only to find that the computer, that had said important documents and information on it, had shut down, not saving anything.

Needless to say, it was a shit day.

So when you walk into the shared apartment with Chris, you’re surprised to see dinner cooked and candles lighting the table.

“What the heck is this?”

“You said you had a bad day, I wanted to try to help.” He shrugs sheepishly. He comes over, slyly taking off your jacket and your purse and putting them away.

“Seriously, how has no woman snatched you up yet?” You ask as you hug him tightly. You and Chris have been friends for the last few years, living together for a year now. It had been working well, until you started to fall for him. It wasn’t hard; Chris is the epitome of a good boyfriend. Attentive, kind, genuinely listens when you talk about your day. He makes you laugh, helps distract you when you need it, and is always there to help when you ask. He’s someone you feel safe with, that you trust and know you can count on.

You both sit down to eat dinner, the silence a little awkward. You can see the wheels in his head turning as he chews a bite of his food.

“What cha thinkin about, roo?” you wink at him.

“Huh, oh,” his face turns a light shade of pink, “Nothin, I um,” he sighs.

“Y/n,” he asks and you look up over at him from the rim of your glass.

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?” he asks again.

“With my life,” you answer honestly. He takes a deep breath and stands up, holding out his hand to you. You look from his face to his hand back to his face before hesitantly taking his hand and standing up. He pulls you close to him, the height difference not much, just a few inches or so, and he softly presses his lips to yours. You stand there for a moment, eyes wide, lips frozen.

“You said you trust me,” he says, voice an octave deeper.

“Let me help you relax,” he mumbles against your lips, hands resting on your hips. Your eyes flutter closed, moving your lips against his as your hands rest on either side of his neck. The kiss quickly turns heated, passion exchanged in every movement, tongues daring to dance together in something that’s way over the line of friendship.

“Chris,” you whimper. You feel him smile against your lips. He pulls you to your bedroom.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this,” he says as he gently pushes you down on the bed. His eyes are dark; lustful and hungry.

“How many nights I heard you moan because of your own hands.” He says as he hovers over you.

“How many nights my cock would throb and I’d have to get off, imagining it was you on top of me.” He groans in your ear, making you shiver. He slips off his shirt before leaning back down, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

Without even thinking you dip your head down, capturing his thumb in your mouth, lightly sucking on it, tongue swirling around the tip of it. His eyes widen, watching your mouth suck and his pants start to tent. He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, before raising your shirt over your head.

“Fuck,” he breathes as his eyes stare at your chest, “Look at you, so fucking perfect,” he groans as he places kisses down your neck. Your fingers thread into his hair, his teeth sinking into the flesh.

“God I wanna taste you so bad,” he almost whimpers in your ear. Your face flushes.

“Wanna feel you around my tongue,” he says as you whine, hips involuntarily shifting toward him. He notices and chuckles.

“Don’t worry, baby girl, Daddy’s got you.” He says before trailing more kisses down to your chest. He kisses the top of each breast, tongue darting out over your skin. You sigh in satisfaction, watching him, cradling his head as he kisses just between them.

His hands reach behind you, slipping the bra off. He moans, mouth automatically going around your left nipple, flicking it with his tongue. You bite your lip to keep from moaning, eyes closing to concentrate and Chan bites down.

“Ah,” you jump.

“Let me hear you,” he smirks and goes back to flicking his tongue and you oblige, letting out the noise. His other hand comes up to pinch and lightly twists, causing your mouth to fall open, before he switches and gives the right one the same kind of attention.

“Chris,” you whimper feeling your panties grow damp. You figure he must know what you want because he kisses down your stomach.

“You know,” he says before kissing your stomach.

“I’ve dreamt,” he kisses your flesh again, “About having my head between your legs,” he says before nipping at the skin of your hip. Your walls clench around nothing at his words.

“Dreamt of how you taste. Dreamt of hearing you moan my name like it’s the only thing you know,” he says as he pulls down your pants.

“And tonight,” he says before planting a kiss to your clothed core, “I’m not stopping,” another kiss, “Until I hear it. M’gonna make you feel so good baby,” he says and kisses the inside of your thigh. He flattens his tongue and drags it up the damp cloth covering you.

He feels you squirm, watching as your hips roll involuntarily.

“Patience baby, we got all night.”

“Chris I have work tomorrow,” you whine.

“If you’re able to walk tomorrow, I didn’t do my job.” He smirks before hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling it down.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he says before diving in. His tongue is slow at first, teasing you with slight pressure to your clit, causing you to gasp and sit up, better watching him between your thighs. He chuckles against you, adding just a bit more pressure.

“Better enjoy this, I won’t be gentle all night,” he groans before lapping at your entrance, tasting you. He moans something sinful, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Knew you tasted good,” he says against you as he hooks his arms around your thighs, fully determined to make you see stars. His tongue applies forceful pressure, making you gasp as he curls it up and flicks it back and forth, the sensation causing your eyes to close, and body to go slack against the headboard. Chan flits his eyes up to you, smiling to himself when he sees the look of pleasure and relaxation on your face.

He teases your entrance with his finger, slowly inserting it and curling it upwards, hitting your sweet spot each time.

“Chris,” you moan out, hips once again moving against him as he continues his assault on your clit.

You whimper as he quickly adds another.

“Fuck,” you say as he moves them quickly, hitting the spot perfectly; tongue like lightening as your body tenses.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you mumble, hand in his hair pushing his face into you.

“Fall apart baby,” he mumbles against you. You gasp, body shaking as you feel the heat in your stomach dissipate and your body shake against him.

Your chest rises and falls as Chris works you through your orgasm, slowly pumping his fingers as your walls attempt to suck them in.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praises kissing his way back up to you. His hand comes around your throat, causing your heart to tick right back up before his lips slam onto yours, rough and needy.

You whimper against him, desperate to touch and feel more of him.

“Chris please,” you whimper against him. He chuckles before helping you flip onto your stomach.

“I didn’t even have tell you to beg,” he whispers in your ear, smirk evident in his voice.

“That needy, huh? My needy little slut?” you groan as your cheeks tint a shade of pink. You hear his belt come undone and your body rushes with excitement.

“Hands,” he says as he positions himself on your back. You put your hands behind your back and feel his belt come around them, securing your wrists together.

“I told you I wouldn’t go easy all night.” He mumbles in your ear. He drops his pants, positions your hips up and teases your folds by rubbing his head up and down them.

“Christopher,” you warn as you desperately try to move your hips back. He audibly laughs at you.

“You’re in no position to negotiate, love.” He says and you can only imagine the dimpled smile on his face on right now as your cheek is pressed into the mattress.

You groan again and roll your eyes as he pushes in hard and fast making you choke out a moan. Chan smirks, drawing himself out slowly, only to slam into you again, hitting that beautiful spot inside you.

“God,” you choke out, eyes screwing shut. Chan sets a brutal pace, causing your forehead to dig into the mattress, breathing becoming labored quickly. Chris can feel your walls squeezing him, signaling your close, he slams into you even faster, helping your orgasm along by rubbing your clit. Your mouth opens in a silent cry, walls sucking his cock in.

Chris moans at the pressure as you come undone, but he isn’t finished.

“Fuck,” he groans as his hand wraps around your throat, pulling you up against him, fucking into you, body limp in his arms, legs slightly shaking.

“You can give me one more, yeah? I know you’ve got it in you. You make yourself cum at least twice in a night, so let’s see if we can break that record. Think you can do that for me?” he grunts as he kisses up your shoulder to your neck; his breathing now becoming more labored.

“Yes, daddy,” you whimper as you feel him slow down just a little, teasing you, before pushing you down on the bed, his back hovering directly over yours with long deep thrusts.

“You take me so fucking well,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Make me feel so damn good,” he grunts.

“And to think, you let other guys do what I could’ve been doing this whole time,” he grits his teeth, his pace picking up little by little until its punishing.

“I’m better than them, though. I can make your body tick by simply looking at you the right way,” he taunts with a cocky attitude.

“Isn’t that right, baby?” He asks and his palm lands on your ass cheek. You whimper as he lands another.

“Yes,” you call out; the sting a stark contrast to the pleasure.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” you whimper out, eyes screwed tight. You feel Chan slow down once again, and the restraints come off your wrists. Your arms cheer with relief as you’re able to bring them down and you flip onto your back, Chan repositioning himself, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful underneath me,” he murmurs as he slides in, causing both of you to moan together in harmony.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispers as his pace is slow and deep once more.

“Wanted to feel you around me,” he sighs as your walls flutter.

“Wanted to call you mine so many times and tell those losers you’d bring over to fuck off,” he says before dipping his head down and connecting your lips, hips rocking faster, his hand going to play with your puffy clit. Your breath hitches, and your noses touch as you feel your body begin to stiffen quickly.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers in your ear as his cock throbs.

“I’ve got you, baby. Cum for me,” he drawls. Your arms go around his neck, back arching into him as your nails go down his muscular back, drawing red lines down it as your walls clamp around his cock.

Chan moans, hips stilling as he cums with you. The two of you stay frozen like that for a moment, the initial shock of what just happened weighting over you. The two of you look into each other’s eyes. For what feels like hours, you stare at each other, unsure of what to say or what’s ok to feel.

Chan is the first to move. He moves some hair away from your face as you settle against the mattress, the moment surreal.

“You ok?” he asks cautiously. The tone of his voice calms your fears. A lazy smile spreads across your face before you bring his face down to yours.

“Better than ok.” You smile just before kissing his lips. Chan smiles into the kiss and pulls himself out of you, both of you wincing slightly. He looks at you, dripping with his seed.

“That’s so hot,” he whispers to himself as he slowly forces himself away to grab a towel. He comes back a little bit later, longer than normal, helping you clean up, and helps you stand, legs wobbly and body sore.

“Lets get you cleaned up, yeah?” you nod lazily, your body spent.

You walk into the bathroom, candles are lit and a small tray filled with snacks and water in sitting across the tub with warm steamy water underneath it.

“Come on, it’ll soothe your muscles,” he whispers in your ear.

“You’re joining me, right?” you ask almost innocently.

“If you want me to,” he says, not making eyes contact with you.

“Of course I do,” you whisper turning around and placing your hand on his cheek. He smiles and leans into it, kissing your palm.

You both step into the water, the warmth enveloping your muscles. You sink down into the tub, Chan behind you, rubbing your arms trying to help them relax.

“So how about you call out tomorrow,” Chan says in your ear, “And you let me pamper you, hmm?” he asks.

“I have to go back to work eventually.”

“I mean, you could just let me take care of you,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder before reaching around and opening one of the snacks for you.

“You know I like having my own money.”

“You don’t even hardly pay for anything anyways.”

“Chris,” you begin, “That’s because you always beat me to it.”

“Just one day,” he says.

“A three-day weekend,” he encourages.

“We can do whatever you want.” He entices. You blush and rest against him.

“Fine, I doubt I’ll be able to walk properly anyway, considering I looked like a baby deer just getting to the bathroom,” you joke.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght

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[myfictionaldreams]

⁀➷ Desk Duty // Jim Hopper x F!Reader

Summary: You're the sunshine of the Hawkins Police Station—always smiling and brightening everyone's day. Especially his. Chief Jim Hopper is gruff, intimidating, and far too old for you... But you've had a quiet crush on your boss since day one. The age gap, the power imbalance, and the rules make it impossible. Or at least, it should be—until one stormy night pushes everything past the point of no return.

A/N: I have been desperate to write for Hopper and I'm so glad I did... this man has me in a chokehold.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, age gap (reader: 20s, hopper: 40s), boss/secretary, forbidden romance, innocence kink, sunshine vs grumpy, protective Hopper, minor injuries, size kink/difference, squirting, praise kink, oral (f receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, Hopper is a tits guy

Words: 5.6k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The Hawkins Police Station wasn’t exactly known for its excitement. On most days, it was quiet enough to hear the tick of the wall clock and the squeak of Officer Callahan’s chair every time he leaned too far back.

But for you, the silence wasn’t a bad thing. It gave you room to breathe, to sort through case files and tidy up the endless stream of paperwork with your usual meticulous care.

You’d been working at the station for just over six months, and in that time, you’d managed to become something of a fixture behind the front desk. Bright eyes, organised, and hopelessly king. Too kind, according to Chief Jim Hopper.

You bought fresh coffee every morning, laid out pastries on the breakroom table before anyone arrived, and swapped out the vase of flowers on your desk weekly just to keep the place from feeling too grey. You remembered birthdays, wrote thank-you notes in tidy handwriting, and always had a soft smile for even the most irritable walk-ins.

You were the kind of sunshine that warmed everyone around you. And everyone in the office noticed.

“You’re too good for this dump,” Powell had said once, shaking his head as he grabbed a glazed donut from the box you brought in. “You should be working at some fancy law firm or greeting people at a spa.”

But you didn’t want that. You loved your job. Love the small-town rhythm, the creaky floorboards, the scent of strong coffee and old paper. And more than anything, you were drawn to the man at the heart of it all: Chief Jim Hopper.

It didn’t make sense, not really. He was gruff, older, chronically dishevelled, and wore a permanent scowl as if it were stitched into his skin. But somehow, he made your stomach flutter. He made your cheeks burn when he barked out your name or muttered under his breath in that deep, rough voice.

You had a crush. A big one. An all-consuming, ill-advised crush on the Chief of Police– your boss.

“You’re gonna burn out if you keep smiling at everyone like that,” he’d grumble, every other morning when he passed by your desk, coffee in one hand, permanent scowl on his face.

And every time, you’d just grin up at him and say, “Good morning, Chief.”

It had become your thing. You teasing him, him pretending not to enjoy it. But you caught the way his mouth twitched sometimes, like he was holding back a smile. Hopper was all sharp edges and shadows, tall and broad and imposing with that worn-out Sheriff’s uniform clinging to his hulking frame, but there was something else under the surface. A heaviness. A quiet sadness he never talked about.

You noticed it even when others didn’t. The way his shoulders dropped the moment he thought no one was looking. The way he lingered in his office long after everyone else had gone home.

And that was why you stayed.

You didn’t tell him that, of course. You just pretended to have too much filing to do. Pretended to be absorbed in some boring county report or half-finished inventory list. But every night, you waited until his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and out the front door before packing up your things.

It was just after nine when the phones finally stopped ringing. Powell and Callahan had already left, tossing casual goodnights over their shoulders/ The radio in the corner played soft static, and the overhead lights buzzed with that low, flickering hum. You rubbed your eyes, blinking at the glow of the desk lamp as you finished logging the last of the incident reports.

The door to Hopper’s office was still closed.

You bit your lip, glancing toward it. You could go home. No one would blame you, and you were officially meant to finish your shift an hour ago. But something about leaving while he was still here, alone, likely hunched over a bottle and an old case file, just didn’t sit right.

You stood up, walking softly to his door. You knocked gently.

“What?”

The bark made you smile. “Just me, Chief.”

A pause, then the sound of a chair creaking and heavy boots approaching. He opened the door with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowing beneath that wild mop of hair. “You’re still here?”

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile as you looked up at him through your lowered lashes. “Had some filing to finish.”

His gaze dropped to your empty hands, then flicked back up. “You’re lying.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You always finish by eight.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You hadn’t realised he… noticed. That he paid enough attention to know your habits. Your cheeks warmed under his intense gaze as you absent-mindedly began to wring your fingers together.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe, one hand raking through his hair and pushing it back. “Why do you stay late?”

You hesitated. “Because you do.”

That shut him up. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing like he wasn't sure what to do with that. You stood your ground, fiddling with your fingers.

“I just… I don’t like thinking of you here alone, that’s all.”

He looked like he wanted to scold you. Maybe tell you it was none of your business. But instead, he signed again and stepped aside.

“Come in.”

You blinked, not expecting that response. “Really?”

“Might as well. I'm just going through old case files. Not confidential.”

You stepped inside his office for the first time, taking in the cluttered desk, the peeling maps on the wall, the ashtray filled with crumpled cigarett butts. It smells like smoke, coffee, and something uniquely his– woodsy and warm, like cedar and old leather.

He dropped heavily into his chair with a grunt and gestured for you to sit in the battered chair across from him.

You sat down, smoothing a hand over your skirt nervously. “You live like a raccoon in here.”

He gave you a flat look. “You don't have to stay.”

“I want to.”

That got a reaction. His brows lifted, just slightly.

“You’re too nice,” he grumbled, grabbing a file. “It’ll get you hurt someday.”

You smiled softly. “Not with you around, Sheriff.”

He froze, just for a second. Then cleared his throat and focused hard on the paper in front of him. You didn't say anything else. The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable but thick with something else. An awareness that neither of you acknowledged.

You watched the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms. The way his fingers dwarfed the pen in his hand. The tiny twitch of his moustache when he was deep in thought.

“You shouldn't want me like that,” he said without looking up.

You jumped. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t know what it does.”

Your heart skipped. You swallowed, shuffling in the leather chair. “Maybe I do.”

That made him look up. His eyes were tired but sharp, focused entirely on you.

“You shouldn’t”, he said again, but his voice was softer this time, almost like he didn’t believe his own words.

You felt heat rise in your neck. “I should probably head home.”

He stood before you, towering as always. “I’ll walk you out.”

Outside, the air was cold. You shivered, arms wrapped tight around yourself. Without a word, he pulled off his flannel overshirt and draped it over your shoulders. His hands lingered, brushing your arms.

You looked up at him. “Thank you,” he held your gaze for a long moment. His expression was unreadable.

“Get home safe, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your chest ache. “You too, Chief.”

He waited until you got in your car and didn’t move until your headlights disappeared down the road. And still, long after you were gone, he stood outside in the cold, staring into the night, jaw clenched tight like he was holding something back. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The morning air in Hawkins had a crisp bite to it, and you hugged your coat tighter around your frame as you stepped into the police station. You were early again. Hopper would grumble about it if he noticed, but you didn’t care. It gave you time to set out the fresh box of doughnuts, refill the coffee pot, and tuck a sprig of sunflowers into the chipped vase on your desk.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Powell greeted, breezing past you with a grin.

You smiled back. “Morning. I brought your favourite today. Raspberry jelly.”

“You’re gonna spoil us rotten,” Callahan muttered as he grabbed a glazed one. “Still don't know how someone like you ended up stuck in this place.”

You laughed lightly, used to the comment. “Guess I have a thing for grumpy men with badges.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your eyes darted to Hopper’s office. The door was closed, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard. You busied yourself with rearranging the folders on your desk, cheeks warm. Just thinking about him made your stomach flip.

As if summoned, the door creaked open. Hopper emerged, looking as tired and dishevelled as ever, hair sticking up on one side, uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He grunted something that resembled a greeting and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Fresh,” you called softly.

He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “Course it is.”

You offered him a sweet smile. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just filled his mug and disappeared back into his office.

Mid-morning brought chaos. A loud ruckus at the front doors had you jerking your head up. Powell and Callahan rushed forward as two deputies dragged in a handcuffed man, thrashing and shouting.

“Get your hands off me! You think you can lock me up for nothing? Bunch of small-town bastards!”

You stood quickly, hands braced on your desk. The man was wiry and angry, eyes wild and red-rimmed, likely drunk or high, maybe both. Hopper stormed out of his office.

“What the hell is this?” he barked.

“Caught him breaking into Henderson’s garage,” one of the deputies said. “Resisted the whole way.”

The man snarled, thrashing again. “I didn’t do shit!”

It happened fast. The man jerked forward, headbutting the nearest officer. In the chaos, his elbow flew out and struck you. A blinding crack to the side of your face sent you stumbling backwards, crashing into the corner of your desk.

Everything tilted. Your vision swam.

“HEY!”

Hopper’s roar echoed like a gunshot. Chairs scraped. Officers shouted. Powell reached you first, hand on your shoulder, but Hopper was already moving like a freight train. He lunged.

In one fluid, furious motion, he slammed the man against the wall with a snarl. “You just hit her,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Big mistake.”

The station froze. No one dared move. No one dared breathe. The man whimpered under Hopper’s grip. The Chief didn’t let go until the deputies peeled him off. 

Still trembling, you had slumped back into your chair, dazed, with your face in your hands. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip. Everyone rushed around you–Callahan barking for an ice pack, Powell fumbling for tissues–but it was Hopper who reached you first. 

He dropped to a croch, his large frame making him eye-level with you. His hands, however, were near your face, clenched tight with restraint.

“Let me see,” he gently coaxed. You shook your head, blinking fast.

“I’m fine. Just startled. It was an accident.”

“He hit you.” his voice was firm.

You offered a weak smile. “You should see the other guy.”

He didn’t smile. He reached out, fingers ghosting along your jaw. The gentle contact made you flinch. Hopper flinched, too. Something burned behind his eyes. Anger. Guilt. Something more. And then he stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away, one hand fisting his hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “I need a minute.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out of the front doors. The others watched him go silent. Callahan eventually broke the tension. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll drive you home.”

You stood numbly, shaking your head as much as possible without it throbbing. “No, it’s ok. I just need a moment outside, I’ll be fine.” With a hand pressed to your aching jaw, you slipped outside.

The air was cold, biting. It made your cheeks sting and your eyes water, but you needed the solitude. You stumbled along the path at the edge of the station, disappearing into the trees. There, out of view, you leaned back against the rough bark and let yourself crumble.

Silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Your chest heaved with the emotion you hadn’t let them see inside.

You didn’t hear the footsteps. “You shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourself.”

You startled, turning to see Hopper, towering, jaw still tight. His eyes locked on yours, then immediately dropped to your swollen lip.

You quickly wiped at your face. “But I’m not by myself, and anyway, I just needed a moment.”

He said nothing at first. Just looked at you, really looked. Then he stepped close. Close enough that his chest almost brushed yours. His hand reached out, slow this time, warm and steady as it found your jaw again. He tilted your face toward the light. His thumb brushed your lip, and you winced.

“Damn it,” he grunted.

You saw it then, the way his whole body tensed, as if he wanted to hit something. Or scream. But instead, he exhaled, slow and deep, hand still cradling your cheek.

“I should’ve been faster. Should’ve stepped in before it happened.”

“You did what you could,” you whispered. “You always do.”

His brows furrowed. “Doesn’t make it easier,”

There was silence then. The wind rustled the leaves overhead. You leaned further back against the tree, grounding yourself, but Hopper followed your movement, his hand still on your face, his other moving to your waist.

You gasped softly at the contact. His palm was heavy and warm on your hip, thumb grazing slowly over the fabric of your jumper. Your hand came up instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist where he cupped your cheek. The tension between you was suffocation.

“You scared me,” he said, voice low. “Thought he–shit, I don’t know what I thought. Just don’t ever do that again.”

“It wasn’t like I meant to,” you breathed. He let out a humourless laugh, his forehead almost brushing yours. His hand on your waist tightened slightly.

“You’re too good for this place,” his eyes dragged over your features. “Too soft. Too…good.”

“I belong where you are,” you said without any rational thought.

He froze. You felt his breath catch, his gaze dropping to your lips. His thumb moved again along your jaw, slow and aching.

“Don’t say things like that,” he rasped. “Not when you don’t know what they mean.”

“I do.” You tightened your grip on his wrist. “I know exactly what they mean.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. His head dipped, lips just inches from yours. So close you could feel the heat of him, your breath hitched, needing this.

Then, the station door creaked open. Footsteps. Voices calling.

He pulled back sharply, like the moment had never happened. The space between you is filled with cold air.

“Callahan’s gonna drive you home,” he finally said, stepping away. “You rest. Take tomorrow off.”

You nodded, your heart still hammering. He turned, walking away with fists clenched and shoulders rigid. But just before disappearing around the corner, he stopped. And looked back. His eyes held yours. Then he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were back at work the next morning, despite Hopper’s orders. Your lip was healing, and the faint discolouration from the bruise along your cheekbone had already begun to fade beneath a dusting of concealer.

You’d smiled when you passed his office, pretending not to see the way his brown furrowed or the way his eyes dropped immediately to your jaw.

“You’re gonna give him an ulcer,” Powell said around a mouthful of muffin.

You blink at him in confusion. “Who?”

Powell gave you a look. “Don’t play innocent. We all saw the way Hopper nearly murdered that guy yesterday. And now here you are with homemade blueberry scones and those little peppermint cream things he likes.”

Callahan leaned over the breakroom table. “He’s like twice your age, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not that old.”

Powell smirked. “You keep bringing in his favourite candy and talking to him like he doesn’t make your cheeks glow like a goddamn christmas tree, you’re gonna get the whole department caught in a sexual harassment seminar.”

You flushed, turning away to rearrange the snack tray. “It’s nothing. He's my boss. We just talk sometimes.”

Callahan gave a low whistle. “Talk. Right. That's what you call it when you two vanish behind the trees for twenty minutes yesterday?”

Your hands stilled on the napkins. “I was upset,” you say offhandedly.

“He was upset,” Powell echoed, but gently now. “Just be careful, alright? We like having you around. You’re good for him. Maybe too good.”

You didn’t reply. I just offered a small, polite smile and returned to my desk. Hopper didn’t emerge from his office until nearly noon, eyes flicking to the new flower arrangement on your desk and the scones on the tray. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

You stayed late, again. Of course you did. And this time, it came back to bite you.

By the time you finally gathered your things and stepped outside, the lot was empty, and dusk had settled. You turned the key in the ignition of your car. 

Nothing.

You tried again—nothing but a weak sputter. The battery was dead.

You sighed, resting your forehead on the steering wheel. You didn’t want to call anyone. You didn’t want to explain why you were still there after hours. So you grabbed your coat and bag and started walking.

It wasn’t far. Just a mile and a half. Maybe two. But the wind had picked up, and you hadn’t dressed for the cold. You’d worn a sundress, one of your favourites, a soft yellow one with buttons down the front and a hem that swished around your knees. Pretty and light. Completely impractical now that the sun had dipped.

Your arms were already covered in goosebumps when you heard the familiar rumble of an engine behind you.

A beat-up Bronco pulled alongside. Hopper.

His window rolled down. “What the hell are you doing?”

You glanced at him, sheepishly raising a shoulder. “Walking home.”

“In that dress? In the dark?”

“My car wouldn’t start. It’s fine. I’m almost halfway.”

He swore under his breath and slammed the car into park. “Get in,” you hesitated. “Don’t argue, " he said, already pushing open the passenger door.

You climbed in, shivering. The heat blasted your face immediately, and the door thunked shut behind you. He didn’t speak at first. Just pulled back onto the road, jaw tight, eyes forward. You rubbed your hands together, trying to warm them.

Without a word, Hopper shrugged off his flannel shirt and handed it to you. “Put this on before you freeze to death.”

You slipped it on, grateful. It was huge, swallowing you whole. Warm and worn and smelling like him. The sleeves fell past your fingers. You hugged it close.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He grunted. You glanced down at your thighs, the dress having ridden up when you slid into the seat. It now rested dangerously high, just above the mid-thigh, where your bare skin brushed against the cold leather. 

You saw his gaze shift. He didn’t speak, but his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. His eyes flicked from the road to your legs and back again. His jaw flexed. You pressed your legs together, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

“Sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Hi voice came out gravelly, “You don't make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” You looked at him. He didn’t look back. “You make me…” he trailed off. Shook his head. “It’s not important.”

You turned more toward him, your knees angled in his direction. The trust was old and narrow. The space between you felt like nothing.

“Tell me,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked to you for just a second. Then they dropped to your bare legs, your hands folded in his flannel. “You’re too young,” he said finally. “Too sweet. Too good. I'm not the man you should be riding home with.”

“Then why do you always make sure I get there safe?

That did it. His jaw clenched. He pulled off to the side of the road and threw the truck in park. You both sat there for a long moment, listening to the engine tick.

“Because I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you,” he admitted. “Because you make me feel things I shouldn’t feel.”

Your heart thudded. “I’m not that innocent,” you whispered.

His eyes finally met yours. “Yes. You are.”

The air in the cab turned thick. Hot. You watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. Then, slowly, he reached across the seat and tucked the flannel tighter around your body. His hand lingered on your arm. Just for a second. Just long enough to burn.

And then he pulled away. “Let’s get you home,” he finally said, breaking the silence. But the look he gave you before turning back to the road wasn’t one of indifference. It was a promise.

The next morning, you arrived at the station with Hoppe’s flannel still folded neatly over your arm. You’d washed it the second you got home, even spritzed it lightly with cedar spray to mask your laundry detergent, but part of you wanted to keep it, selfishly, like it belonged to you now.

As they entered, Powell gave you a knowing glance. “You always wear that dress on the days he’s in early,” he teased. “What happened, couldn’t find one shorter?”

“It’s not short,” you muttered, cheeks heating.

“Sure it’s not,” Callahan added with a wink. “Still cold out, sunshine. Maybe he oughta just buy you a jacket. Better yet, move you in.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach did that traitorous flutter all over again. Hopper hadn’t come in yet, but you could already feel the weight of him in the air, he way he occupied space even when he wasn’t present. It was maddening.

You set his flannel on the edge of his desk and smoothed it flat. A note accompanied it in your tidy handwriting: “Thanks for the rescue. And the warmth.”

He didn’t mention it when he arrived, just nodded once and carried it into his office without a word. But he lingered at your desk just a second longer than necessary. You swore you felt his fingers graze yours when he took the reports from your hand.

The day passed in a haze of tension and glances. Every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence like a shadow, tall and impossible to ignore. When you brought him his afternoon coffee, your fingers brushed again. You both paused, but neither said a word.

Late that evening, the station emptied slowly. Powell waved goodnight. Callahan teased you on his way out, but you were already lost in your paperwork. You hadn’t even realised Hopper was still inside until you heard his door creak open again.

He stood there, arms crossed, eyes soft.

“You working late again?”

“Guess so,” you smiled. “Didn't want to leave before you.”

He exhaled slowly, stepping closer. The room felt warmer when he was near. “You should stop doing that,” he said slowly.

“What?”

“Waiting on me.”

You tilted your head, eyes searching his. “Why?”

“Because I might start expecting it.”

Silence stretched between you. His eyes dropped to your lips. Then lower. The hem of your dress, yet again, had ridden up whilst you sat.

His jaw flexed. “You're freezing again.”

Before you could reply, he was shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. His fingers lingered there, heavy and warm, pressing into your arms. Your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Why do you keep doing that?” you asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“Taking care of me.”

His voice was low. “Because no one else does.”

You stood slowly, his jacket falling around you like armour. “That's not true. Everyone here looks out for me.”

“Not the way I do,” he said, closer now. “Not like this.”

You were trembling, but not from the cold. From the heat in his eyes. From everything unsaid.

“Jim,” you whispered.

His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your cheek, the faintest stroke. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. He stepped closer. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he said again, voice cracking.

Your lips parted.

The office door slammed open. Callahan’s voice called out, too loud and jarring. You jumped back. Hopper swore under his breath, stepping away like he’d been caught red-handed.

Callahan poked his head in. “Oh. You’re both still here. Forgot my damn wallet.”

You busied yourself with your files, pretending your skin wasn’t burning. Hopper cleared his throat, face like stone. “See you tomorrow,” Callahan added, then slipped out.

Neither of you moved. After a long beat, Hopper finally exhaled.

“You should go home,” he said. “Before we do something we can’t take back.”

You didn’t argue. But as you left, his jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, you knew it was already too late. The line had been crossed. It was only a matter of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain came fast and had, sliding down in waves as you turned your car onto your street. Windshield wipers struggled against the downpour, and every crack of thunder made you flinch. By the time you pulled into your driveway and stepped out, the wind had already blown your umbrella inside out.

You were soaked within seconds.

Your dress clung to your skin, a sheet of heavy fabric. Your shoes squelched. Cold raindrops trickled down your spine as you fumbled with your keys and rushed inside.

The house was quiet, still. But the silence didn’t last long. With a loud crack, everything went black—power out.

You stood there in the dark, shivering, water dripping from your hair. The air in your home had already turned frigid without the heater.

You stripped out of your wet shoes and peeled off your soaked dress, shivering harder in your thin slip. Every room felt colder than the last. You pulled one of Hopper’s flannels from the laundry basket; you hadn’t returned it this time. You just couldn’t bring yourself to. It felt like safety. Like him.

After lighting all the candles that you owned, you were still rubbing your arms trying to warm up, when the knock came.

You froze.

Another knock. Harder this time. More urgent.

You padded barefoot to the door and opened it to find Hopper on your porch, drenched to the bone. 

“Jesus,” he grunted, looking you over. “You okay? I tried calling. Lines are down.”

You stared at him. “Y-You’ve driven through this?”

“You didn’t answer. I wanted to check on you.”

Your heart fluttered. He stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

“It’s freezing in here, power out?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself. His eyes trailed down your body, bare legs, soaked through slip, his flannel barely buttoned.

His throat worked visibly. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t have time to change,” you whispered.

He stepped closer, large hands cupping your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed over the fabric of the flannel, the only barrier between your skin and his palms.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold,” you said, though your voice trembled for other reasons, too.”

His eyes dropped to your lips. Then lower. The shape of your nipples was visible through the thin, soaked fabric. His hands flexed.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he suddenly doubted himself. “You’re half my age. Im your damn boss.”

Your heart clenched.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all.”

You stepped forward, your voice soft and innocent. “But you always take care of me.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, eyes still averted. “And I shouldn’t. It's not right. You deserve someone your age. Someone who doesn't want to drag you into something you’ll regret.”

You were close enough to touch him now. Slowly, gently, you reach out and place your hand on his chest, feeling the soaked fabric of his shirt, the solid heat of it underneath.

“I don’t regret this,” you whispered. “Not any of it.”

He looked down at you then, and you bit your lip, eyes wide and full of want. That was all it took.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you against him, kissing you like he needed it to breathe.

His lips were rough and desperate against yours, the kiss tasting of tain and restraint finally shattered. His hands slid under the flannel, dragging it down your arms as his mouth devoured yours, his facial hair rough against your soft cheeks. 

“You’re so delicate,” he groaned against your skin. “So fucking sweet.” Next, he removed your shift until you’re completely bare before him.

You whimpered, clinging to his soaked shirt, his body massive and warm against yours. He swept you up without warning, carrying you through the dark hallways toward your bedroom.

He laid you back on your bed gently, like he couldn’t bear to be rough with you just yet.

He kissed you as if he were starving.

You were trembling beneath him, breathless, caught between anticipation and need as his massive frame hovered above you. His hands, big and rough, traced the length of your thighs, parting them gently.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he praised, voice thick with emotion. “Too good for me.”

Your fingers clutched his biceps. “I want you, Jim. I want this.”

He groaned like the words pained him, like he was trying to keep himself in check. “I should stop. Shouldn’t be touching you like this.”

You reached up, brushing your lips against his jaw, your voice sweet, almost pleading. “Then don’t stop.”

That broke him. He claimed your mouth again, tongue sliding against yours in a deep, consuming kiss. One hand trailed down your stomach and between your thighs, fingers teasing. 

“You’re so wet,” he rasped. “Fuck, sweetheart. I gotta stretch you first.”

You gasped as one thick finger slid into you slowly, the stretch already burning slightly. He moved carefully, watching your face, kissing your cheeks, your temple, your jaw until a second finger was able to slip beside the first.

“That okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, clutching at him as your hips rolled in time with his movements. “Feels so good.”

“Good girl,” he praised, curling his fingers until your back arched. “You take me so well.”

Your moans turned breathless, needy. When he added a third finger, your thighs trembled around his hand.

“God, you’re so tight,” he growled, biting your lower lip, voice rough with restraint. “You sure you can take me, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, I want to. I want all of you.”

Jim didn’t need telling twice as he carefully eased his fingers out of you so that he could remove his clothes. You watched his every movement, pussy clenching with need at seeing his body slowly being revealed to you.

“You’re so fucking handsome, Chief,” you say coyly, fingers gripping into the sheets below.

With his clothes finally removed, he carefully lowered his body over yours, cradling your head as he kissed you soundly, his hips slotting against yours until you felt the heavy pulse of his cock against your thigh.

He lined himself up, kissing you once, hard and full of need, then pushed inside with a slow, careful thrust that stole your breath. 

Your nails scraped down his back as your legs circled his hip, crying out in desperation. “So big,” you gasped. “Oh my god.”

He grunted, trembling with the effort not to slam into you. “You’re gripping me so fucking right, sweetheart. Jesus.”

He rocked his hips slowly at first, letting you adjust. Every inch of him stretched you open, filled you so deeply it stole your breath with each thrust.

“You okay?” he asked against your ear.

“Y-Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

Once he knew you could take it, the pace changed. He thrust deep and hard, mouth on your neck, your chest, lavishing your breasts with licks, sucking on your nipple until your back arched.

“These tits,” he panted, sucking a nipple between his lips. “So perfect. I could stay here forever.”

You mewled beneath him, body jolting with every thrust. You were soaking, trembling, your noises high-pitched and utterly pathetic.

“I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, biting gently at your collarbone. “So fucking long.”

You came hard, a whimpering, gasping mess under him, and he never let up. He fucked you through t, murmuring praise as you sobbed against his shoulder.

“One more,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart.”

He flipped you over, pulling you into his lap, his cock still deep inside. His big hands gripping your hips and guiding your movements, helping you rock against him.

You were trembling, head thrown back, gasping his name.

“Too much,” you whimpered.

“You can do it,” he rasped, kissing your throat. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You broke with a scream, squirting over his thighs, your body convulsing with overstimulation.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled, eyes dark with awe. “You’re perfect.”

He pulled out at the last second,s troking himself fast an came with a loud groan across your chest, hot ropes streaking your tits as you panted beneath him.

You lay again him, trembling and dazed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling quickly.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, you were finally his.

[simjakesgirl]

drive in (18+)

synopsis: you and jake haven't seen each other for a while and decide to go see a drive in movie... warnings: afab reader, smut, dom!jake, brattamer!jake (sortaa??), sub!reader, degrading author's note: okay i haven't forgot abt my series but i am multi fandom and while digging through my drafts i found this old jake smut and it's kinda good lol..

you and jake went out to see a drive in movie, unsure of the last time you guys might’ve went on a date. you can guess the outcome of that, you were dying to just touch each other. jake, being a gentleman, tried his best not to go insane when you left the house in the tiniest skirt he'd ever seen. of course he also couldn’t tell you not to wear it because it was him that bought it for you. you knew exactly what you were doing though. it barely covered enough for his liking and you knew that it would drive him crazy. with so much comeback preparations, the only thing you got was phone calls when he was too fucked to even think straight and he needed to hear your voice.

it became obvious that you guys needed more as you both could barely pay attention to the movie. you noticed how jake would look over once in a while, not at your face of course and then quickly turn back to the movie with no focus on it whatsoever. his mind raced with things he wanted to do to you instead, but his restraint was strong. you couldn't help but look over at him too, taking in the way his jaw was tightly clenched and his hands fidgeted with each other. he looked too good and knowing that he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him was enough to tip you over the edge.

you then got the best idea possibly ever. you quickly checked your surroundings as jake’s eyes stayed glued to the movie. everyone seemed preoccupied, just enough for you to get away with your plan. jake drove a pretty old car, not because it was all he could afford or anything, but because he liked the style of it. the downside was the air system was pretty busted. it would only really work when it felt like working and jake constantly worried about overheating the car especially in summer, so he'd try and run the ac when it did work. you realized since you guys left that jake forgot your blanket that you'd use when he ran the ac since you preferred warmer temps. the plan was destined to work.

you began to fake shiver in your seat, rubbing against your arms and chattering your teeth just enough to make it look real. jake quickly took notice, shutting off the ac and turning to check the backseat.

“fuck,” he breathed out. you almost stop breathing at the sound.

he turned back to you, examining the way you shivered and looked up to him innocently.

“i forgot the blanket, i'm sorry,” he apologized sweetly, biting his lip while trying to think of a way to help you.

“it’s okay, jakey,” you pouted, trying to seem as innocent as possible even though your plan was far from it.

“here.” he removed his hands from his lap, gesturing you over with his fingers. “sit on my lap.”

you hid your smile the best that you could, climbing over the center console and sitting between his legs so you were facing the movie. he innocently kissed the top of your head before pulling you gently into his chest for comfort. you were inches away from what you needed, except you were unsure how to get the point across. he brought his hands to your legs, rubbing them to warm you up, but stopping inches away from where you needed him the most. you shifted around, purposefully rubbing against his dick a little bit to give him a hint. his breath hitched, but he didn’t do anything further, making you pout. you tried again, making it more obvious.

“here,” he lifted you up onto his thigh, putting his hand loosely around your waist so you couldn’t fall. “is that better?”

“..mhm” you hummed, lightly grinding yourself against him, fighting for release.

at this point jake knew what you were up to, but he didn’t want you to think it would be so easy. he’d let you continue and then stop you once you were close by moving his leg. tears began to bore at your eyes as your multiple attempt failed. you didn’t know why he couldn’t notice you needed him.

“why're you pouting like that, sweetheart?” he teased, turning back to the screen.

“jakey please.” you breathed out, your tears falling from your eyes at that point.

“what’s wrong, hm?” he started, his voice laced with fake comfort. “you wanna cum?”

you nodded quickly, looking at him with glossy eyes as he looked down on you with dark ones.

“tell me what you want.” he demanded, finding himself getting hard at your quivering lip and teary eyes.

he turned you around effortlessly, your back now facing the movie. you looked down, shy all of a sudden and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“i..i want you to fuck me jake…please.” you pleaded, just above a whisper.

“yeah?” you could hear the smirk in his voice. “that’s why you wore this little skirt to tease me and rubbed yourself against my dick like a whore? hm?”

you nodded, your face still buried in embarrassment.

“if you want it, you’re gonna speak to me like a big girl,” he said, bringing his hands to your arms and pushing you away from his neck.

you diverted your gaze, playing with the bottom of his shirt innocently, too shy to look at him. his hand quickly left your arm, holding your chin and pushing it up so you had to look at him.

“tell me then,” jake started again as if he was disciplining you.

his eyes locked with yours, making you shiver under his touch.

“i…i wanted to tease you,” you admitted, your cheeks getting hot under his gaze. “m’ sorry, please forgive me.”

your eyes welled up with tears and the pressure from trying to hold them back had you sucking in your breath.

“baby, i know you’re sorry,” he fake consoled you, rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip. “but you know how hard you made things for me?”

“yes,” you choked out, tears soaking your face from how bad you felt.

he stuck his thumb into your mouth, rubbing against the soft padding of your tongue.

“then tell me you’ll be good girl,” he demanded, his eyes flitting back up to yours.

he removed his thumb from your mouth, still holding your chin.

“i’m a g-good girl,” you repeated, just above a whisper.

“you can do better, do it again,” he demanded.

“i-i’m a g-good girl.” you repeated, louder but strained from your crying.

“stop crying, do it again.”

you whimpered, biting down on your bottom lip to try and calm down, but the frustration only made you want to cry more.

“please, jake, i’m a good girl.” you repeated once again, gripping the bottom of his shirt to put your frustration somewhere.

he reached down, unhooking your hands from his shirt to unzip his jeans. he pushed through his boxers to free his cock and you almost drooled at the sight, especially the way he ran his hand over it to jerk himself just a bit.

“you think you’re a good enough girl for it?” he questioned, his voice husky and strained.

you nodded quickly, looking up at him for a split second to meet his dark stare.

"you want it?” he asked.

you nodded again, trying to grab it, but jake grabbed your wrist tightly.

“nuh-uh, you want it, then you gotta beg me for it.”

you whined again, feeling yourself wanting to cry. your core was aching painfully, just wanting to be touched, but you couldn’t do anything about it. you pouted, trying to lightly grind yourself just barely against jake’s leg to ease the pain and clear your mind, but his hands came to your waist, holding you with such a grip, you couldn’t move.

“you really are a whore,” jake degraded, “can’t even spend two seconds without touching yourself. you see how pathetic that is?”

“jakey, please, i can’t think straight. i want it so bad, it hurts, please give it to me. please, daddy.” you babbled, not even registering half of the things you were saying.

“it hurts, baby? is that right?”

you nodded, taking shallow breaths to control your emotion. his cock visibly jumped, not that you noticed at all. you weren’t noticing much of anything at that moment. he knew it was past enough teasing for you, but now also for him.

“fuck,” he breathed out. “lay back for me.”

you laid back against the wheel as jake pulled your legs closer to him so he could see under the skirt. right away there was a dark wet patch against your underwear and his jeans. he pulled them off to the side, you now on display for him. he ran his fingers up your folds, noticing how sensitive you were from the slightest touch. you couldn’t help but moan when he touched you since you’d been waiting so long. he stuck two of his fingers in, watching your face as he slowly fucked them in and out. you wanted him to go faster, but you knew better than to provoke him at that moment. at least he was giving you something. he waited until you climaxed to even think about himself, his restraint wavering towards the end as he guided you through your high.

he spit on his dick, jerking with it before lining himself up. you looked at him with lidded eyes, almost too drunk on feelings to even keep them open.

“fuck,” he breathed out while he pushed himself in.

you moaned lightly, trying to keep quiet before anyone got suspicious, but jake didn’t seem to care. the way he had you, if anyone looked over they'd know exactly what was happening. slowly you forgot to care too, the way jake felt was just too good after so long without him in you.

“kiss me,” you strained out to him.

he pulled you towards him, kissing you and swallowing your sounds as they came. you tried your best to slowly ride him so the car didn't shake so much, but eventually jake got tired of it and took things into his own hands.

“feel good?” he asked through heavy breaths.

“yes, it feels so so good jakey.” you whined, feeling close already.

he took notice, bringing his thumb to your clit to bring you to your high. you tried to hold back, not wanting the moment to end just yet, but the sensation was too much.

"stop fighting it. be good and cum for me, sweetheart."

and that was all it took. before you knew it you were cumming all over his cock and he was pulling you off.

“wait, what about you?” you asked as he was still visibly hard.

“you know i can’t help but feel bad for you, baby, but it doesn’t mean that you can get away with anything. we still have to go home,” he explained, covering you up once again before himself “i didn’t even punish you yet.”

he gestured for you to sit back in the passenger seat and next thing you knew, he was pulling out of the lot...

[keraiiszn]

ᴏᴜʀꜱ, ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ

𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄!𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

ᴘᴛ. 2

ʙᴀʙʏ ᴋɪᴄᴋꜱ, ꜱᴏᴄᴋ ᴅʀᴀᴡᴇʀ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ, ʟᴀᴛᴇ-ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ʀᴜɴꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ — ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇʟɪᴊᴀʜ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʜɪᴄᴄᴜᴘ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ ᴡᴇ’ᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇᴅ.

If someone had told me six months ago that I'd be watching my deadly, composed fiancé reorganise the baby's sock drawer for the fourth time this week while muttering about "proper size categorisation," I would have laughed until I cried. Now? I'm just trying not to pee myself laughing, which is a legitimate concern at thirty-nine weeks pregnant.

"Elijah" I call from our bed, where I'm propped up like a beached whale surrounded by pregnancy pillows. "The baby is not going to care if the newborn socks are arranged by colour or by cuteness factor."

He pauses, a tiny yellow sock in each hand, and turns to look at me with the most serious expression I've ever seen him wear. "But what if they have a preference? What if they're a colour-coordinated baby?"

I snort, which immediately turns into a hiccup, which somehow triggers the baby to start what feels like a full kickboxing routine against my ribs. "Oh, now you're awake," I mutter, rubbing the spot where a tiny foot is trying to escape through my skin.

Elijah drops the socks immediately and rushes over, his hands hovering uncertainly over my belly. The man who can disarm opponents without breaking a sweat looks panicked when our baby decides to practice their karate moves.

"Are you okay? Is it time? Should I get the hospital bag? I knew I should have packed a backup bag for the backup bag—"

"Breathe, babe," I interrupt, catching his hands and placing them where the baby is currently attempting to break free. "They're just saying hi to daddy. Watch."

As if on cue, the baby settles at Elijah's touch, and he gets that look—the one that still makes my heart do ridiculous, fluttery things despite the fact that I currently resemble a penguin who swallowed a basketball.

"Every time," he murmurs, wonder clear in his voice. "He always calm down for you."

"It's because you have magic hands," I tease, waggling my eyebrows. "Among other talents."

He flushes slightly, which is adorable on a man who radiates danger for a living. "Y/N..."

"What? I'm pregnant, not dead. And these hormones are no joke—I'm basically a walking ball of feelings and inappropriate thoughts."

Before he can respond, my stomach lets out a growl that could probably be heard in the next county. Elijah's eyebrows shoot up.

"Hungry again? You just ate an hour ago."

"Yeah, but that was dinner. This is the second dinner. Different." I pause, considering. "I think I want pickles. And ice cream. But not together—that's gross. Although..." I tilt my head, genuinely contemplating it. "Maybe together. Sweet and salty, right?"

Elijah stares at me for a long moment. "It's eleven-thirty at night."

"Your point?"

"The store is closed."

I give him my best innocent look, the one that usually gets me exactly what I want. "But you love meeeee."

He's already reaching for his keys. "I'll find an all-night place."

"You're the best baby daddy ever," I call after him as he heads for the door. "Get the good pickles! The garlicky ones!"

"I don't even know what the bad pickles are," he mutters, but I catch the smile he's trying to hide.

Twenty minutes later, he returns with not just pickles and ice cream, but also prenatal vitamins (because, of course, he checked if I'd taken today's), those weird crackers I've been craving, and a bag of mini doughnuts.

"You bought out the store," I observe, accepting the jar of pickles like it's a precious gift.

"I wanted to make sure I got the right ones." He settles beside me on the bed, watching with fascination and mild horror as I alternate between pickles and vanilla ice cream. "How is that good?"

"Don't knock it till you try it." I offer him a spoonful, and his face goes through several interesting expressions.

"That's... not terrible?"

"See? Our baby has excellent taste already." I pat my belly proudly. "Speaking of which, we need to finalise names. We can't keep calling them 'the baby' forever."

Elijah groans. "Not the name discussion again."

"Yes, the name discussion again! What if they come early? What if I go into labour tomorrow and we're standing there like, 'Hello, Baby McBaby Face'?"

"I still like the names we talked about," he says carefully, which is code for 'I'm trying not to restart the Great Name War of last Tuesday.'

"Okay, but hear me out—what about something unexpected? Like... Storm?"

"Storm?"

"It's dramatic! Powerful! And it goes with your whole mysterious vibe."

Elijah looks like he's genuinely considering it, which is both sweet and terrifying. "What if it's a girl?"

"Storm works for a girl, too! Very fierce warrior princess."

"You want to name our potential daughter after weather phenomena."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." I take another bite of the pickle-ice cream combo. "Weather is powerful. Unpredictable. Beautiful."

"Like you," he says quietly, and there he goes again, being all romantic when I'm eating the weirdest food combination known to mankind.

"Smooth talker," I mumble around my spoon, but I'm grinning. "Fine, what about something unique? Alheri? Journee? Kairo? Something our kid won't have to spell for people their entire life?"

"I like Alheri," Elijah admits. "Strong queens were named uniquely, you know."

"And for a boy? James is good. Classic. Respectable.”

I wrinkle my nose. "But also kind of... boring?"

The look he gives me is long-suffering. "You're going to suggest something like Phoenix or Raven, right?"

"Phoenix is cool—"

"No."

"What about—"

"No mythical creatures, no weather patterns, no gemstones, and nothing that sounds like a stripper name."

I gasp in mock offence. "I would never suggest a stripper name for our baby!"

"You suggested Candy last week."

"That was a joke!" I pause. "Mostly."

Elijah drops his head into his hands. "We're never going to agree on this."

"Sure, we will. When I'm in labour and screaming at you about how this is all your fault, you'll agree to whatever name I want just to make me stop yelling."

He looks genuinely alarmed. "You're going to yell at me?"

"Oh, honey," I reach over to pat his cheek sympathetically. "I'm going to say things that will make you question every life choice that led to that moment. It's normal. All the pregnancy books say so."

"Maybe I shouldn't be in the delivery room," he mutters.

"Try to leave and I'll hunt you down myself," I say sweetly. "After I push a human being out of my body, because that's apparently what we're doing now."

The reality of it hits us both at the same time—the fact that in just a few days, there will be an actual tiny person who depends on us for everything. The mood shifts slightly, becoming less playful and more... holy crap, we're about to be parents.

"What if we're terrible at this?" I ask quietly, suddenly feeling very young and very unprepared.

Elijah sets aside the pickle jar and pulls me closer, carefully arranging himself around my belly. "Then we'll be terrible at it together. And we'll figure it out as we go."

"What if the baby doesn't like us?"

"Babies don't have a choice. We're stuck with each other." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "Besides, look how much practice we've already had taking care of each other."

I think about all the times he's held my hair back during morning sickness, how he learned to make my favorite tea exactly right, the way he talks to my belly every morning like the baby can already understand him. And how he lets me reorganize his perfectly organized drawers just because the nesting urge is real and I needed to organize something.

"We're going to be okay," I say, more to convince myself than him.

"We're going to be better than okay," he corrects. "We're going to be disgustingly happy and sleep-deprived and covered in baby spit-up, and it's going to be perfect."

"Even when I'm crying over diaper commercials?"

"Especially then."

"And when you're reading parenting books at three in the morning because you're convinced we're doing everything wrong?"

He has the grace to look embarrassed. "You noticed that?"

"Babe, you colour-coded a feeding schedule. For a baby who isn't even born yet."

"Organisation is important—"

I silence him with a kiss, tasting vanilla ice cream and the promise of chaos and joy and sleepless nights ahead. When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his.

"I love you," I whisper. "Even if you do think our baby needs a sock filing system."

"I love you, too," he replies. "Even if you want to name our child after natural disasters."

"Storm is growing on you, admit it."

"Not."

But he's smiling when he says it, and as I settle back against his chest with my ridiculous snack and his hand protective over our baby, I think maybe we've got this whole parenting thing figured out after all. We'll make it up as we go along, argue about everything from feeding schedules to bedtime stories, and love this little person so fiercely it'll probably terrify us both.

And if our biggest problem is what to name them, well, we've got at least eighteen years to come up with nicknames anyway.

"Fine," I concede, closing my eyes as exhaustion finally starts to win. "Alheri or Kairo?"

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. Alheri or Kairo”

The groan he lets out vibrates through his chest, and I fall asleep smiling, dreaming of tiny socks and big adventures and the beautiful, chaotic life we're about to begin.

[multiversefanfics]

Need You To Sleep

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Warning: nothing but fluff Summary: Dean needs to hold your wrist while he sleeps to feel comfortable, your heartbeat relaxes him. Word Count: 730 A/N: Got this idea from tiktok

Dean Winchester.

The big bad hunter, the man who wouldn't think twice about killing something that posed a threat to you or hurt you, the man who sleeps with a gun under his pillow, now sleeps with your arm under his pillow. You never thought in a million years that Dean would need you to sleep, the two of you hated each other when you met, but one drunk night, he realizes he can't live without you.

The first time you and Dean slept in the same bed together, he kept his distance, he was afraid he would have a nightmare and wake you up, or worse, accidentally hit you. As the two of you slept together more and more, Dean inched closer and closer each night. One night, he was exhausted from a hunt, you were in bed looking at your laptop researching random lore to pass the time until they came back.

Dean closed your laptop, tossing it gently to the end of the bed. He crawled between your legs, laying his head on your lap. You smiled and looked down at him, running your fingers through his hair, his body melted into your lap.

"What's wrong, my love?" You cooed as you ran your fingertips down the back of his head to his neck

He mumbled incoherently against your lap. You asked him to repeat himself, but instead of responding, he simply started snoring. You smiled and continued to rub his back. Dean started to stir a bit, you helped him get onto his pillow. Once he got comfortable, his hand went straight for your wrist. You were confused at first, but you let it go.

You noticed Dean started to do it more and more. It started off as him just wanting to touch you, then it became a need. He needed to feel your heartbeat to fall asleep, he wanted to make sure you were still there with him, that you were real. He never told you that, you just sort of assumed. It became a nightly routine: the two of you would talk about your day, listen to him complain about Sam, and just be all lovey-dovey.

You turned Dean into a softie, he used to think he was all tough when in reality he was yearning to be loved and to let his soft side out for someone he loves. Dean loved the way you could easily calm him down when he was upset or pissed. No one has ever been able to do it as quickly as you do. It scared him at first, but he learned to love it.

Dean was getting ready for bed. He crawled in beside you and immediately grabbed your wrist, holding it against his cheek. You looked over at him and smiled, you weren't going to ask but you just needed to know.

"Babe, can I ask you something?" You watched as he opened one eye to look at you. "Why do you do that?"

"Do What?" He raised an eyebrow, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Hold my wrist." You looked down at your wrist, then back at Dean. "I don't want you to stop, I just wanna know why."

Dean sat up, crossing his legs together, he brought your wrist to his lips and placed a small kiss on it. He looked up at you and exhaled peacefully, a small smile forming on his lips.

"I do this because it helps me stay grounded, it helps me sleep. It shows me that this is real, and it's not some dream I'm in." He looked at Sam who was peacefully sleeping in the bed next to you.

"It makes me feel at peace knowing that you're right beside me, I love you, and I never want to be away from you." Dean placed another small kiss to your wrist, smiling against your skin.

"I love you too, baby." You leaned over and placed a soft kiss to his cheek

"Now, can we go to sleep? I am exhausted." He shot you a wink and laid back down, placing your wrist on his cheek once more.

You playfully rolled your eyes and laid down beside him, hearing what Dean said made you feel loved, it made you feel important. He made you feel needed. Dean never truly needed anyone, except for when it came to you.

A/N: This one is a little short, but i still hope you guys like it. if you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

Main Masterlist - Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist: @iwudbutnah @littlesoulshine @miss-marmalade @bettystonewell @cherryresidence @ambiguous-avery

[flowersforbucky]

begging for more joaquin fics pretty please, your writing is AMAZING, im in the middle of finals rn and it would heal me😩

hiiii!! i know this wasn't a formal request, and i plan to write something longer for joaquín soon, but here's a little blurb to hold you over until then! best of luck on your finals ✨️🫶🏻

reader is an adult/in college, not explicit but mdni, joaquín calls reader princesa, 432 words

“Baby,” Joaquín's voice startles you, causing you to lose your place on the page you'd been reading. Well, trying to read. After hours of near nonstop studying, all of the words on the page had started to blur together. You aren’t even sure how many times you’ve attempted to re-read the same paragraph at this point.

“You’ve gotta take a break. Get some fresh air, stretch your legs, eat something…”

He stands behind your desk chair, placing his hands on your shoulders. You look up at him as he massages his strong hands over the tops of your arms. He looks down at you with big, brown puppy dog eyes and you’re immediately flooded with guilt – you know you’ve barely paid any attention to him today, and you hate it as much as he does.

“I can’t,” you groan, closing your eyes at the sensation of his hands on your stiff muscles. “Not yet. I need to get through the rest of this chapter, and then three more after that before I can even think about taking a brea—”

He removes his hands, spinning your chair around to face him. Before you can protest, he drops to his knees in front of you.

“Nonsense,” he objects. He spreads your thighs ever so slightly, wedging himself between your legs. He rests his elbows on your thighs, propping his head in his hands. “You’ve been preparing for these finals for weeks, baby. You know this shit like the back of your hand. Burning yourself out the day before your test isn’t going to do you any good.”

You sigh, knowing that he has a point. You lean forward, running your fingers through his hair before pressing your lips to his forehead.

“I’m just nervous. And ready for this to be over. I miss you.”

He laughs. “Well, I'm right here. Why don’t we go get some food? When we get back home, I’ll help you finish up this chapter.”

Your stomach has been growling for the last hour. You suppose taking a break for some much needed food and much needed time with your boyfriend isn’t a totally bad idea.

He's too cute to say no to.

“Okay. But I get to pick where we eat.”

He breaks into a toothy grin that immediately boosts your mood tenfold. He stands, hoisting you up with him. With his arms now wrapped around you, he pulls you flush against him before slating his lips over yours. There’s a faint hint of his favorite energy drink on his lips; fruity and familiar.

“Anything you want, princesa.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡

i don't do super short drabbles very often but this ask planted a tiny little idea in my head so 🤗

[fuyungus]

Wild Mustang or smut w/ ur fav big boys ?!?!

includes: Frank Castle, Jason Todd, Draken/Ken Ryuguji, Toji Fushiguro & Konig

also english is not my first language so sorry for the spelling mistakes,, notes at the end

Frank Castle

He's hurt, covered from head to toes with someone's blood, he has a couple of cuts on his face followed by bruises. "You should have seen the other guy" he laughs before starting coughing.

You sat next to him and started putting alcohol on his wounds. "Thank you, my sweet girl" he mumbles as he plays with the waistband of your pajama pants. "I wanna take care of you like what you're doing to me" you're face to face and he starts kissing you slowly. "I don't want you to be worse than you already are" you pout, but he doesn't really give a fuck. He quickly made you sit on his lap. "Wanna make you feel good" he groans as you paw at his dick through his pants.

You wouldn't think that helping your man would end up on riding him !!

Jason Todd

You woke up with a soft whisper of his "Baby" he mumbled to your ear "I'm hard" you turn around, sleepy "Why" you ask staring at him "Had a dream" he held you by your waist making your thigh meet his hard cock. Your hands held the back of his neck and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, you broke the kiss to turn around, making him view your back again. He thought you were going to sleep and he groaned softly, thinking he would have to get off by himself, he was getting up to jerk off on the bathroom.

"Where are you going, Jay?" you grabbed his arm. "I'm gonna jerk off" "Come here again" you turn around and start grinding slowly your ass on his dick. "I turned around so you could put it in, Jay" you mumbled, he pulled down your shorts and pushed his fat cock inside of you, he felt kinda bad for using you half sleep to satisfy his needs. "Do that think that I love" you mumbled, he instantly knew what you meant, one of his hand grabbed one of your tits and the other one played with your puffy clit !!

Draken/Ken Ryuguji

When he's really horny he sometimes looses himself while fucking you, he's pounding merciless at your poor cunt, one of his hand grasp at your neck and the other one digs into your hips to give him stability.

"You're mine" he groans as he thrusts his hips hard and deep, making you squirm under his body. Plus he really likes that position, you on your tummy without being able to move much and him on top pounding your pussy from the back like his life depended on it, putting half of his body weight on top of you. His angry red tip constantly hitting your cervix, making you almost cry.

"Ken- so g-good" you moaned, his hand left your neck to slap your ass and hold your hips from both sides. You've already lost how many times you both came, but he didn't stop, he would put his dick inside and continue to give you all of him !!

Toji Fushiguro

"Mr. Fushiguro, you called me?" you ask your boss coming into his office. "Yes, close the door" you do as he orders "With lock" he mumbles almost like he didn't want you to hear him, but you do, and you put on the lock.

You walked slowly closer to his chair. "You're driving me insane, woman" he groans and makes you sit on his lap, he proceeded by uzipping your skirt, he started touching your cunt through your laced panties. "Bounce on my dick like a good girl" he whispered at your ear as he moved your panties to the side !!

König

He would never hurt you, unless you asked for it. He was grasping at your skin, fucking you like he hasn't fucked you in years. "Hit me" you moaned, he froze. "Hm?" you grabbed him by the back of his neck and kissed him. "Hit me" you murmured again, staring at him with those prey eyes.

He gave you a slap on the face and started ramming his dick in and out of your abused hole. "You like when I hit you, don't you? slut" you moan and tighten up around him when he grasps at your poor neck making you cum in a couple of seconds !!

reblogs are appreciated and lmk if y'all want a extended version of one of these :3

[calebsdog]

"You're the one who insisted we play kitty cards after hours. Why am I the one they cursed?" Reaching up, Caleb fiddles with the tan cat ears poking from the top of his head. The twitch away from his touch, moving with a mind of their own.

"It's probably because you kept making me lose. The kitties pitied me. I guess they wanted to give me a helping hand with my revenge."

Harmless, adorable, and just inconvenient enough to annoy him. Cursing Caleb with cat ears and a tail was the universe's perfect gift of karma. You didn't even have to lift a finger.

"Pfft." Snorting, Caleb flicks his tail in your direction. The furry tip lightly grazes the underside of your nose, tickling your soft skin.

"How did I make you lose? Do you know how many times I watched you swipe an extra card out of the deck when it was my turn? Besides, those kitties only felt bad for you because they can't tell when you're crying crocodile tears."

His tail swishes back and forth in your face, tickling you all over. Out of all the ways those kitties could have punished him, this wasn't that bad. Seeing the way your eyes lit up when you first caught sight of his fluffy ears had already made it worth it. Pestering you with his tail whenever you tease him was just a small bonus.

"Hmph." After a few attempts, nearly moving faster than you can keep up with, you manage to catch Caleb's wriggling tail in both of your hands. You study the dark brown lines circling around the nub.

"Still, I wonder why the kitties made you a leopard," you muse aloud, brushing his fur. Leopards were adaptable, powerful, territorial, all traits you associate with Caleb. But there was one thing bugging you.

"Leopards don't mate for life."

"Huh?"

"Leopards don't mate for life," you repeat, clutching his tail tighter now. It's no longer trying to squirm out of your grasp, laying docile in your palms.

"Leopards only mate during heat. Then they stick to theirself until their next heat. They're solitary and never settle down." The longer you go on, the more you pout.

"So why are you a leopard, Caleb?"

"... Really? That's the thing about leopards that you singled out?" Sighing through his nose, takes your cheek between his finger and thumb. He jostles your cheek, jiggling your face affectionately.

"Just because I have a leopard print on my tail doesn't mean I would ever move on from you. I'm the same Caleb as before. Don't make weird assumptions about me like that, okay? I'm not going anywhere."