#im going to get you fired are always fighting words for me

[jazzhaaaands]

Today I had a customer freak out so hard that I had to call the cops so that they can get trespassed next time they try to come to my store 

[colouredbyd]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader

synopsis : a sunshine-soft baker moves to town, all ribbons, sweet talk, and a habit of staring a little too long at the cowboy next door. remus lupin tries to focus on his chores, but it’s hard when she keeps calling him remmy and baking him sweets. neither mean to flirt—but the heat’s been rising like bread in an oven, and something’s bound to give

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, strong sexual themes, dirty talk, sexual tension, suggestive themes, public or semi-public sexual encounters, alot of dirty thoughts, implied exhibitionism, explicit scenes of desire, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, no penetrative sex, getting caught dry humping, spitting, fingering, eating out, panty sniffing?, making out, grinding, kinda riding? porn but with plot.

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: 100% inspired by this, all i can say is i should be ashamed for writing this...(to anyone who knows me: im sorry about the horse scene I COULDNT HELP IT)

part two masterlist

Remus Lupin swears he’s got self-control, the kind that’s been hammered into him by years of quiet mornings and grueling afternoons. 

He wakes with the sun, hands steady and weathered, working the land like clockwork—feeding cattle, fixing fences, cleaning stalls, the rhythm of routine keeping the ache at bay.

Black coffee steams beside him, boots lined neatly by the door, shirts buttoned up and clean, a man shaped by order and slow, simple needs. 

Not much stirs him anymore. Not since the war carved its scars deep into his bones, the kind of ache that settles like rain-soaked dust, dull and constant.

But then, you open your bakery—just two weeks ago—and suddenly, the world shifts beneath his boots.

The last thing Remus Lupin wants to do is lay blame—he’s a grown man, weathered by war and wind, with the calluses to prove it—but in a way, you’re the reason why.

The mere thought of you is enough to make this cowboy go buckwild.

It starts innocent, if only in theory.

He’s out in the field at dawn, meant to be feeding the cattle, fixing the fence, maybe even—God willing—cleaning the horse stalls. But the second your name crosses his mind, he’s gone. Useless.

He stands there with hay in his hands and a slack-jawed expression like he’s been shot in the chest with a buttercream bullet. Doesn’t even notice when the old barn cat winds around his boots or when the horses whinny for their breakfast. He just thinks about you.

And it’s always you.

You, with your little bakery nestled on the corner of Main and Maple, a bright splash of life in the dusty town.

You, wrapped in sundresses kissed by morning light, apron smudged with flour, humming soft songs as you tuck wildflowers into window boxes like secrets meant only for the breeze.

You, waving at every passerby like you’ve belonged here forever—even though you just arrived two weeks ago—and smiling at him like he’s the only thing worth pausing the world for.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’ve shattered him with nothing but kindness and sunlight.

Remus had rules once—wake before dawn, work hard, want less than a man can bear—but you slipped in with your sugar-dusted hands and your laugh like a promise, and now his quiet world is a storm. Because he can’t stop watching you.

Can’t stop craving the curve of your smile, the way flour dusts your cheek like a trace of sin, the softness in your voice when you greet him with that simple, “Morning, cowboy,” like you know exactly how those words strip him bare inside.

And what it does to him—God, it’s sinful, a temptation he’s only just learning how to fight.

You make his hands tremble, his mind stray into wicked places, and his mouth go dry with need. He’s stumbled over his own damn boots more times this week than he has in years, and every misstep is because of you.

The way you lean over that counter, offering him a piece of warm apple pie “on the house,” your scent mingling with the sweetness, setting his skin on fire.

The way you hum, soft and low, like a secret lullaby meant just to tease him. The way your dress sways around your knees, like you’ve never known a single touch that wasn’t hungry, like every inch of you is aching to be claimed.

Today, you slide a wrapped croissant into his palm—blueberry, he guesses, but all he can taste is the ghost of your fingers pressed to his skin, and he nearly drops it, heat pooling low and thick in his gut.

“Thanks,” he manages, voice rough like gravel scraped raw and worn down by too many restless nights and secret pains you can almost taste in the air between you.

You smile at him, warm and bright, like the sun itself had carved that grin just for him, a gentle blaze cutting through the cold edges of his quiet world.

“See you next Sunday?” you ask, voice soft but threaded with a promise that feels like it could burn through stone.

He tips his hat, trying to hide the way his ears bloom a shy, stubborn pink beneath the fabric, but you see it all—the way he’s unraveling just a little, like he’s been waiting for this moment more than he’d ever admit.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, voice low and steady but soaked in something fierce and fragile all at once.

And you know, with every fiber of yourself, he won’t. Even if it kills him.

Because Remus Lupin may be a man of quiet restraint, of slow mornings stretched thin with hesitation and a heart bruised and battered far beyond what any soul should carry—but for you?

For you, he’s already halfway gone, swallowed whole by the gravity of your presence, lost somewhere between the ache and the hope you stir deep inside him.

You don’t see him turn back after he walks away, but he does—just for a heartbeat, a breath stolen in the quiet chaos of his own racing heart.

Remus glances over his shoulder, jaw clenched tight, eyes sharp but soft all at once, catching one last fleeting glimpse of your silhouette framed in the window’s fading light.

You’re already moving, already weaving through the room with that effortless grace, already smiling at the next stranger who crosses your path, slipping away from him like the fragile morning light that dances through the leaves—too quick, too fleeting to hold onto.

He tells himself to stop thinking about the ghost of your fingers brushing his skin, the way your voice hums in his ears even now, a sacred hymn that refuses to fade.

He tells himself to forget it, to shove it deep beneath the weight of reason and restraint, but you linger in his blood like a whispered curse he can’t shake.

Meanwhile, miles away, before the sun even has the courage to rise, you’re waking with the world still wrapped in a lavender yawn.

The air holds that delicate chill of dawn, the kind that promises something new and untouched, and you slip on your short linen sundress, the fabric light as a sigh against your skin. A soft pink ribbon finds its way into your hair, tied just so, fluttering like a secret only you know.

You step out into the cool hush of morning, breath mingling with the mist that clings to the lake behind your cottage, where the world feels paused, sacred, and waiting.

The geese shuffle towards you, their honks soft and shy, and you coo at them with a sweetness that drips like honey from your lips—tossing cracked corn from your palm, murmuring, “You handsome little gentlemen,” and teasing, “Don’t be mean, Harold, everyone gets breakfast.”

In this stillness, this fragile quiet, you hold the whole world in your hands.

You like this moment—the solitude, the gentle promise it carries—because here, just here, you are the only girl in the world.

After the geese are fed and the lake has kissed your ankles like a shy hello, you follow the winding road into town, the sun barely half past seven but already spilling warmth across your skin, filling your chest with a sweetness that feels like it could burst.

“Morning, Miss Lily!” you call, your voice bright and light as you wave to the florist tending dahlias on her porch.

Her eyes crinkle with a smile, and she teases, “Well, don’t you look like a postcard—off to steal some hearts today?”

You laugh, adjusting the basket perched on your hip, “Just flour, I promise.”

She shoots back with a knowing grin, “Flour and trouble, more like.”

You wink and keep moving, bare feet gliding over the cobblestones like a secret only the earth knows — light, quiet, familiar.

The morning sun is already warm on your skin, and your soles are still damp from the pond, where you’d been feeding the geese just minutes earlier, ankles muddy, bread crusts tucked in your apron pocket. You’d kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and never quite bothered putting them back on.

Children dart past, chasing laughter through the square, their shrieks bright and wild.

You crouch without thinking, catching the youngest boy by the elbow before he trips on his own shoelaces. “Whoa, careful there, darling,” you murmur, fingers working fast to tie a double knot as he steadies against your shoulder.

He nods solemnly, wide-eyed, before beaming when you press a lollipop into his palm from your apron’s front pocket. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s too sour,” you tease, tapping his nose.

He scampers off with a sticky grin, and you turn just in time to see a little girl hovering near your skirts, shy fingers twisting in her dress.

You kneel again and offer her a warm smile, pulling from your apron a carefully wrapped chocolate chip cookie — tied with red ribbon, baked fresh last night, soft in the center just the way she likes.

“There you go, Hazel,” you whisper, smoothing her curls from her forehead. “It’s the last one, so guard it with your life.”

She giggles, cheeks pink, and runs to show her mother, cookie clutched in both hands like treasure.

Then it’s onward to the bakery—your pride wrapped in pink walls nestled between the apothecary and the old bookshop, ivy crawling up the windows like whispered promises.

Rose-gold lettering gleams softly above the door, lace curtains framing the scent of vanilla, sugar, and warm peaches that wraps around you like a hug.

The bell chimes as you step inside, the shelves half-full from yesterday’s labor: lemon loaves, rosewater scones, lavender honey buns waiting to be kissed by morning light.

You hum quietly, lighting candles and watering the violets on the windowsill, feeling the quiet pulse of this place you built with your hands and your heart.

And then—just like that, as if summoned straight from the reckless corners of your mind—he’s there.

Remus Lupin.

Striding through the dusty street like a dangerous fantasy you never dared dream. His boots scuffed and weathered from god knows what, the worn denim of his jeans stretched tight over hips that speak of muscle and sin, every damn curve making your blood race and your mind spiral.

His shirt hangs half-open, teasing the sharp angles of his collarbone, the warm, rough skin beneath dusted with dirt and sweat, as if he’s just come from wrestling something wild and primal.

His hat is tipped low, but when his eyes lift and catch yours through the glass, everything inside you snaps taut and wild.

You try to hide it—pretending to wipe the counter, fingers trembling and heat burning your cheeks—but it’s a poor disguise.

“Morning, sweetheart,” his voice drips with honey and something darker, low and smooth, and it hits you right in the gut like a shot of whiskey.

“Good morning, Lupin” you breathe back, syrupy sweet, though your body is humming with a different kind of hunger, the kind that curls in your stomach and drips heat between your thighs.

His ears flush pink, and you swear it makes him ten times hotter, the shy confidence battling with the raw, untamed man beneath.

He shifts the bag of apples in his hands, eyes flickering up to yours like he’s trying to read a secret only you hold.

“Brought you something,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words taste damn good on his tongue. “Apples. From the orchard.”

You tilt your head, smile teasing, “That’s sweet of you, Remus. What, trying to win me over with fruit now?”

He chuckles, a deep, gravelly sound that makes your skin prickle. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to come see you. You know, without looking like a damn fool just standing outside your bakery all day.”

Your breath catches. “Oh, so you’ve been watching, huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair, voice rougher now, like he’s barely holding himself together. “God, I—I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve got me—fuck, you’ve got me all tangled up.”

But all you can think about is the way those hands must grip—rough and sure—how they’d feel pressed against your skin, tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every inch, every shiver, every desperate need.

How close he could get before the ache inside you explodes. The wild scent of earth and sweat and something raw and hungry clings to him like a second skin, and it wraps around you like a promise of sin.

Your smile is all sunshine and soft wickedness. “You keep doing this and I’m going to start thinking you like me.”

He pauses, blinking. “I—I mean”

You giggle and take the bag from his hands, fingers brushing once more.

“I’m just teasing,” you say, even though you're not, not entirely.

He nods, flustered, already backing toward the door like a man escaping a wildfire.

“Have a good day,” he manages.

“You too, handsome.”

You catch the way his shoulders stiffen, how he trips just slightly on the step.

And gods, it’s almost unfair—the effect you have.

But then again, you saw the way Miss Dervish from the tailor’s shop stared at him like she was ready to mount him like a broomstick right there on Main Street.

Remus Lupin really has all the ladies in town ovulating at the mere sight of him.

Truth is: the whole damn town is in love with Remus Lupin.

But only you get to see the way he looks at your mouth when you laugh. Only you get to make him blush like a boy.

And if he keeps showing up in those jeans, with that voice and that jaw and those hands that look like they could ruin and worship all at once—you’re going to forget how to bake entirely.

By midday, the bakery hums with warmth and chatter, full to the brim with townsfolk craving something sweet.

Your apron is dusted in flour and your lips are berry-stained from tasting jam. The sun outside is golden and bold, filtering through the windows like it’s falling in love with everything it touches—especially you.

You hum as you knead dough, hips swaying gently to the old French jazz playing on the radio.

There’s strawberry juice on your wrists and sugar under your nails. A tray of pies is cooling by the window, their scent thick and syrupy, while rows of rose-shaped butter cookies wait to be iced.

But something’s missing.

Chocolate.

And not just any chocolate—your favorite dark cocoa from the little cupboard at the Lupin farm, the one you tucked away weeks ago when Remus helped carry crates after the harvest fair. He’d told you to stop by for it anytime. So you do.

Not because of the chocolate, though. Not really.

You wipe your hands, untie your apron, and slip out the back door into the sun, your ribbon fluttering in the breeze.

The road to his farm is all wildflowers and bees, the kind of walk that makes you hum to yourself and twirl your skirt, completely unaware of what exactly you're walking into.

You spot him before he sees you.

Remus Lupin. On horseback.

And everything in you goes quiet.

He’s riding slow through the lower pasture, one hand on the reins, the other lifting his hat just enough to rake his fingers through his tousled hair before setting it back in place.

His shirt is undone even more now, clinging with sweat to the sharp slope of his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal those tanned, veined forearms that belong in sin. The muscles in his thighs flex under worn denim as he guides the horse in a slow, powerful trot, hips rising and falling with maddening ease.

You freeze, caught like a deer in the fading light.

His every move is a slow burn—the way he eases off that horse, boots landing heavy on the ground, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make your pulse slam against your ribs.

God, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you’re helpless to look away, your mouth suddenly too dry to form the words you want to say.

Your thoughts spiral, filthy and urgent—how those hands might grip your waist, rough and possessive, pulling you flush against him so close you’d feel every breath, every beat of that steady heart beneath calloused skin.

You imagine the low growl in his voice if he ever lost control, thick and desperate, the kind that shreds all your carefully built walls down to nothing.

And then there’s that hat—the stupid, perfect thing perched on his head, begging to be yanked off like a silent challenge.

You want to reach out, fingers trembling, to drag it free and whisper the words you’d never dare speak aloud: fuck me, Remus.

But you don’t. You can’t. You just watch, helpless and aching.

His gaze locks on you, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters, caught on the razor’s edge of something fierce and unspoken.

He steps closer, the scent of leather and sweat wrapping around you like a promise, shirt clinging to the lines of his back like a second skin, each movement designed to make your heart race and your mind spiral into sin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and honeyed, amused like he’s got some wicked secret only you’re about to discover. “Didn’t see you there.”

You force a smile, too sweet, heart already stammering like a busted engine. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came by for the cocoa.”

He nods, eyes drifting to the horse beside him, and then his hand lifts slow and sure, stroking the mare’s neck with a touch so gentle it makes your skin itch in all the wrong places.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, thick and warm, like a promise you’re not sure you want but can’t resist.

“Was out riding my favorite girl Dai.” His palm slides along the mare’s side, fingers curling like he’s tracing a secret, a sacred line.

“Weren’t you such a good girl, huh?”

And damn, the way he says it—“good girl”—it’s filthy, all slick sin wrapped in a whisper.

The way his fingers trail over Dai’s bridle, so soft, like he’s touching something precious, something he wants to own, to protect.

You try not to squirm, but your legs suddenly wobble, knees weak like you’re caught in a heatwave you didn’t see coming, and there’s this fire burning low between your thighs that has absolutely nothing to do with flour or sugar or any damn thing you should be thinking about right now.

His eyes flicker back to you, catching the blush flaming across your cheeks, and that twitch at the corner of his mouth tells you he knows exactly the kind of mess he’s making you into—helpless, hot, aching for a touch that hasn’t even happened yet.

“You alright?” he asks, voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch.

You nod, way too fast, words catching on a tremor you can’t hide. “Fine. Just… warm.”

“Mm,” he says. “Bet you are.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, like a rumble that shakes your bones. “That’s my favorite girl,” he says, patting Dai’s neck again, “and I reckon you’re my favorite baker.”

You have never in your life wished more to be a goddamn horse than right now.

Because the way he says it, the slow slide of his gaze over you—like he’s already imagining running those rough hands down your back, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, whispering all the things he’d do if you let him—makes your insides twist and writhe in delicious agony, caught between wanting and knowing you probably shouldn’t.

But fuck, you want it. You want him. Every filthy, sinful inch of him.

And when he turns toward the farmhouse, his voice is casual, almost teasing.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go get you that cocoa. Unless you forgot what you came for.”

You definitely did.

But you follow him anyway, biting your tongue, wondering if you can survive five more minutes with this man in his boots and half-unbuttoned shirt and sinful drawl calling anything a good girl.

He walks ahead a few paces, and even from behind, he’s maddening—long legs, golden shoulders beneath that half-undone shirt, a slow, easy swagger that feels like temptation incarnate.

You try not to watch him. You try not to think about what his hands would feel like if they weren’t holding reins or flour sacks. You try not to imagine what his voice might sound like pressed right against your ear.

You fail. Miserably.

The air is warmer inside the farmhouse, thick with the scent of pinewood and tobacco, and your eyes need a second to adjust as you step through the door behind him.

But you don’t get far.

Your toe catches on something—maybe the edge of the rug, maybe a boot left by the door—and your balance tilts out from under you in one horrible, slow-motion stumble.

“Oh—!”

But he’s there.

In an instant, large hands catch you by the waist, grounding you before you even fall.

One arm wraps behind your back, steady and sure, and suddenly you’re pressed flush against him, breath caught between your teeth and heart thundering in your ears.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he says, voice gentle, eyes flicking down to check you over. “Would’ve hated to see you hurt yourself.”

You laugh a little too quickly, palms resting on his chest for balance. “I—I’m okay. Just clumsy.”

He doesn’t let go right away.

His thumb brushes your waist without thinking, and it sends a spark right through you.

Your body is burning where he’s touching you. And his eyes—soft brown, full of quiet amusement—study your face like you’re some kind of puzzle he wouldn’t mind spending a few lifetimes figuring out.

Then, slowly, he lets go.

“Chocolate, wasn’t it?” he murmurs, stepping back and guiding you with a light hand on your lower back. “Think I’ve got just the kind you like.”

You nod, heart in your throat. “Y-yeah. The one with the orange peel in it.”

He smiles. “Knew it. Sweet with a little bite.”

You try not to read into that. You really try.

He leads you to a wooden shelf near the back of the kitchen, cluttered with old jars, dried herbs hanging in bunches, tins of tea, and a few blocks of dark chocolate wrapped in paper and tied with string.

He crouches to rummage through the lower shelf, muttering softly under his breath.

Meanwhile, your gaze wanders again. The way his fingers handle everything with such care.

And—damn it—the way the back of his shirt clings to his waist, damp with sweat, tucked just loosely enough into those low-hung jeans.

You’re not sure how long you’re standing there trying not to ogle him when he straightens up and hands you two wrapped bars.

“Right here,” he says, tapping one. “One with orange, one with cinnamon. Just in case.”

You beam, holding both to your chest. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He shrugs, easy. “Wouldn’t want you runnin’ out mid-pie. That’d be a tragedy.”

You turn to leave, already backing toward the door, your heart full and fluttering.

But before you go, you glance back over your shoulder.

“Thanks, Remmy,” you say softly, voice light and sweet, ribbon swaying behind you as you walk away, leaving him standing there with a tent in his pants.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But you’ve gone and made a mess of all that.

He hasn’t been able to sit still since.

The moment you left, the house felt too empty. The kitchen too quiet. Only the faint scent of orange and cinnamon lingered in the air—sweet, stubborn reminders of you—and Remus couldn’t stop staring at the counter where your fingers had just been.

He drags a hand over the back of his neck, pacing slow in his kitchen, heart pounding like he’s fresh out of a goddamn rodeo.

It’s the way you said Remmy again, all soft and sweet like the syllables were something you wanted to wrap in lace.

The way your fingers brushed his when you took the chocolate.

The way you stumbled and he caught you, hands on your waist for one second too long—and how he’s still not sure if that flutter in your chest was nerves or something else.

Something hopeful.

Something dangerous.

He leans against the doorframe, staring out across the sunlit fields, pretending like the quiet out there might calm the storm in here. It doesn’t.

He can still see you standing in the road, squinting up at him on horseback like you were about to fall on your knees.

Can still hear the breath you took when he slid off Dai and murmured good girl to the horse, his hand smoothing over her mane—and how your eyes never left his mouth.

He tells himself he’s imagining it.

He tells himself it’s the heat, the dust, the soft haze of summer playing tricks.

But his hands still ache from where they steadied your fall. His chest still burns from the way you smiled, like he’d given you the whole damn world for the price of chocolate.

And his thoughts—his thoughts are filthy, honey-thick, clinging.

You’re too sweet. Too soft. Too kind for the way he wants you.

He wants to press you up against the counter of that bakery, sugar and flour in your hair.

He wants to take that sundress off slow, like he’s unwrapping something too delicate for a man like him.

He wants to kiss your throat, taste your laugh, ruin your lip gloss.

And worst of all—he wants to hold your hand after.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But for you, he’s starting to lose the only good sense he has left.

Which is why, only a few hours after you left, Remus Lupin found himself walking into town like a man possessed.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a visit. Just being polite.

But his boots hit the pavement harder than they should, dust kicking up behind him as he strode past Mrs. Macmillan’s garden and the old chapel, not sparing a single glance for the women who giggled behind parasols or the way someone’s daughter nearly walked into a fence watching him go by.

He didn’t notice them. Not their perfume, not their waves, not their sun-warmed stares.

His eyes were fixed ahead—on the pink-tinged little building with ivy creeping up the sides and a wooden sign that read The Wildflower Oven. On you.

The bell above the door rang softly when he stepped inside, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

There you were.

Bent slightly over the counter, piping delicate swirls of icing onto golden vanilla muffins, ribbons tied in your hair like you were spun from sugar yourself.

You were humming something soft, something dreamy and old, and when you glanced up—when your eyes landed on him, bright as sunlight through a summer orchard—you smiled.

“Hi, Rem,” you said, warm and easy.

Rem.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

That little nickname, all familiar and fond and sinful in the way it curled off your tongue.

His heart gave a desperate lurch in his chest, and he felt—viscerally—the tight pull of desire low in his stomach. His belt was suddenly too snug.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he managed, stepping toward the counter as you finished your muffin with a final flourish.

“Didn’t expect to see you again today,” you said, licking a bit of frosting off your finger. “What brings you here? Another chocolate craving?”

He watched your tongue flick over the tip of your finger like you didn’t even know what you were doing. Or maybe you did.

Maybe you knew exactly how you looked, sunlight on your skin and icing on your lips, a walking fever dream of every soft thing he’s ever wanted.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice thick.

You laughed, and he knew he was done for.

You moved to grab a towel, but he caught your wrist before you could, gentle but firm, eyes locked to yours.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn’t.”

But you tilted your head, curious. “Shouldn’t what?”

“This,” he said—and then he pulled you in.

His mouth met yours like he’d waited a lifetime. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t polite.

It was needy, hot, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pressed you back into the counter, scattering a few napkins and flour-dusted tins.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he groaned when your hips shifted against his.

The friction nearly undid him.

You were so soft, so warm, and he wanted all of you. Every kiss, every sigh, every inch of skin under that sundress he’d memorized with his eyes.

You whimpered when he kissed down your neck, when his hand slid beneath your apron and gripped your hip hard enough to leave heat in its wake.

“Remus,” you whispered, breathless.

He pulled back for half a second, just to see you—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and shining.

“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” he confessed, his voice rough with restraint he no longer had. “You’ve been driving me wild, honey. You walk around this town looking like that and expect me to act right?”

Your fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Maybe I don’t want you to act right.”

That was all it took.

A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as his mouth slammed back onto yours, hips thrusting forward on pure instinct.

The counter shook beneath the weight of your desperate bodies. The kiss deepened, savage and hungry. You clung to him like you’d shatter without his touch—maybe you would.

Slowly, deliberately, you lifted a leg and wrapped it tight around his waist, lowering yourself onto his rock-hard cock.

A guttural groan spilled from his lips as his hands crushed your waist, pulling you harder against him, grinding you with agonizing slowness.

“Shit, baby, can’t do that to me,” Remus groaned, voice thick and ragged against your mouth.

“I really fucking need you.” His hands tore at your dress, breaking the kiss to rip it off, then devoured your breasts with greedy fingers and mouth. He sucked your nipples hard, tugging like he needed to mark you as his.

You peeled your legs free and steadied yourself on the counter, tossing the dress aside. Remus freed his cock, rock-hard and leaking slick precum onto his jeans. Shameless, he stroked himself slow and steady.

“Keep ‘em on.” His voice was low, rough with need as he didn’t let you slide your panties off. Instead, he wrapped his arms tight around your hips and pulled you down so your back pressed flush against his broad chest.

With an effortless lift, he hoisted you up, spreading your thighs just enough with his free hand, pressing his aching cock right between them.

“Remmy…” you breathed out, tilting your head back to kiss along his sharp jawline, soft and slow.

His cowboy hat sat slightly crooked on his head, the worn brim shadowing his dark eyes—an irresistible invitation. Your fingers reached up, bold and trembling, and slowly you pulled the hat off his head, letting it slip free like a promise.

You lifted it carefully, the faint scent of leather and sun-soaked days lingering in the fabric, and slipped it over your own hair, the brim dipping low over your eyes, hiding your flushed cheeks.

Remus’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with need as he stared at you—his hat on your head like a secret you were daring him to unravel.

You were officially trying to kill him. Remus Lupin—death by pussy. A noble death, really.

His hands clenched your waist tighter, hips pressing harder against yours. “Gods, you in my hat…” His voice was low, rough with want, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You moaned softly, heat pooling deep and thick between your legs, your voice barely more than a whisper, “You’re so big.”

“Shit, y-you’re squeezing,” he murmured, voice ragged as he looked down. Your hips moved gently, rocking back and forth, thighs curling tenderly around his cock that throbbed hard against your thin fabric.

You both gasped sharply the moment his cock brushed against your soaked, sensitive clit.

Remus couldn’t stop touching you, not if he tried. One hand toyed with the frilly hem of your panties, teasing and pulling, while the other wrapped snug around your heaving chest, fingers kneading and claiming.

“Spit on it, baby,” he growled low, heat dripping from every word.

You leaned your head down, eyes locked on the slick glistening wetness smearing your inner thighs, and without hesitation, spit right on the tip of his cock—just like he wanted—earning a deep, guttural moan vibrating straight through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cursed, pressing your thighs tighter together, trapping his twitching cock between them, moving just enough to drive you wild.

When he finally came, the bite he left on your shoulder was painful and possessive, hot and rough as he spilled his release all over the front of your panties.

He dragged the tip of his cock through the slick mess, spreading it, marking you thoroughly.

“What are you doing?” you blinked down at him, breath hitching. Remus knelt on the floor, hands sliding your legs apart and resting them gently on his broad shoulders.

“Cleanin’ you up.” His lips burned against the soft skin of your inner thigh, tongue flat and warm as it licked away every trace of his mess, slick and sticky.

His dark brown eyes, shadowed beneath furrowed brows and heavy lashes glistening with moisture, lifted to meet yours just as he reached your center.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart pounding in the quiet tension.

Remus wrapped his mouth around the stained front of your panties, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate hunger.

His fingers trembled as they slid the fabric aside, revealing slick heat slicked with his cum underneath. He swallowed hard, lips curving into a satisfied grin pressed against your stomach.

“Can I touch your pretty pussy?” His voice was rough, desperate, a shiver running down your spine.

You nodded quickly, breath catching as his cold fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit.

A thick bead of spit fell from his mouth, slick and wet, coating your slick folds before he replaced his fingers with his tongue, warm and insistent.

Your hand dove into his hair, gripping tight as you pulled him closer, needing every inch of him against your burning heat.

His low moan vibrated against your skin, lips and nose grazing your clit, and damn—he could smell you, raw and intoxicating, making him lose himself completely.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he breathed, pulling away just long enough to praise you, hand already palming that aching, swollen cock again.

The pain only made him harder, the desperate urge to touch himself uncontrollable.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he snapped the elastic against your sensitive skin drawing a startled whimper from your throat.

“Rem, I’m gonna come!” you whimpered, that tight knot in your stomach about to unravel.

If his mouth wasn’t still buried between your thighs, you’d have caught the smug smirk spreading across his face.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he hooked a finger into the waistband and pushed your panties to the side, exposing you to the cool air—and to him.

His palm pressed firmly against your lower stomach, moving in slow, possessive circles until you cried out his name, the sound raw and needy.

“Sensitive, yeah?” he murmured, lips trailing soft kisses over your clit, making you jerk and shiver.

You tried squeezing your legs shut, but Remus was relentless—elbow hooking under your thighs to pry them open wide, resting your legs on his shoulders as he dove back into your slick heat.

“Please, Rem, someone could come in!” you gasped, attempting to push him away.

“Just a little more, baby,” he slurred, tongue flicking expertly around your trembling hole.

“Gotta come,” he muttered, sharpening the tip of his tongue and plunging it deep inside you, making you gasp and tremble with pure, desperate need.

He curled his tongue inside you before pulling back and spitting wetly inside, the slick fabric pressed against your pussy.

Your eyes snapped open as his fingers slid in alongside the soaked cloth, stretching you deliciously.

“Fuck, you’re sweeter than any damn pie,” he groaned, voice thick with need as he pushed himself up.

“Gonna cum all over this cunt.”

Hovering over you, your legs wrapped instinctively around his torso, clutching him tight. His cock slapped hard against your clit before he began grinding the swollen tip back and forth, moaning deep and loud.

Breath ragged, he sighed softly as hot spurts of cum dripped slick between your folds, the bunch of fabric trapped inside catching most of the mess.

“Fuck, fuck, such a good girl f’me.”

He let his whole weight collapse onto you, hands bracing on your shoulders to pull you impossibly close.

“So fuckin’ good, baby, best damn pussy in this town.” he muttered, words thick with filthy adoration, peppered with profanity.

Sliding down, he planted soft, worshipful kisses on your collarbone, trailing lower to your chest and stomach.

You grabbed your dress off the counter and fumbled to pull it back on, fingers trembling as you tried to find the sleeves.

“Here—c’mere, baby,” Remus murmured, stepping in to help, his hands steady where yours shook. He took his hat and put it back on his head and then guided the fabric up over your shoulders, smoothing it down gently before reaching for the ribbon that had slipped loose in your hair.

“Hold still, love,” he said, voice soft, almost fond, as he tied it back into place. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, sweet, grounding.

Before you could turn away, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He caged you gently between his chest and the counter, forehead dropping to yours. “You know,” he whispered, breath warm against your lips, “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your smile curved wicked. “Even right now?”

“Especially right now.”

You reached down, curling your fingers through his until his hand was yours again. Slowly, deliberately, you brought it to your mouth—and licked the remaining mess from his fingers, eyes never leaving his.

Remus Lupin was, quite officially, dead and gone for—completely wiped out at the sight of you licking his own cum off his fingers, the sweet angel baker of the town now standing before him as the most gloriously obscene vision he’d ever laid eyes on.

Yeah, Remus was absolutely, undeniably done for.

But then—

CRASH.

The bakery door slammed open with the force of a thunderclap, bell jangling like an alarm.

A deep roar of an engine echoed behind it, followed by the unmistakable snarl of tires on pavement and the lingering scent of leather and smoke.

And standing in the doorway, sunglasses low on his nose, helmet under one arm and a slow smirk tugging at his mouth—

Was Sirius Black.

“Am I interrupting?” he drawled, voice like trouble and sin.

[satellitespinner]

GUILTY CONSCIENCE (prologue)

WELCOME TO THE SHOW. ♡

𓂃⋆.˚ businesswoman!ellie x exoticdancer!reader.ᐟ

𓂃⋆.˚ wordcount : (4.1k)

𓂃⋆.˚ content warnings : LORE PACKED. infidelity, alcohol, exotic dancing, money, money, money, money, ellie and reader dont interact yet, sorry. ellie is married to dina, age gap, (ellie is 29, reader is 22) fighting, angst, future smut, wngineering language?? but i used it badly lol im not an engineer. ellie is loaded, reader backstory: addictions, allusions grooming, allusions to sa (ellie and reader do not indulge in these behaviours) bestfriend callie, abby appears, stripping, obviously. ellie is unhappy, arguing(ellie + dina) , barely proofread, each chapter will contain more warnings! may look wonky on anything other than mobile. if you spot the “the rookie” reference i will give u a kiss. comments critiques, and reblogs are widely appreciated, talk to me and i’ll talk back! ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

. ✦ ݁ ˖ MASTERLIST -> NEXT CHAPTER . ✦ ݁ ˖

Ellie Williams isn’t dangerous. She doesn't carry a weapon, and she sure as hell didn’t feel the need to take lives to get her point across.

She has something more powerful than any gun could fire, influence.

People listen to her because they want to, not because they have to. With a wealthy father and some of the top executives in the world at her finger tips, she could do anything.

Ellie had no problem getting what she wanted, although she thought of herself to be humble, she wasn't opposed to pulling a few strings in order to keep things in place.

That's what made her such a strong business woman, and she hated it.

there was always a plan for Ellie, whether she liked it or not. she was destined for greatness from a young age. no matter what she studied in school, or how much she showed her disinterest, she always knew deep down that her life was going to end here. working for her father in a sickly position that kept her in an office during the day and paid her more than she could’ve ever needed.

when Ellie was young, she found herself noticing how bored joel looked at his desk. he moved like a robot, checked out from nine am to five pm. the overwhelming stacks of paper, pens drying out from being overworked, and an insane amount of phone calls.

she vowed to herself that that would never be her. no matter what she had to do to stop it. she worked her ass off during elementary and middle school, doing extra curricular and acing honours classes. ellie had successfully proved herself multiple times, but to no avail.

when Ellie was a teenager she earned herself a full ride scholarship to study engineering at a university close by. a carefully curated portfolio and 90s in all classes created an application that nobody could deny. Ellie remembers the exact moment she read the email, from the dean himself, It would be foolish not to accept a student like you, Miss Williams. Welcome to Our Community. were the last words written on the acceptance letter, Ellie cried like a baby. she was so excited to show Joel her work, but he just brushed her off. saying, You wont be needing that, Kiddo. Great work though.

despite being previously disappointed, Ellie remained hopeful. she took the scholarship, and began conducting studies on thermodynamics and the mathematics of engineering fundamentals. she passed with flying colours, even scraping through to become valedictorian of her graduating class. but clearly that still wasn’t enough to prove her individualism to her family.

once Ellie realized that not even a PhD in engineering could release the feeling of not living up to her fathers standards, she gave up. she hung her degree on the office wall of the insurance firm that Joel had her working at and sighed.

Millers Enterprise.

by this time she had already been working her way up the ladder, she began working for Joel when she was a sophomore in university. and gained a hefty promotion after graduation. (the second time.) her family didn't ignore her success per se, but often pushed it off to the side - an afterthought.

her sole purpose was to take over Joels company, and marry rich in order to keep things stable. she was under pressure. under pressure to be something completely against her own values. Ellie used to swear up and down that she would die before working an office job. hands on work and experiments was what worked best for her. she was sure she would thrive elsewhere, but. that wasn't in the plan for her.

just when life was kicking her ass, Ellie met someone. well, she already knew of her, but alas.

Ellie met Dina shortly after finishing up her degree, she was freshly graduated and not looking for a relationship. but surely, out of pure dumb luck, Ellie found herself going out with her best friend's ex-girlfriend.

Dina was a beautiful woman, sharp, elegant, and a year older than Ellie. their personalities contrasting heavier than Ellie had expected. Dina's mature demeanour clashed with Ellie's recklessness and goofy sense of humour. but, in a way, Ellie loved that about Dina. she enjoyed how Dina took control, guiding her through her problems with an almost maternal instinct. she also loved the fact that sometimes she could just.. be. she didn't have to act a certain way around Dina, or uphold this image of herself. she could just live.

and that worked for them, in the beginning.

Ellie and Dina dated for four years before Ellie proposed, four beautiful, intimate, and painstakingly intense years. Ellie would've been silly to imagine herself with someone else, Dina was her person. her best friend, the one person who knew her inside and out, and now, she was her wife.

and the sex. not only was Dina good at taking control in stressful situations, but she was a machine in bed. she guided Ellie to where she wanted her perfectly. they both met each others needs while also having as much fun as possible.

Now, they weren’t overly sexual. but sex was.. more than common for them. They would go at it in the shower, on the couch, after dinner, during fights, oh, and at work.

when Ellie met Dina she was working at a successful law firm, on her path to become an immigration lawyer. but that all changed after they got married, Dina dedicated herself to Ellie entirely. dropping her plans of becoming a lawyer out of a rich family in order to work at Joels company alongside Ellie and Jesse.

the wedding was magnificent to say the least. a large celestial cathedral for the ceremony and an intricately decorated ballroom for the reception. It was ethereal, wooden tables to seat their family and friends, and a beautiful aisle leading up to where Ellie's future would be permanently decided. the ballroom floors shined as the crowd gathered, violinists and cellists surrounded the room, an echo of her decision.

Dina was the type of girl that as soon as she entered the room, all the attention was on her. it was especially apparent when she made her way down the aisle. her dress was nothing short of stunning, a fitted white top which blossomed into a beautiful long skirt, pearls and diamonds adorned her shoulders, neck, and ears. the dramatic lace veil dragging as she made her way through the room.

it was a statement. a promise. as Ellie slipped the large ring onto Dina's manicured finger, and whispered the vows that would tie them together forever, all she could feel was elated.

they were good for awhile, they faced the good, the bad, and the ugly without fail many times before. but as time passed, the fights grew frequent. the tiniest mistakes led to arguments. Dina didn't tell Ellie she was leaving, or ellie forgot to put gas in the car. anything that was outside of their perfectly curated plan, was fought over.

Dina was really good at villainizing ellie, she would often blame their issues on ellie’s actions, rather than recognizing them as a mutual problem.

One night, ellie had come home late after being stuck at the office. she had 4 reports that were long overdue and she needed to finish them that day. so she stayed in the office as late as possible, entirely forgetting to let Dina know in advance. she was so hyper focused on getting those papers done that she’s didn't even see the few missed calls from her wife, concerned on her whereabouts. and when she did see them, she ignored them. when ellie arrived home, the sun was already down and the streets were almost empty. the second her racket hit the rack, and she turned around to start relaxing, she was greeted with another screaming match.

“I fuckin’ told you! i was working.” Ellie’s voice was firm, not yelling, but not quite calm either. Dina was standing before her, silky pyjama set clinging closely to her tan skin. all ellie wanted to do was get this over with so she could get to bed. she knew all too well how this would go down. fight and then fuck it out. as usual.

Dina throws her hands up, “How the fuck would i have known that? You could’ve been out with another woman for all i knew!” she exclaimed, her voice deepens when she yells, shes serious. you could tell deep down that she knew she was being irrational, but wanted the attention way too much to stop.

“Why the fuck would you think that?” Ellie questions, an almost humorous amount of confusion in her tone. Dina scoffs and shakes her head as she gently pads bare feet over to the counter.

“It’s about the principle, Ellie. obviously i knew you were working..” she trails off, bringing her delicate crystal glass to her lips. ellie laughs, “Oh! so you don’t trust me, is that it?” she places a hand on her hip, her eyes trails to Dina’s lips, a drop of red stained cabernet slipping down the fat of her lip. Dina reaches up and swipes the droplet away.

“Ellie, I didn't say that -”

“Okay but that's how you feel, no?” Ellie challenges, her voice raising over Dina’s. Dina’s mouth opened slightly in shock. her lack of reply influenced Ellie to push farther for an answer, “Well?” when she was met with silence again Ellie nodded. the final confirmation. Dina didnt know where she was going with this, or what the fuck she was even talking about this. and Ellie was fed up.

“Quit starting fights for no reason.” she scoffed, before marching to the door to retrieve her keys and coat. she didn't wait for Dina to chase her, she just left her there, bewildered in a pool of her own regret.

Ellie's car was still warm when she sat down in the drivers seat. she didnt know if it was from her trip home from work, or the heat of her anger playing games with her mind. all she knew was that she didn't care.

the drive was silent. no angry playlist, or self soothing yelling. it was just.. silent. Ellie wasn't quite sure where she was going when she left the house, but as the frantic lights of downtown came into her view, she decided quickly.

That was the first night that Ellie stepped foot in the club on main, a booming building filled with night owls and sugar babies. the building was easy to spot from anywhere in the city. she had a solid plan. only stay for a bit, drink as little as possible, and think about her dearest wife the whole time.

she was only there because she was in dire need of a drink, to cool off from the days events. but obviously things didn't go according to plan. Ellie ended up staying until the early hours of the morning. becoming quite familiar with one of the bartenders during her stay.

two years. you had been bartending for two excruciating years when your boss pulled you aside and asked you to start dancing. It’s real good money, doll. your boss stated, his tone was calm, no signs of having ill intentions. but still you couldn’t be so sure.

at first you politely declined, not thinking twice before turning down the offer. but with the help of your coworkers and bestfriend, you grew conflicted.

on one hand, you're a dirt poor college dropout who wants to make something with their life, so dancing and showing a little skin wasn't the worst thing you’ve done to make rent. but on the other? your dignity is fighting against it. you weren’t always this way, however.

you grew up in the city with your parents, a small bungalow and two cats was the life that you lived. you didn't grow up lavish, but the hand me down clothes and few days without water were normal for you.

when you were thirteen your dad split, meeting a woman he loved more than you and mom and disappearing into the night. after that incident you weren’t too sure what to feel, all you knew was emptiness.

for the first few years, your mother was overly attentive. scheduling weekly therapy appointments that you couldn’t afford and going out of her way to pick you up early from school. you moved quietly, robotically. every day went the exact same: wake up, go to school, come home, sleep, repeat.

slowly, your mother stopped scheduling your therapy appointments, and you started missing less and less school. you didn't realize the importance of these habits until they were ripped away from you. you stopped sleeping as well and started rebelling. there were a few instances when people of authority referred to you as Troubled youth.

eventually, your mothers horrible way of working through grief caught up to her. and you were the first to notice. skipping out on work, frequent liquor store visits, shady texts late into the night. you weren’t stupid, you knew she was using.

one night, another one spent locked in your room in order to avoid your mom and her cross faded friends, you couldn’t sleep. you could feel every bone in your body, your hair was dirty against your pillow, and your mother was hosting a not-so-quiet party.

you had already texted her hours ago, urging her to keep it down while you studied for an upcoming test. no reply. you sighed angrily before kicking your legs over the side of the bed. a strong feeling of frustration building in your stomach. angry tears prick against your eyelids. threatening to fall from beneath your waterline. you weren’t sure what your plan was, maybe to take a hot shower, or to storm down there and scream at her in front of all her drunk friends -

“Hey, Kiddo..” a masculine voice enters your room. you quickly turn around to identify the stranger. Randy, a friend of your mothers. someone she met shortly after her addiction blossomed. He was a sweet man who always tried to make you feel safe even in times of chaos. He almost resembled that of a father figure, in a weird twisted way.

“Oh, Hey.. you scared me.” you whisper laughed. he eventually wandered into the cold room, closing the door behind him.

“Sorry ‘ bout that, wasn't my intention i swear.” he played, a small laugh coming out of his nose. he stood in front of your bed for a few seconds, lazy small talk filling the silence for a few lonely minutes. eventually, he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. you could sense the newfound tension in your room and straightened your posture at the sight. ears perking up like a puppy.

“Well,” he calls your name, gently looking up to the roof as if to hold back tears. you quietly question him, shifting your body so you were now standing up too.

“Your mamas in real deep, don't know how much longer you're gonna be able to stay here.” he sighed. concern evident in his town. he slowly began to wander around the room again. settling now on your bed. he patted the space next to him, signaling for you to join him.

you follow quickly, taking your spot next to him quickly. “What do you- what do you mean? She - i mean, i know shes bad, but shes not that bad!” you exclaim. those same tears from earlier making their way back. a lump appears in your throat at his words. fearwashing over you like hot, hot water.

“Shes.. not in a good place. shes really deep into her addiction.. and, some of the drugs shes doing aren’t… safe.” he admits carefully. his eyes studying you for any reaction. at this point you're frantic, hands shaking with fear, tears streaming down your cheeks. randy tries to calm you down, but it hardly suffices.

after minutes of hyperventilating you realize that this wasn't just your usual crying session, you were having a panic attack, right in front of randy. he stands there shocked, unable to figure out how to help you.

fat tears stream down your cheeks as you gasp for air. “Sweetheart, Deep breaths. Are you - Fuck!” The mans attempts to calm you are futile. you grasp at your tank top, you felt your lungs rising and falling beneath your chest.

Randy manages to calm you slightly, placing his hands atop your shoulders. “Deeps breaths, In and out.. There we go.” he coos. you take a huge breath in, the rush in your mind slowing as the cold air fills your lungs. Randy nods, matching your breathing. it took some time, but he managed to mediate your panic.

“I’m sorry, i - Are you okay?” he asks eagerly, shaking his head at his own dumb question. “Fuck, of course you’re not okay. Your mom is-” a final sob leaves your mouth at the mere mention of your mothers condition.

“I’m sorry..” he whispers. his voice was somber, a knowing tone.

Soon enough, Randy became a reoccurring confidant. he was there when things got tough, and even when things were easy - he was there.

Your days grew brighter, and your mind was finally almost free of distractions. even your grades were getting better. Randy slowly became someone you could trust. an almost father figure. He did things that your mother couldn’t, like signing permission slips, and helping you with trigonometry homework.

it was all sweet and innocent, just two people trying to manage the troubles of anothers addiction.

After a few months of aced chem tests, and take out dinners Randy became.. shifty. you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it, but it was obvious. He would sneak up to your window late in the night, and offer you shots when you came down from your room. your mother hadn’t noticed, to deep in her own hole to care about your vulnerability.

one night in particular, a vivid nightmare that you're yet to forget. an event that haunted you for years to come. randy snuck into your room. a drunken mistake as he called it. but after this you knew you had to get out of there.

From that point on, you worked as hard as you could. while the cycle of abuse continued in your home life, you were determined to get yourself out.

you deprived yourself of sleep to study, spent your days in school, and evenings were strictly for working. you kept quiet at home, laid low in your bedroom while the chaos unfolded beneath you. you kept this up for months before springing the idea on your bestfriend, Callie.

You met callie freshman year soccer tryouts, it was a warm memory, something you could never forget.

your cleats pressed against the soft ground of the soccer field, black turf coating your knees. her voice was loud: assertive. you laughed as you watched her order around other potential players. earning herself a scolding from the coach, but you could tell, her abilities would carry her onto the team. “Hey chickie, What position you usually play?” were the first words she ever said to you.

“Uhh - Midfield.” you confirm, your previous soccer experience was minimal. but when you played, you played hard. she nodded, a pleasant smile on her face. “Tight! im a striker, top of the food chain.” Callie takes a seat next to you, graciously handing over her water bottle.

after that day you two were the epitome of inseparable. she knew every little detail about your life, and you knew everything about hers. one soccer tryout turned into late night sleepovers and carpooling to school. Callie was the one stable element of your life, your rock.

and that, led you here. at 17 you were able to move into a small apartment with callie. a blessing in disguise. your mother hadn’t even noticed, her drug ridden vision eventually caving in on her. you cut contact with her and Randy. Callie was there for every step, vowing that if you had any self respect, you would never reach out again.

after graduation, you were able to crack into what was left of your college fund, attending university alongside Callie was a dream, and finally you had obtained that. you went in with a plan, a major, a minor, and a job lined up. a bartending gig that you had applied for, with the help of one of callie’s friends, Abby. your best friend followed, majoring in social work and harbouring a premium gym membership.

you worked your ass off, if anyone is deserving of this, its you. the wise words of Callie echoed in your ears as you clicked the confirm button on her laptop. confirming your withdrawment from school. you’ve just finished your sophomore year, going on two years of peace, and once again your life is falling apart.

you had been working since you were living at home, but it didn't help. you were now in debt to a school that you loved, and struggling to make ends meet. but the financial burden was too much to bear. so, you withdrew. of course Callie supported your decision, promising to be beside you for every step of the way. it was hard, you cried, you drank, and slept your way through this.

your whole life is built upon what used to be, you used to be a college student, you used to live a comfortable life with goals and aspirations. you used to be subjected to abuse everyday, but what were you now?

now, you were a bartender on weekdays, and a stripper on weekends. but that wasn’t always your plan. your shift was long, you had six people trying to start fights, two clearly underage girls asking for dirty martinis, and a man throwing up on your shoes in the span of eight hours. to say you were tired was an understatement.

“Hey!” you hear a familiar voice call out to you. when you turn around you're met with your manager, Miles. quickly jogging to catch up to you.

“Oh, hey! what's up?” you greet him, your voice hoarse from a night of mediating and drink slinging. Miles takes a minute to catch his breath, you let out a small laugh at his unathleticism. “Would you, okay.. holy shit - I need a favour.” you raise an eyebrow at his statement, unaware of any favours he needs that you would be able to help with.

“Uhhh, okay.. Shoot!” you scrape up the last of your energy to feign enthusiasm. Miles takes a deep breath in, shifting his weight to one leg. “How would you feel about dancing..” your jaw drops. this was a reoccurring subject that Miles had been bringing up.

dancing, you?

“We are short on girls after Nyla quit. You would get paid well, and the customers already love you!” he pleads, his tone desperate. you knew he wouldn’t be asking if there was any other options.

“I mean - they love me because I put extra vodka in the vodka crans, and salt the rims for free! I’m not sure I'm the one they want on the pole.” your rambling now, unaware that you just outed yourself for your discounted services.

“Wait, you're giving out free sho - Whatever. I don't care.” He shakes his head, miles gives you one last pleading look, “Will you please just consider it?”

you sigh, looking down at the ground. “Just on weekends.” he clarifies. you look up at him again, weekends wasn't so bad. but then you’d be working everyday. but then again, you could probably save up enough money to go back to school. you give Miles a curt nod, “I’ll think about it.” you say, before opening your car door.

he thanks you politely before walking back inside, a feeling of confliction fills your bones. you take a deep breath in and slump against the seat. “Hey siri, call callie.”

that is how you ended up here. callie had convinced you to at least try dancing, “It’s for my sake! i need that bad bitch energy around. channel your inner slut!” were her exact words, and somehow - thats all you needed.

you're twenty two now and have been dancing for a few months, and bartending for 3 years. you were quite good at keeping the seductive portion of your job a secret, only informing Callie of your whereabouts during the weekends.

you grew to enjoy dancing, the other girls welcomed you with open arms and extra lash glue, which was in fact a lifesaver. Although you enjoyed the money, and the freedom of dancing, you always favoured the bartending portion of your job. you had friends on that side, and a few unforgettable customers. one regular in particular really piqued your interest. her wedding band, however? not so much.

Series Taglist . ✦ ݁ ˖

@valeisaslut @bambi-luvs @modernvenuss @sewithinsouls @elliesfreckle @andieprincessofpower @les4elliewilliams @emmiland @thxtmarvelchick @lambcultist @applejusue @marscardigan @mars4hellokitty @loserabby @r3starttt @fempr1ncesss @purinukie @tomato-tomago @miajooz @miaereen @metalsaturnringzz @incog-nizo @honeyylovee @asymetricstar @itssravenn @doodl3b3ans @firefly-ace @kirammanss @dinosaur-hehe @ellieskitty @bluminescent-moon @natssgf @nsrvaii @ellieslittleslutt @elliesngirl @aslvt4ellieandabby @freakyjorker @liztreez @flowersonstreets @laylay6xo3 @monki-nat @crucifiedfem @lunshimmer @ryskissr @losingmysenseofself @tojisballsholder @remusandlunakinnie @justagirlexisting @softqirls @jujuszn @kylorey25 @starheartstyles

i cant tag anymore than 50! turn your post notifications on to be notified when i update <3

[martinsace]

SHE A GOOD GIRL, FOR ME SHE A…

‣‣‣ pairing: uconn paige bueckers x fem! journalist oc

‣‣‣ warnings: cheating (on oc’s lame bf), sexual content with little plot, cursing and sexual language, religious guilt, minors dni

‣‣‣ summary: in front of cameras and her very, very straight boyfriend, lacey is the perfect girl next door type. but when she’s alone with paige? that’s a different story.

‣‣‣ author speaks: this is my first time writing smut eek i hope it lives up to your hopes and dreams

————————————————————————————

“paige, how does it feel to have beat the number one team in the nation?” i ask the blonde in front of me.

paige bueckers’ eyes are piercing into me with an intensity that makes me knees weak, a coy smile playing at her lips. she does those stupid fucking rizz hands and i swear i feel my heart drop down to my ass.

“it feels great. i definitely had some extra motivation today, so i still feel pretty fired up.” she smiles innocently, pretending what she just said has absolutely nothing to do with the person who was holding the microphone to her face in front of a camera projecting to the gamecast. this bitch.

i fight back every urge in my body trying to get me to smile and keep a straight face. “that’s awesome, should we be expecting more of this energy in the future?” loaded question, but that’s my job. screw this, with the way she’s looking at me i wish i could take off this media badge now.

she shrugged her shoulders. “hopefully.” oh my god.

“that’s all we have time for, thanks so much paige.”

she jogs away, not before subtly winking. i swear to god im going to kill her. after i fuck her.

paige had a great game, leading the game in both points in assists and filling out the stat sheet all around. not only did they beat south carolina, but she got a career high with 36 points.

needless to say, she was motivated.

3 hours before the game

“fuck, paige, don’t fucking stop-”

lacey cut herself off with a moan as her acrylics dug into paige’s shoulders. she rocked her hips feverishly against the blondes fingers, grinding her hips down into her lap over and over again. paige curled into her, watching the brunette borderline ride her fingers with an open mouthed smile as her tits bounced in paige’s face.

truth be told, the reason lacey had come over was to pick up her hoodie. it was an innocent visit, but they never ended up that way. not with paige. she was intoxicating.

“i know ma, i got you. here, lay back”

paige tenderly moved the girl from her lap and laid her so her back was on the bed and her head on a pillow so her whole body was on display. paige positioned herself between her legs and threw one over her shoulder, sliding two of her fingers back in sloppily. lacey let out another moan, arching her back off the bed. paige’s name ripped through her throat and fell from her lips like a prayer, though she wasn’t sure what she was praying for.

she had always been the most christian, by the book straight girl you could conjure in your imagination. until she met paige, drunk at her first frat party. she caught the basketball players attention, and the affair began. lacey almost didn’t even remember it the next day. yet then she did, and she couldn’t forget it. she couldn’t forget paige. she could hardly remember her boyfriend at this point.

paige’s fingers fit inside her like lacey was made as a mold for the blonde. she plunged in and out of her messily, but with ease and grace. lacey was gripping the sheets, ministrations and guttural moans spilling from her lips without a second thought. paige just had that effect on her.

“fuck— fuck p, i’m close, you’re so fucking good, baby—“

paige put a hand on her stomach, pressing down with every thrust into her. “yeah? i’m good? you close ma?” every word fueled her confidence, drinking in the praise like an elixir. her thumb came up to press circles onto the brunettes clit, forcing another moan out of her. “shit, yes, fuck yes you’re so good—“ she was cut off by a loud moan as paige used the hand on her stomach to circle under her hips and prop her hips up.

“FUCK, aw shit paige fuck, i’m gonna fucking cum-“

paige leaned over, peppering hot kisses to the thigh of the leg that was thrown over her shoulder and muttering against it, “i got you baby. cum for me ma, make a mess on my hand, you got that.”

it was like that flipped a switch, that was all she needed. her orgasm practically ripped through her body, leaving her limp. paige kept fucking her through it, huskily praising her. when lacey’s breathing became heavy and her leg began to get limp, she slowed her pace and pulled her fingers out. she let the brunettes leg down and pulled her arm out from under her and, after examining her fingers for a moment, looked at the fucked out girl under her. “open your mouth.”

without a second thought, she did. she would do anything paige said, and she didn’t even know why. she shouldn’t even know paige. but here she was, about to suck cum off her fingers.

she took paige’s fingers into her mouth slowly, making eye contact with paige’s ocean blue eyes as she swirled her tongue around the digits and released them with a pop. “aw shit” paige muttered. she reexamined her fingers and, once satisfied, grabbed her shirt from the end of the bed and pulled it over her head. she gave lacey her discarded clothes as well before laying down next to her, beginning to doomscroll on instagram.

they laid like that for a short while, both looking at their respective phones before lacey spoke. “anthony’s probably coming to the game tonight.”

this piqued paige’s interest. she looked at lacey almost curiously, somewhat skeptically, still holding her phone. “your boyfriend anthony?”

“yeah. that one.”

paige didn’t really know what to make of this. she knew lacey had a boyfriend. she didn’t really care. she didn’t ever plan on meeting him, so she wasn’t sure why lacey was bringing him to one of the most defining games in her career.

“you’re bringing him?” she asked, testing the waters.

lacey scrunched up her nose at the sheer thought of 2 and a half hours with her boyfriend. “god, no. he’s going with his frat brothers or whatever.”

this relaxed paige. it wasn’t like they were together, or that she wanted to be, but she didn’t really want to meet the boyfriend of the girl she’s fucking.

but it definitely made her want to put on a show.

tags: @dennyluvsblog @averyisnotpresent

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, | rex sloan 'splode' x gender neutral reader

love mail — PLEAASE please rex sloane be famous IM BEGGINg this took me like an hour but it's so long i'm actually surprised i committed to it. !!( ; ﾛ)ﾟ ﾟguys.. .. please... my efforts for my alive husband.. MAJOR S3 SPOILERS ! angst too oops, not proofread sorri !

wc : 2.2k

the three times rex sloan broke your heart.

rex sloan, or splode, one or the other — depending on how much he liked you, was a man that many knew for his pride, ego, and utter selfishness. the living, breathing representative of a self absorbed man. you hated the fact you fell for his stupid jokes and undeniable charm, how could you not? in his words, he was irresistable, and you had to admit.. he wasn't lying.

rex had you smitten with that little smirk of his and promises of well spent 'bonding' and 'getting to know each other'. you were doomed the moment he caught on to what made you tick, and what made you flush.

the very first time he had broken your trust, was his promise to court you — to have a beautiful life with you, that your eyes were pretty, that you were his, all his. only to hear those same words as he pounds into some random woman in your apartment, to your dismay. clothes that weren't yours and ones that definitely belonged to rex are scattered all over the place, and you just feel sick.

you make sure to yell for them to get out. and your eyes burn into rex's unapologetic ones, you see that smile on his face — unashamed, uncaring. you accept your defeat, that you fell for stupid, flowery words, from a pretty face with an ugly heart. you fall to the floor when you hear the door click, wobbly knees unable to hold you up for any longer as you sob; heart screaming at you for allowing yourself to be betrayed like this — when you knew you should have been smarter, wiser. not fall to something as stupid as love.

dealing with him around the base was your worst nightmare. he was fine; same insufferable jerkbag, while you cried and cried for days on end. where your body felt used, and your heart strings being tugged so tightly, you were afraid your fraile organ would burst. you knew one thing for sure, rex splode — was a man beyond redemption, beyond saving, and beyond forgiveness.

you dealt with seeing his face all the time, pissing you off, the team off, and being the same arrogant asshole he always was. you scold yourself for ever thinking he was anything different, for all the times he confided in you, and you him, for all the times your connection was more than cheap sex — was revealed to be nothing. hell, you wouldn't even be surprised if the cheap sex was all rex cared about. fuck that guy. (not literally, enough of that.)

the second time was weird. because you never even took him back — but after his.. haunting battle with king lizard that damn near killed him, the team did everything they could to keep him alive. at the cost of him needing to be bedridden for a while, unconcious, barely breathing.

you don't know why you even bothered to visit. you used to fight the urge to bash his face in, but seeing him so.. still, perhaps even peaceful.. you come to wonder how anyone was able to tame that fire he so naturally burned with. you made regular visits with mark, his best friend. and the way he talked about rex, made you remember the version of him you understood him as. for all his spunk and bite, he was still a man. a man who just wanted to be loved; for reasons unbeknownst to you at the time, as his past left him feeling unwanted.

you pitied him, almost. nothing can excuse cheating, nothing — but still.. you can never really get rid of the affection you held for someone. in the back of your head, like a virus that won't go away, it stays.. even if you can't see it, you definitely feel it.

things got worse when he woke up, because you don't know why — or how — but he just.. got better. scoffs and sneers turned to smiles and greetings, brushed off attempts at small talk became check ups on his health, and for the first time in the longest time.. your heart softened for him. you felt the familiar ache of your heart whenever he was around, but not one of hatred, but instead of.. yearning. oh no. your feelings for him coming back a second time around was not welcomed.

you didn't know how to feel on the night rex asked to see you at the roof of your apartment complex, and you didn't know what you were thinking when you agreed to meet. your footsteps feel heavy as you walk the stairs to the very top, and when you open the door — there he is. you expected the whole hero get-up, it was like the only thing he wore.. but no, just a shirt and plain pants while he leaned against a short wall, his back turned as he looked over to the city below. weird, you noted, but rex splode was always weird. and annoying, and insufferable, and —

"you ever think about what it's like?"

you snap out of your thoughts — surprised to hear such softness in his voice. it was almost believable, you scoffed mentally, even if you two were on better terms, you remained cautious. but nevertheless, you walk towards him, standing by his side with crossed arms. "what are you getting at?" you mumbled, an unintentional bite in your tone as rex chuckled, all too familiar with it.

"you know, what it means to be more than a hero — something more than a masked figure that saves lives, lives that are the reason i can only wonder what it must be like to.." his voice trails off, but you're understanding the direction this conversation is going.

you opened your mouth to continue his sentence, the previous snark disappearing. "be happy, truly, and unapologetically happy." you finished, turning your head to search his face for confirmation of her assumption of his words. his bittersweet smile speaks volumes.

he then asks; "you know my last name? like, for real." laughing at the question, you answer without thinking. "splode. it's stupid, rex splode — explode —"

"sloan."

your laugh slowly dies down, blinking at the realization. "my full name is rex sloan." rex, for the first time in.. ever, looks vulnerable. and all of a sudden, you recall just exactly why you were always so captivated by those eyes of his.

the talk extends for a couple hours, some tears are shed, unsaid words were finally shared, and a single promise was made.

"i promise," rex's hand makes it's way to your cheek, soothing your sniffles as the other pulls you close by the hip. a gesture you once recognized as rex wanting something physical, but there was more to this.. something emotional, a connection beyond desire and lust. "—that i'll be better. i'll fix what i broke back then, when i was spoiled, a big brat.. and that i'll be a good man for you. for all the hurt i caused, i'll try to heal tenfold. i'll be more than.. rex splode, i'll be yours." he whispered, leaning in close and brushing his nose against yours, a form of sweet affection.

and at those words, you leaned in to kiss him. a seal, one could say, to his oath of change. and since rex was staring at your lips all night, being on his very best behavior, he appreciated the reward. "you know.." he mumbled against your lips, smiling. "for once in my shitty life, i think i'm actually content." a laugh escapes him, and you practically swallow it with the way he just.. can't, won't pull away from you. "it's kinda worth living if it's with you."

but nothing could be greater than his relief that you forgave him. that the man you found to be so repulsive and conniving, was worth forgiving. and you will never know how much that meant to him. how much you meant to him.

the third, and very last time rex had broken your heart, was the invincible war.

the team was sent to deal with an invincible variant, no biggie! rex was joking about how excited he was to kick his best friends ass, and you laugh.. the war was hard, after all. with so much destruction, some humor doesn't hurt.

you wish you told him to not underestimate the enemy, to have a high guard.. because maybe, maybe you could've stopped this.

monster girl and rudy are safe, they had long fleed the bridge and now it was just you and rex. beaten, bloodied, and bruised.. but together. rex had taken so many more hits, for you and the others more than anything else. the gash in his side is still dripping blood and you feel sick at the sight. you can't win this, you won't win this.

your thoughts are disturbed by the hardest hit you'll likely ever take if you make it out of here alive, slamming you into a wall, knocking the wind out of you. "agh—.." trying to get up serves impossible, every inch of your body is screaming for you to stand, but the building shakes with each explosion rex throws at gogglesible — and all you can do is helplessly watch as your boyfriend, the love of your life, still tries to fight a battle he knows he's lost.

your one good eye widens at the sight of gogglesible getting the upper hand, grabbing rex by the throat — chokes and curses of struggle escaping his lips. "when i'm done with you, it'll be your dumb little partner next. right after they watch you get torn to shreds, limb by limb, with nothing left of you to mourn." the variant spoke coldly, his grip on rex's neck tightening with every second.

you watched helplessly, tears brimming in your eyes as you catch rex's gaze. even as he struggles, he's still got his eyes on you, so loving, full of nothing but adoration. so that's when you know somethings wrong — because for all the love you have for him, you know he wasn't the type to become sappy in the middle of battle. not unless —

that's when you're forcing yourself to move. grabbing onto the wall as you don't notice the way he reaches into his aforementioned gash, too focused to getting to him before it's too late.

rex always joked about going out with a bang — oh fuck, please be some messed up joke.

"honey,"

the sound of his voice immediately makes you snap your head to him, the kindest smile is on his lips — and he's got that apologetic look in his eyes. he knows what'll happen, he just hopes you remember him fondly. not for who he was, but who he became. cause among everything else, he was grateful to become yours. that you will be the one person to remember him as rex sloan, and not the jackass the world made him be.

"make sure to look away f'me, yeah?"

three times rex broke your heart,

two times you chose to forgive —

and one whole lifetime to live without him.

you sob as you turn your head away, the sight too much to bear as the last thing you see is rex's skin beginning to glow an bright yellow hue.

"my entire goddamn skeleton, dickhead."

and then, it was over.

you wake up in a hospital bed, noticing the burn marks that cover your skin, almost mocking the experience you had only hours prior. a reminder of who you lost, permanently engraved on your body forever.

at your side, is a note; it's not anything grandiose, hell — it's crumpled and the penmanship looks half assed. but you know it all too well, rex.

hey, i'm awful at notes. don't expect sappy shit, alright? i just have a horrible feeling about the mission and, you know, no regrets. not saying somethings gonna go wrong but i just want you to know.

when i met you, i was a horrible guy. i chased nothing but my own self pleasure and ego, and i still regret it. the way you looked at me that night, i get scared of disappointing you like that again. god, i wish i wasn't writing this on some tiny notepad i stole from marks desk, but i digress.

i love you, holy fuck i love you. you're my world, my honey, my heart. you made an irredeemable scumbag a tolerable young man, and that's something to be proud of. make sure to never forget that, okay? you were the reason i stopped throwing myself into danger like i was immortal, for once i..

i would be afraid.

for the first time in my life, i was terrified of dying, and that was new — so incredibly new to me. regardless, i'm glad i get to come home to you every single night, honey. no need to be afraid of dying when i know i'll fight hard to live, and see your pretty eyes first thing in the morning.

i love you, for all your sassy remarks and shitty jokes, i love you.

i'll see you when we get back from the mission, and you'll laugh at me for making something so stupid and sappy. but you know i mean it, everything, it's always for you. all of it is for you.

— utterly yours, r. s. ♡

[c0ffinshit]

Simon (John Q.) SFW AND NSFW Headcanons

a/n: i knew yall would like that so here are so hcs that i had that i can now share with the world

warnings: controversial, mentions of pussy eating, me speaking my truth

SFW:

okay, first off, this man claims to HATE modern music but… he has a soft spot for Fiona Apple

listen, this man is madddd and if he were a woman he would be a mean butch lesbian

he always drives you everywhere

even when you’re like “babe i can drive its fine” he’s like “no, i’ll drive”

he tells people his favorite movie is something film bro-y like fight club, but his favorite movie is something like little shop of horrors or when harry met sally

sorry im projecting

honestly, he is bad about talking about his emotions like homie doesn't have the words for it so he just gets angry

BUT he learns a lot from you about that

actually, you learn a lot from him too

he talks so highly of you, even before dating

like always talks about how he can hardly have a good and controlled day without you

if you two are a long distance away, he'll always call you and talk about your day

but even then, you two will stay on the phone for hours, just talking about whatever and how much you miss each other

always tries to be a sweet boyfriend and make you breakfast

expect he will burn it and the kitchen will be on fire

i will say this: simon is a sensitive boy, esp with people's emotions like if you're sad and crying about something you called 'stupid' he'll still hold you and tell you how not stupid it is

he HATES when you're upset, esp if he can't do anything to help you

he'll just sadly watch you til you feel better

and when you do, he'll get you your favorite blanket and stuffed animals and kiss you like the good bf. HE. IS.

sorry, my daddy issues are on full display *sobs*

definitely doesn't like it when you call him babygirl or pookie

even as a joke

the man doesn't get that

my man has an old soul IM SO FR

like he doesn’t really like modern TV or music

movies… that a different story

HE FUCKING LOVES MOVIES.

especially if it is like a movie musical or high fantasy (like lotr or hobbit)

maybe a comedy but like a comedy from like the '60s that is probably super offensive now

nfsw under the cut

NSFW:

first off, do i agree with the top allegations for simon? kinda.

listen listen, i only say kinda because of the fact that this man has angry ISSUES

like if you are being a brat, this man doesn’t hold back definitely into spanking for this reason

OKAY I HAVE A THING… when you two do it together, he is very… parental (if that makes sense)

like yes he is daddy we know but like he is the type to whisper “this is for your own good” as he spanks you

two words: BODY. WORSHIP.

this man will kiss and touch your body like it's your last day on earth

AUGH AND AND the look he gives you when he’s inside you FUCKKKKKKK

the look is filled with so much love and gratitude for you okay like this needs to be stated at all but like 8 inches

the type of 8 inches that hits against your cervix in the right way

AND ANOTHER THING when you two first get together, his libido is very low

which also means he is very easy to take care of

soooooo if you wanted to just do a blowjob, you hypothetically could

but then, like three or four months into dating, HORN DOG.

you're surpised when he isn't pressing against your while cuddling

but if anything, you’ll be the one getting head, not him

THIS MAN IS PUSSY WHIPPED.

like he will grab your thighs and pull you closer while eating you out he lovesssss hearing your moans when you're under him UGH

dude but like on the rare time like he will bottom, its lowkey kinda…

JOHN Q IS A SWITCH AND I WILL CONTINUE TO SPEAK MY TRUTH

this mfer groans like no tomorrow when he does bottom

soft,,,, begg…ing

like “you’re so good.” and then under his breath its “please keep going.”

also that boy has a praise kink with hints of degradation

am i saying that because i wrote a whole fic about it? yes. fuck yes.

im chewing at the bars of my enclosure

he gets so blushy when you look at him with your fuck-me eyes

COMMUNICATE WITH THAT BOY.

tell him what you want

tell him where you want it

tell him about your fantasies of him

he loves hearing your voice, especially when you talk in a soft and seductive voice

listen, the only reason i kinda don’t agree with the top allegations is because i believe JOHN Q IS A SERVICE TOP.

i've made my point very clear about that throughout this section

[pathologicalreid]

could we get Spencer Reid with a hypersexual reader that uses sex as a bad coping mechanism? 💕💕

don't look in the mirror | S.R.

seeking comfort in those you hold close, except there's a right way and a wrong way to do it

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (i think?) w/ mature themes (18+ mdni) content warnings: seeking comfort in sex, avoidance, mental health issues, spencer has those info dumps on lock, shame, self deprecation, reader hates her job (me too), blood as a metaphor, crying word count: 1.85k a/n: this is such an important topic and i'm so thankful for you asking me to write this!!!! i know this is a premise i've seen before, so i tried to make mine different. (im actually really proud of how this one turned out)

“Baby,” Spencer whispered in your ear, turning his head to the side as you left small, slow kisses on the exposed skin of his neck.

You hummed but refused to detach your lips from his soft skin, tugging gently at his shirt so that you could make your way down to his collarbone. He smelled like sunshine and the jet, an admittedly odd combo that did nothing to stop your movements down the column of his throat. His neck vibrated with sound, but none of his words registered, it all went in one ear and out the other.

His hand gently settled on the small of your back and you took a deep breath before you began pulling at the knot of his tie, “Y/N,” he muttered in a warning.

Your head snapped up at his tone, disappointed that you didn’t find the same want in his eyes that you knew was blazing in your own irises. Synapses in your brain were firing at lightning speed, and your heart was beating so quickly that it was like it was trying to keep up. “I missed you,” you whispered to him, allowing your eyes to flitter across his face.

Spencer settled his hands on your hips, firmly grabbing them in exactly the way you wanted, but instead of pulling you closer to him, he stilled their rotation.

Your heart stuttered.

“What happened?” He asked you tentatively, using the pads of his thumbs to rub soothing circles on your hips, trying to keep you from moving while giving you comfort. Despite the way you were sitting in his lap, Spencer still felt worlds away from you – if he was on Earth, you were in a different galaxy. 

Hesitantly, your lips parted, and you took a deep breath before shutting your mouth again, deciding you had nothing to say. While he’d been away, nothing significant had happened, everything in your life had trudged on exactly the way it always did. You went to work at the same job you’ve had since you got out of college with a boss who most certainly had it out for you, and you came home to an empty apartment with your phone volume all the way up, waiting for your boyfriend to call you. You really were pathetic, but you didn’t voice those concerns, instead, you answered, “Nothing happened,” the half-truth easily slid from your mouth. “Can’t I just have missed my boyfriend and want to spend quality time with him?”

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head back as his hair moved with him, “Stop, Y/N,” he said.

Without even realizing it, your hands had drifted down to his chest, and your hands were absentmindedly fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, “I didn’t…” you started to say, but your words faltered when you noticed the way he was looking at you. You looked over your shoulder, making sure that the rest of the world was still there as you tried to climb off of Spencer’s lap. “Let me go,” you insisted, hating how small your voice sounded as you pushed against him to no avail.

“I can’t let you go, not right now,” he told you, steadying his resolve as he watched you. You were staring at your hands like they were covered in blood, red-covered palms as you watched, horrified at the idea of them developing a mind of their own. It wasn’t as if your hands had suddenly become sentient entities, your heart and your brain were working against each other, fighting a silent, internal war. “Pick a spot for your hands, and just leave them there,” he whispered to you.

Your hands tremored as you settled them on either one of Spencer’s shoulders, “You don’t find me attractive anymore,” you mumbled, struggling to find the strength to enunciate your thoughts.

Spencer sighed, “Why don’t we take a minute, okay?” Delicately, he moved one hand from its station on your hip and moved it to cup your cheek, holding your face as if it were made of fine china. “What happened while I was gone, honey?”

His hand was wet on your face, or rather, your face was wet from tears that had started to trickle from your tear ducts. You furrowed your brows in frustration, “Why do you assume that something happened? Nothing happened while you were gone, why can’t you just let that be the answer?”

“Because it’s not the answer,” he insisted, dropping his hand back to your hip, continuing to stop you from getting up and moving away from him.

You scoffed, “Is it not the answer, or is it just not the answer you’re looking for, Spencer?”

“It’s not the answer, and I’m looking for the answer. You can tell me anything,” he urged, resuming his soothing movements over your hip.

As you watched his expression morph into a slight panic, you realized he was beginning to think something happened to you. With what he did for work, it was always in the back of his mind, you being in danger of being hurt by other people but what he rarely considered was the idea of you being a danger to yourself. “Nothing happened, okay? Absolutely nothing happened to me while you were gone and everything in the world stayed exactly the fucking same. I went to work every day and I came home and sat around while I waited for you to call, I waited for you to come home and now you won’t even touch me.”

Your tears kept coming, leaving saline stains on his gray shirt as your head spun and his movements stopped. “Work was bad?” He asked softly, using his fingertips to wipe beneath your eyes. He knew about your issues at work, he had been encouraging you to leave the job for months, but you were convinced that a promotion was coming. “You shouldn't have to be miserable every time you go to work.”

“Not everyone gets to be hand-picked for a top job at twenty-one. Some people have to work shitty jobs to make ends meet,” you snapped at him, nostrils flaring angrily.

He didn’t answer right away, you became hyperaware of the pounding of your heart as you waited for his response. As you waited for him to kick you out. “I told you that I’d support you if you wanted to go back to school. I meant it, Y/N,” he told you, brown eyes flooded with concern. “You can leave your job and pursue your dream, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, baby.” Spencer leaned back against the couch cushions, “I can’t help you until you help yourself, love.”

Slouching your shoulders, you felt your eyes starting to line with tears again, “It feels so unfair to have you shoulder more responsibility so that I can go back to school.”

“No,” he said, “What’s not fair is you lying to me and then trying to avoid it with sex. I asked you how your week had been, and you either didn’t care to answer me or you have such bad tunnel vision that you didn’t even hear me.” He gently chided, giving you time to drown in the blatant concern in his eyes, “and what’s worse is you never told me it was this bad.”

You averted your eyes, focusing your gaze on the chessboard behind him as you thought about your next move. In one fell swoop, he could checkmate you, completely catch you off guard, and tell you everything that you didn’t want to hear. Alternatively, you could sacrifice yourself for his benefit, “I hate my job. My boss is making it impossible for me to make any positive stride, and that’s on top of him being a misogynistic douche.” You flexed your hands where they remained on Spencer’s shoulders and sighed, “And yes, I miss you when you’re gone. Yes, I lied to you about it, but what would you do about it? Leave your big important job because your girlfriend is lonely?”

He craned his head to the side, silently encouraging you to make eye contact with him, “I’d hope that you’d feel comfortable enough to tell me how you’re feeling so that we could work something out – we can talk through this. It’s a two-way street though, you have to talk to me. I can make an effort to call and text more if you promise me, you’ll make an effort to communicate with me.”

Slowly, you started to nod, “I… I can do that, but you hate texting,” you reminded him, raising your eyebrows curiously.

“I’ll get over it,” he reassured you, studying your features, “You’re worth it,” he added.

Finally, you pulled your arms back, hugging them around yourself protectively, “I’m sorry,” you murmured, “I don’t know why I am… the way that I am.”

Spencer took a deep breath before giving you a look that told you he had an inkling, “You’re unhappy, with me or the world, it doesn’t matter, but you think the solution to your displeasure comes in the form of an orgasm and that’s just not the answer, honey.”

You hiccupped and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself like you could make yourself smaller, “I still don’t know why though.”

“You’re seeking the rush, not necessarily the act of sex itself, you want the dopamine and oxytocin rush that comes with an orgasm. Your brain convinces yourself that it’s what you need because when you get unhappy like this, all you can focus on is how to feel better and fast,” he spoke to you gently – he knew this wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was what you needed to hear. “It’s brief, and it’s just for that moment, and your brain might even recall how your parasympathetic nervous system shuts down after you come, and your body gets tired. You get a rush of serotonin, and you relax enough to convince yourself that it'll be okay, but you need to find something more permanent. I’ll help you.”

Your arms fell limply at your sides, “Do you think I’m broken?”

The small smile he gave you was enough of an answer, “No, in fact, I know you’re not broken.” Tenderly, he reached out and unwound your arms from around your torso, “And since I know you won’t stop thinking about it, I do still find you attractive.” Spencer studied your face, “Where do you want to start?”

“Do you want to help me draft a letter of resignation?” You offered, giving Spencer a shy smile.

He hummed in response, “Yeah, in a bit.” Your boyfriend reached his hands out to you, now being the one who pulled you close, “Come here, darling.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder and sighing as he wrapped his arms around your torso, “I missed you,” you mumbled, entirely deflating your lungs as you let yourself relax.

Spencer reached up, ruffling your hair with one hand and keeping another on the small of your back as he sighed with you, “I missed you too.”

[xmpsrrr]

Bad at love

inspired by the song “bad at love” by hasley

(bakugo x reader)

You always knew loving bakugo wouldnt always be easy to love.

He was intense in everything he did—training, fighting, living. But love? That was something he could never quite learned to hold without setting it on fire.

For awhile, you thought you could handle it. You thought if you loved him hard enough, he’d let you past the walls he built so high for himself. That eventually, he’d realize you weren’t there to change him. You were there to stand beside him.

But with Bakugo, everything was a battle—even when things shouldn’t be.

It started with the little things.

Missed calls. Short and clipped responses. The way his eyes drifted past you like he was somewhere else—somewhere different even when you were right next to him.

He never talked about it. He never talked about anything that hurt.

And you, too afraid to push him too hard, just kept swallowing your own hurt until it built up into something you couldn’t ignore anymore.

The breaking point came on a rainy night. One where the sky felt heavy, and you felt heavier.

You had shown up to his house unannounced. It was late, and you knew he was home—he always stayed cooped up in his little house especially on nights like this. pretending the silence didn’t suffocate him.

When he opened the door, his face shifted into something unreadable. Tired, Maybe. Guarded.

“What are you doing here?” his tone was rough, the warmth you once knew disappearing.

You paused, standing on his doorstep, water dripping from your jacket onto the floor “We need to talk.”

His jaw clenched “Now?”

“Yes, now”

He stepped back, letting you inside, but he didn’t meet your eyes. His house looked the same,but somewhat felt different. Like you were intruding in a space you once belonged in.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned towards him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

His expression darken, frustration flickering behind his crimson eyes. “I haven’t.”

“Don’t do that,” You said, voice wavering. “Don’t act like i’m imagining things. You’ve been distant for weeks. You barely talk to me. You skip plans without telling me why, And when i ask, you shut me out.”

His silence was louder than any explosion he could’ve made.

“Just tell me what going on,” You pleaded, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. “If you don’t want this anymore—if you don’t want me—just say it.”

His eyes flashed at that, lips curling into something bitter. “You think i don’t want you?”

“Then what is this, Katsuki?” you snapped, the dam finally breaking. “I don’t feel like fighting for something you’ve already given up on!”

He stared at you, his fists clenching at his sides as if he was trying to hold something back—something dangerous.

“I didn’t ask for this,” He muttered, his voice low, harsh.

The words hit harder then you expected. “For what? For someone who actually gives a damn about you?”

“You don’t get it,” He growled, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t need you to fix me.”

“I never tried to fix you!” you fired back, tears stinging your eyes. “I just wanted to be with you. To matter. But you won’t let me. You’re always running, Katsuki—running from things that scare you, even when it’s just me.”

A tense silence stretched between you too. You could see the conflict in his eyes—like he wanted to reach you but didn’t know how.

Then, he said the words that broke you.

“Then maybe i’m not who you thought I was.”

Your breath hitched, and something inside you shattered.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t explosive like everything else about him.

It was quiet, sharp, and devastating.

“Maybe you’re not,” you whispered, blinking away tears. “And maybe im done pretending that’s enough for me.”

He didn’t stop you from when you turned toward the door.

He didn’t say your name.

He didn’t beg you to stay.

He didn’t come after you.

And that hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

A year passed

A year of learning how to exist without him.

Without his rough hands, his quiet confessions when he let his walls slip, his warmth pressed against you on nights you stayed too late.

Without the person you’d given your heart to, only to have him crush it with his silence.

You tried to move on.

You filled your days with work, with friends, with anything that could keep your mind busy enough to ignore the hollow ache inside you.

You stopped checking your phone for messages that never came.

Stopped passing by places you used to visit together.

But no matter how far you ran, he haunted you.

In headlines. In glimpses of him on patrol.

In the way rain still reminded you of the night you walked away.

And then, on a stormy night that felt all too familiar, came the knock you thought you’d never hear again.

When you opened the door, you weren’t sure what you expected—but it wasn’t him.

Katsuki stood in the rain, soaked from head to toe. His usually wild hair was flattened against his forehead, droplets of water sliding down his sharp features. He looked… smaller. Exhausted.

But his eyes—those fiery crimson eyes—still burned with something you’d almost forgotten.

In his hands was a half-destroyed bouquet of your favorite flowers. The petals were wilted, drooping under the weight of the rain. A box of chocolates was tucked beneath his arm, soggy and warped from the storm.

He looked down at the ruined mess in his hands, then back at you—his expression torn between guilt and something rawer.

“I know I fucked up,” he started, voice rough and quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I know it’s been… too long. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You swallowed, your heart pounding painfully in your chest.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” you whispered, the ache of those words still heavy after all this time.

His eyes tightened, regret etched into every line of his face.

“I did want you,” he said firmly, then lowered his gaze as his shoulders slumped. “I still do. I just—” He exhaled sharply, rainwater dripping from his lashes. “I’m bad at love. I push people away ‘cause I don’t know how to… hold onto them without screwing it up.”

Your chest tightened at his admission—words you never thought you’d hear from him.

“I hurt you,” he continued, voice breaking ever so slightly. “And I hate myself for it. But I couldn’t let it end like that. Not without trying.”

He held out the ruined flowers, his fingers trembling.

“I want you back. I know I don’t deserve it, but… you can’t blame me for trying.”

Tears blurred your vision, memories of that night and every moment after rushing back all at once.

“Why now?” you whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in your throat. “Why after a year?”

His gaze met yours—raw, unguarded in a way you’d never seen before.

“Because no matter how much time passed, nothing felt right without you.” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t forget you. I didn’t want to.”

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe his words.

Slowly, you took the flowers from his hands—drooping petals and all. His breath hitched at the contact, eyes flickering with something fragile and hopeful.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect, Katsuki,” you said softly. “I just need you to show up. To try.”

He stepped closer, rain still clinging to his skin, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’ll keep showing up—if you’ll let me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you stepped aside, holding the door open for him.

“Come inside,” you said, your heart pounding with something equal parts familiar and new. “Before you catch a cold.”

He hesitated only for a second before stepping through the doorway—into the warmth, into the space where you once loved him, and where, maybe, you could learn to love him again.

Because no matter how bad he was at love…

For you?

He was willing to try.

hope you guys enjoyed, their might be a few mistakes i was trying to quickly write this 😭.

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a year after the breakup, one fight still haunts them both. when sylus shows up again, it all comes rushing back—every kiss, every scream, every regret. they miss each other. they need each other. and this time, they’re not letting go.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: ex boyfriend sylus, canon divergence, slight angst if you squint, dw there's comfort, brief mentions of zayne, reader is VERY briefly implied to be a student, plot with porn, emotional make up sex, like crying during the deed, slightly toxic but they're in love, they're healing ok, sylus is a simp, reader is down bad, this is soft and filthy at the same time

★ 𝐰𝐜: 10.5k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: this came to me in a prophetic vision and i needed to write it. i LOVEEE the idea of ex boyfriend sylus. like mmmm give me more…. anyways im not very good nor comfortable with writing smut but i had to do it so here it is. i hope i executed it well LMAO. was originally gonna be porn with plot but i got too locked in… enjoy!

Nothing about the breakup was amicable.

It wasn’t one of those slow fades, where two people quietly drift in different directions until they’re just gone. No, it was one fight—loud, sharp, nasty and just downright cruel. The kind that leaves a ringing in your ears and words you wish you could take back. One moment, and everything you were just blew apart. 

You didn’t walk away. 

No, you crashed—hard. Spun out of each other’s lives like planets knocked off course.

You always fought like that—both of you stubborn, neither one willing to back down. It wasn’t anything new. You’re not even sure what exactly made you lose it that time.

Maybe it was the way he embarrassed you in front of everyone. Maybe you’d had too much to drink. Or maybe you were just finally done. Done with the constant tension, the little digs, all the crap you kept letting slide. Just sick and tired of his shit.

You don’t even remember what you said, just playfully whining to your friend beside you.

“You get used to her overreacting. She just needs attention.”

And then everyone laughed. Maybe at you, maybe just at the joke—who even knows anymore. He always had a way of getting people to laugh like that, soaking up attention with that slick charisma he wore like his dumb expensive cologne. And this time? That charm of his came at the cost of your dignity. Your pride.

You bit your tongue and swallowed everything you wanted to scream. Unlike him, you weren’t going to make a scene—not in front of all your friends. No, you kept your mouth shut, had a few more drinks, sat in silence the whole Uber ride home, and waited.

He followed you inside like nothing was wrong, started taking off his coat like he always did, settling in like it was just any other night. But you stopped him. Told him to hang on a second. Then you walked straight to your room, grabbed every single thing he owned—every sock, every hoodie, every stupid little trinket—and dumped it all at his feet.

And that’s when it started. You brought up what he said, how he embarrassed you, how he made you feel like a goddamn joke in front of everyone. And of course—of course—he didn’t take you seriously. Laughed it off, like he always did. Like your anger, your hurt, was some kind of performance he’d already seen too many times.

Like your overreacting was just a grab for attention.

That’s when you snapped. You weren’t just arguing about that night anymore—you were tearing into everything. Every moment you’d swallowed your pride, every time you felt small, every time he talked over you or dismissed you like you didn’t matter.

You started throwing his stuff at him, screaming like your chest was on fire, like you could rip his voice out of the air just to make it stop. Told him to get the fuck out, that you never wanted to see his stupid fucking face again. It was bad, the kind of fight that had cops on the doorstep. That was the only thing that finally got him to leave. The only reason that ugly night finally stopped.

Then came the texts—him cycling through the five stages of grief in your messages. 

‘Sweetie, you know me better than this. What happened to us, to you?’

‘Can we just sit down? I’ll listen, really. I’ll hear you.”

‘Don’t throw away everything we’ve built in one moment of anger.’

You had to silence his calls, his texts. Your phone had practically turned into a vibrator with the way he was spamming it.

But you never found it in yourself to block his number.

Once, you walked out of class and there he was, waiting outside like he’d been watching for you. He tried to talk to you, and you had to practically sprint to get away. After that, you started taking different routes to your classes, finding back ways around buildings, just to avoid him. It felt like you couldn’t even breathe without him showing up.

He sent gifts to your doorstep; monetary, thoughtless gestures like expensive jewelry, new designer clothes, extravagant bouquets. But on nights you spent cramming for exams or buried in the library, you’d come home to meals from your favorite restaurants or baskets filled with all the snacks you loved.

There was never a note, but you didn’t need one. You always knew who it was from.

But it didn’t take long for it all to stop. The texts, the gifts, the way you’d catch glimpses of him standing around places you used to go. You thought you’d be relieved, but now… it’s different. Sometimes, you almost miss it—the reminder that he was still there, still trying. It felt like you still mattered to him, even if it was twisted.

Despite all the fights, he was good. Good to you, and just good in that rare, complicated way some people are. His heart was made of gold and steel—soft in places, unbreakable in others. He just didn’t always know how to use it.

But you know you mattered to him. You felt it, even when everything else was falling apart.

Right person, wrong time, you guess.

Because despite your 3 year relationship coming to an abrupt, sudden and earth shattering halt—life goes on.

Though, it took a while.

At first, his constant pleas for forgiveness built a wall between you and any real chance at healing. And then there was the regret—that heavy, gnawing feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’d made a huge mistake. That maybe you’d let go of the best thing you ever had. Lost something you weren’t sure you’d ever find again.

It didn’t help that you shared the same circle of friends. He was everywhere—smiling in group photos, lit up in stories, slipping into your feed like a ghost that refused to rest. You’d catch a glimpse, tap the tag, and spiral into his page like it was muscle memory. You told yourself it was harmless curiosity, that you just wanted to know if he was okay now that the begging had gone quiet.

But deep down, you were searching for something else.

Hoping he hadn’t moved on.

Eventually, you found a rhythm. Learned when to look away from social media, which friends to sidestep in conversation. You slipped into a beat that no longer used him as an instrument. 

And slowly, quietly, you began to write a new song.

Without Sylus.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

You sat cross-legged on the floor of Zayne’s apartment, your head resting in your hands as you watched him work. His eyes were locked on his laptop, fingers moving with careful precision, while his glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. Every few minutes, he’d pause just long enough to push them back up, never once looking away for long.

You’d been seeing each other for a few months now. It had been a year, finally a full year, since everything fell apart.  

“Better to get back out there,” you told yourself.

You met Zayne through one of your new friends. He had asked for your number, and you gave it to him without thinking too hard—if you did, you’d start to feel the guilt you were trying to desperately ignore. He’s a doctor, living the kind of life that sounded like ambition carved into marble—precise and immovable. He had plans, timelines, a path so clearly mapped out it felt like there wasn’t room for detours.

He’s sweet. Gentle in ways you didn’t realize you needed. 

He doesn’t set off fireworks in your chest, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe peace was always the thing you were chasing.

But, sometimes, being with him felt like standing in a waiting room of his life. Like you were something brief, something meant for now but not later. A warm presence to come home to, but never quite a part of the long term picture. 

Because of that, you weren’t exactly together—but you weren’t not together, either. It was strange, undefined, but it worked. You didn’t know if you were ready for something more serious yet, a new commitment after what came before.

And Zayne was so different from him.

Zayne was calm where he had been wild. Predictable where he had been chaotic. Steady where he had burned.

But sometimes you missed the fire.

The way he could make you feel like the center of the universe with just a look, the way everything with him was urgent, desperate, alive. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been electric.

With Zayne, it sometimes felt like you were too much for him. Like he didn’t really know what to do with all of you. But with him, it was the opposite—he couldn’t get enough.

Zayne was still a good guy. That should’ve been enough.

Even if you already knew what it felt like to be wanted completely. Wanted like a storm.

"Do you want to grab food?" you asked, tapping gently on the back of his laptop. You knew better than to interrupt his flow, but you hadn’t come over just to sit and watch him work.

He hummed in response, barely acknowledging you.

You sighed. "So you wouldn’t care if I blew up your apartment?"

Another hum.

To be fair, he had promised dinner earlier. He just needed to finish his work—and then he just needed a bit more time… And then a little more after that.

That was three hours ago.

This time, you reach for the top of his laptop screen, and his eyes flick up to you—blinking slowly, like he’s just now registering the reality outside of his research paper.

Zayne frowns, the disapproval clear on his face. You mirror him with a frown of your own, arms crossing over your chest.

"It’s getting late," you say, your tone edging on impatient. "Let me know what you want, and I’ll go pick it up."

“No, it’s alright.” He finally shuts his laptop with a quiet click, then takes off his glasses and sets them gently on the table beside him. His eyes meet yours—tired, a little guilty.

“I’m sorry for taking so long,” he says, voice softer now, like he means it.

You shrug in response, but inside, your thoughts begin to stir.

They did this sometimes—whenever Zayne did something even slightly wrong.

He would never do that.

He would never make you wait more than an hour—and that was only if something came up. He always respected your time, always made sure you knew you were a priority. 

He was always there when he said he would be—in every single sense.

The guilt rises again, thick and suffocating in your chest. Guilt for what you did, guilt for even thinking about him when Zayne is right here. The way Zayne’s hesitation, his lack of urgency, makes everything feel distant.

‘If he would never do that, why don’t you go back to him?’ Though sarcastic, the thought cuts through you bitterly. You scoff, but the question lingers.

“Where do you want to go?” Zayne asks, his voice pulling you out of the fight with your own subconscious. You blink, disoriented for a moment, before his words sink in.

“Anywhere you’d like,” he continues, “As an apology for making you wait so long.”

You don’t know why you say it, and you're not even sure if you want to go there, but the words leave your lips anyway. You tell him you want to go to this place across town.

Zayne doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the history of that place, the weight of the memories tied to it, the way it feels like a part of him still lingers there. And you don’t want to taint him with that—don’t want to drag him into this aggressive, aching space inside you.

But it’s like everything in you aches to go there, anyway.

To feel a fragment of him again, even if it’s through something so small, so insignificant. Just to be near a place that once held the kind of warmth you crave now. To feel a piece of what it was, even if you know you’ll never truly get it back.

To just miss him for a second.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to drag Zayne along. He’s clueless, unaware of the heaviness of this strange little hole in the wall restaurant. Doesn’t know why you stay silent the entire ride, eyes fixed on the world outside, every single tree passing by like a painful reminder.

You can feel the hole in your chest, the space he used to fill, and it’s all you can do not to let it consume you.

When you arrived, even the bricks outside were enough to make your heart lurch. For a second—an honest, long second—you forgot who you were with.

You turned, expecting to see silver hair, eyes like cut rubies, that familiar warmth of a presence that used to pull the air from your lungs.

But instead, you were met with something gentler. A forest, not a flame.

Zayne took your hand, his brows drawn with concern. “Are you alright?” he asked.

You forced a smile—too quick, too practiced—and nodded.

“Yeah.”

But even as the word left your mouth, you could feel the lie settle in the air between you.

The inside was just as cruel. Small and warm, familiar in a way that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. The feeling was a tie between a warm hug and suffocating.

Maybe you were a masochist for letting yourself come here—for asking to be brought back to a place that held a feeling you’d buried so deep it shouldn’t have surfaced this easily.

It was just a small place you found by accident one lazy evening. But once you fell in love with it, he made it tradition.

Every weekend, like clockwork, he’d take you on a date. And more often than not, you’d ask to come here.

Eventually, the owners knew you by name. Knew your usuals, your laughter, your habits—the shape of your love, even.

And standing there now, with Zayne beside you, the warmth and familiarity turned sharp.

You realized what you’d done.

Who you were with.

And for a moment, regret bloomed in your throat like a bruise.

Were you that ex? The one who dragged new boys through old memories like ghosts on a leash?

No.

Zayne wasn’t your boyfriend. So it didn’t count. It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

You found a table in the corner, far from that quiet little booth tucked near the stage—the one that had soaked in your fights, your laughter, your deepest conversations.

The one that still held all of that messy, complicated love.

Far from the exposed brick wall where you’d once scrawled your initials with the red lipstick you always carried.

His favorite shade.

You still have it in your purse. You never took it out.

Why didn’t you take it out?

The band was bustling, the loud jazz music crashing against your thoughts like waves. You knew Zayne would hate it here—too loud and too cramped for him.

The faint frown tugging at his face confirmed everything you already knew.

You had to order at the bar, and you silently hoped—begged—that he’d take the hint, take the lead.

You just wanted to stay in your seat, stay still; let the noise swallow you whole while you slipped quietly back in time.

Just for a little while.

And he did. Zayne stood with a sigh and made his way to the bar, already checking his watch like he couldn’t wait to leave.

You stayed seated.

Let your eyes wander around the room, soaking in the soft haze of memory like it was smoke in your lungs.

You imagined another version of this moment—one where you weren’t sitting there with someone you knew well, but still felt like a stranger; who held your hand too gently, smiled too politely.

One where the seat across from you was filled with someone who looked at you like you hung the stars, the sun and the moon alike. Who never looked at his watch because time was never wasted with you.

From where you were sitting, you knew the only thing you’d be able to see through the crowds of people at tables was the band and that stupid, beautiful booth.

You couldn’t look at it.

You wouldn’t look at it.

You looked.

Oh.

Oh.

You met his eyes, and the world forgot how to spin.

The air stilled. The conversations and music seemed to pause, a single note stretched out across eternity.

Everything—everyone—stood frozen in place.

Time held its breath.

And for one impossible second, it was just the two of you again.

What was he doing here?

Was the universe playing some cruel trick, drawing you both back to this place like gravity? Why your booth?

Why now?

His eyes scanned your face like he wasn’t sure you were real—like you’d stepped out of a dream.

Then came that smile.

The soft one; the one he used to give you in the quiet, perfect moments when the world was small, just the two of you.

There was no venom in it. No pain. No trace of the wreckage you left in each other.

Just something tender.

As if none of it had happened.

As if you were still okay.

You couldn’t help but smile back.

It was instinct, not decision—like your face moved before your mind could catch up. Like your chest cracked open just wide enough to let the light in.

It felt like winter turning to spring, when everything thaws out and comes alive again. when the frost softens and color creeps quietly back into everything.

Your heart bloomed, slow and trembling—like a flower daring to open again.

He lifts his hand in a wave, mouthing “Hello.” 

“Hi, Sylus.” You mouth back

Your lips felt strange shaping his name. Like they weren’t used to the syllables anymore—like they’d forgotten the rhythm of it, the way it used to sit so easily on your tongue. It felt foreign now, like a word in a language you once knew by heart but hadn’t spoken in years.

Everything started moving again when your drink was sat in front of you. You looked up, and Zayne’s face was tired, pained even.

"Thank you," you murmured, fingers idly twisting the straw. He stayed quiet, as he always did, his gaze fixed on the band, listening to the music, indifferent to you.

You glanced over at the booth again, just to make sure.

And he was gone.

Your heart froze up again, going back to winter. The flower that had started to bloom died in an instant.

Did you just imagine him? He was there in a second, gone the next. 

Was coming to this place such a bad idea that you started hallucinating your ex boyfriend?

Suddenly, the once familiar comfort of this place turned on you, becoming suffocating and unbearable. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, a flush of panic exploding beneath your skin. Every hair on your body stood on end, as if now bracing for something that wasn’t there.

Your chest tightened, breath shallow, the music too loud, the walls too close.

What the hell just happened?

You pushed your food around the plate, appetite long gone, and caught glimpses of Zayne doing the same.

The high had worn off—whatever rush or adrenaline that had carried you through the moment had collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but a deep, aching hollowness in your chest.

All you wanted was to crawl into bed and fall apart. To let the tears come in the dark, mourning the vision your mind had conjured up like some sick joke.

To sit with the guilt of missing him. Of returning to this place. Of dragging Zayne into the wreckage of your past.

He didn’t know a thing—not really. You never told him. Never told anyone, if you were being honest.

It wasn’t something you ever felt the need to say out loud. You kept it locked away, tucked in a corner of your soul like something sacred and shameful all at once.

But now, sitting here, watching Zayne shrink into his chair, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d tainted him, too. Dragged him into a history he had no business being part of.

Was it you? Or was it this damn bar? Maybe both were cursed. 

You excused yourself to the bathroom, muttering something about needing a moment, but really you just needed to slam your head gently against a stall door and splash cold water over your face. Anything to snap yourself out of whatever spiral this was.

You stood in front of the mirror, blinking hard, like maybe the reflection would shift. That maybe you’d look solid again—real, awake and breathing. But as you smoothed your hair, you really looked. For the first time in what felt like ages.

The circles beneath your eyes were deeper than you remembered, carved in like bruises you forgot to cover. The spark behind those same eyes had vanished, a dull, empty quiet staring back. The color in your cheeks had faded, drained from your skin like it had somewhere better to be.

Where had it gone?

With him.

Your life went with him.

You walked back out to find Zayne at the bar, settling the tab. His expression was unreadable, but it didn’t take much to tell—there wasn’t a smile left in him tonight. His eyes were low, his mouth set in a line.

This was going to be a long ride home.

And it was. Long. Silent. The kind of silence that wasn’t just quiet, but loud in all the wrong ways. The kind that pressed against your ears and made your throat tight. The air in the car felt thick, like you couldn’t swallow a breath. 

Would it have killed him to turn on the radio? Like, just a song? Was he that mad at you for dragging him somewhere out of his comfort zone?

The answer was yes.

“Listen,” Zayne said as the car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment. “Can we talk for a second?”

You knew what was coming.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You replied, turning toward him with a hollowness in your voice. There wasn’t any way this night could get worse.

He let out a breath, one of those slow exhales people do when they’re trying not to make something worse than it already is. His hands fell to his lap, unsure, then found the wheel again.

“You’re great,” he started, eyes fixed somewhere ahead, like looking at you would make it harder. “You’re really sweet. Kind. But I think…” A pause. A swallow.  “I think we’re headed in different directions, two very different people.”

That damn bar.

“Yeah.” You repeat again, hand reaching for the door, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“You’re great though.”

I heard you the first time, you want to say.

Instead you just nod, climbing out of the car and heading inside. 

When you see his car pulling away through the glass of the lobby doors, something inside you gives out. The tears come hot and fast, spilling before you even reach the elevator. You don’t care who sees.

The couple down the hall pauses mid conversation, shifting awkwardly as they juggle grocery bags and avoid your eyes. The old woman waiting by the elevator doesn’t look away—after a second, she rifles through her purse and presses a butterscotch candy into your palm.

You thank her as you both take the elevator up. She doesn’t say a word, just gives you that soft, knowing look only age can shape. The kind that says heartbreak is universal, and survivable.

You’re still crying when you reach your door, fumbling with the keys through blurred vision. The tears come in waves now—messy, relentless—and you’re not even sure what they’re for anymore. It’s like a year’s worth of grief, pressed down and packed tight, finally burst free all at once.

It wasn’t really about Zayne. You’d known for a while you didn’t belong in the future he was building, and he wasn’t ever really yours to begin with. But tonight? Of all nights?

Really, karma? You think, bitterly. Was this supposed to be funny?

When you finally get inside, something feels off. You pause, your hand still on the doorknob. It was light out when you left—had you accidentally turned a light on? You don’t remember doing that. The glow from the kitchen spills out like an omen.

You shut the door slowly, silently, and that’s when you hear it—a shuffle.

Your body locks up. Heart in your throat, you reach for the pepper spray on your keys, hand trembling.

Of course. Of course. Out of all the godforsaken nights for your apartment to get broken into—it had to be tonight. Because why wouldn’t it be. 

What luck!

You catch a quick movement—and without thinking, you lunge, instinct taking over. A desperate swing in self defense. But just as fast, you’re caught. Arms wrap around you, pinning you back against the body of whoever’s in your home.

This is it, you think, panic thundering in your chest. This is how I go. What a night to die.

But then—

“Easy, kitten.”

The world stops. Your entire body goes rigid.

That voice.

That goddamn voice.

A voice you haven’t heard in thirteen months and twenty eight days. Not that you were counting. You tried to stop counting—god, you did—but the days clung to you like dust in sunlight. Every hour ticked by like a relentless grandfather clock, towering in the corner of your mind, never breaking and never missing a chime.

Always ringing.

Always reminding you.

And there it was again. Smooth as velvet, soft like the worn fur of a childhood bear. It wrapped around you with the grasp of memory, gentle and impossible to forget. Like your favorite song buried deep in your mind, untouched for years, and yet the moment it plays—you remember every note, every breath, every rise and fall. 

You don’t know if you want to turn around. There’s a part of you that’s afraid he won’t actually be there, that if you look, you’ll just be staring at an empty room or some figment your mind cooked up to fill the silence—because maybe you’re imagining him again. After the night you’ve had, it wouldn’t be too far off. 

Maybe you’re just tired, emotional, and your brain is pulling memories of your ex out of storage. And honestly, with the way things have gone, that would be exactly your kind of luck.

You’re yanked out of your spiral when he turns you around, slow and careful. And there it is—his face. That same stupidly beautiful, maddeningly familiar face. The one that made you laugh, made you cry. 

Sylus, Sylus, Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

You don’t know whether to swing at him for breaking into your apartment or hold onto him so tight you melt into his bones—crawl into his skin, make a home in his ribs. Never leave his side again.

He searches your face, stares at you like he’s just as unsure of your existence as you are his. 

You take a step back, putting some space between you, letting your eyes scan him like they might find something new. But he’s the same. Same worn coat, same styled hair he swore looked better like that, same silver “S” hanging from his neck. But his eyes—they match yours, tired and drained. Like everything of the past year sits on his chest, just like it does on yours. And suddenly, he doesn’t look so untouchable anymore. He looks just as haunted.

It’s on you, if you’re being honest. Sure, he said some things that cut deep, and yeah, you were exhausted—mentally and emotionally by that point. But you’re the one who tossed three years away like they didn’t matter. Like they were disposable. One angry moment, one impulsive decision, and it was all over. You didn’t stop to think about what it would do to him—or to you. And when the dust settled, you were too damn proud to go back, to say you messed up, to admit that walking away wasn’t really what you wanted. You both lost something special, because pride got in the way. Because despite all the arguments, he was your person. And you were his.

“I made coffee,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

“At this time of night?” you reply, eyebrows lifting but not really questioning it. 

You can’t find it in you to ask how he got in, or even why he’s here. The words don’t form, caught somewhere between exhaustion and surrender. Tonight has taken too much out of you—emotionally, mentally, physically. You’re too drained to be angry, too hollow to press for answers. And maybe, deep down, you don’t really want to know. Maybe pretending is easier.

Pretending you came home from a hard night, and he was here, waiting for you like he used to. Like nothing ever fell apart between you. Like the months without him hadn’t happened, like the space between you two had never formed in the first place.

You know it's ridiculous. 

Definitely unhealthy. 

But in this moment, you don't care. You're tired—so, so tired—and the comfort of familiarity, even a fractured one, feels like the only thing keeping you upright. Because maybe you're a little crazy. Or maybe you’re just lonely. Maybe you’ve spent so long missing him in silence that your heart doesn’t know how to stop.

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s trying to smile but can’t quite get there. And that’s when it hits you—since seeing him today, not once has he worn that usual smug grin he always carried so effortlessly. No teasing, no playful glint in his eye. Just this look, like you’re something out of a dream. Like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, and he doesn’t fully believe it. Like you’re some kind of miracle, and he’s still trying to convince himself you’re really standing there.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where two mugs sit on the counter. You stop when you notice them—your matching mugs, the ones you picked out during that trip, the ones shaped like a cat and a crow. You remember how you practically screamed when you saw them, all excited like a kid in a candy store. Of course, he bought them for you, because that was just who he was. 

He’d do anything for you.

You don’t know why you’ve kept them, not after everything. But there are certain things, small things, that you can’t bring yourself to let go of. These mugs are one of them. They hold too many memories—too many nights spent tangled in blankets during movie marathons, too many late night conversations at the kitchen table over cups of coffee just like this.

And the moment you take that first sip, you realize—he still knows exactly how you like it.

Sylus leans against the counter, watching you. Analyzing. 

“What’re you thinking about?” You mumble over the rim of your mug. He raises an eyebrow in surprise before standing up straight, rolling his shoulders back as if he's gathering the confidence to speak his mind. It’s strange to see Sylus like this—like he has to work up the courage to say something, something you’ve never seen him do before.

"Who was the guy you were with tonight?" He takes a drink. 

You scoff. "Sylus, be for real."

"Is he your boyfriend?" He sets his mug down a bit too forcefully.

"You really broke into my apartment over a guy?"

"I asked you a question first, sweetie."

"Fine." You roll your eyes, setting your mug down and crossing your arms. "No, he's not my boyfriend. Well, kind of. But whatever he was, he’s not anymore." You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head at the irony. "Actually, he ended it outside."

"Is that why you were crying?" Sylus’s expression hardens, and you regret your choice of words for Zayne’s safety.

Sighing, you shrug, not really sure how to answer that. “No, I think that was just the straw that broke the camel's back.”

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

He was never great at comforting people, but Sylus was one of the most caring and empathetic people you’d ever known. He just wasn’t always good at showing it.

"I don’t know." You avoid his gaze, fingers tracing the rim of your mug. "I went to the bar tonight because I wanted to feel something. Feel a part of you again. And I don't think I realized just how much I missed you."

You surprised yourself with how easily the truth spilled out, after all this time. But that was always the way with him—honesty never felt like work. It came naturally, like breathing. You used to hate that about him, about what he brought out in you. Because maybe if you'd kept more to yourself, held your tongue a little tighter, you wouldn’t have fought so much. Maybe silence would’ve saved you both some hurt.

"Seeing you again brought everything back, and it was just a lot all at once. Then I got dumped after all of that. Kind of felt shitty."

You were ready for him to bite back, make a remark that would start a fight. Say something about how all of this was your fault anyways. Ignite the flame. 

Honestly, you kind of wanted him to. Wanted to feel some sort of sick piece of your previous life together.

But he didn’t. Just pressed his lips into a line while he paused to think. 

“I’m sorry.”

The apology felt foreign, strange even, coming from him. He was never one to admit he was wrong, and for a moment, you wondered if this was one of the rare times you’d ever hear him say he was sorry.

“For... what?" Confusion flickered across your face. It was painfully clear for once he wasn’t the one in the wrong here.

"I'm sorry things ended that way."

You weren't sure if he was talking about the night or the entire relationship, but as you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, you whispered, "I'm sorry that it ended at all."

Sylus finally smiled—really smiled—the kind of grin that cracked through the solemn silence like sunlight after a storm. Like he’d been holding his breath this entire time, just waiting for you to say those words.

You lifted your hand, stopping him before the moment could get ahead of you. “The fight we had was stupid. And breaking up? That was impulsive. Irrational.” Your voice wavered. “And maybe... maybe you were right. Maybe I do just overreact.”

“No.” he said, already making his way to where you sat, each step careful, like approaching a wild thing.

“No?” you echo, blinking up at him.

“No,” he says again. “You were hurting. And I didn’t see it. That’s on me too.”

He kneels beside your chair, resting his hands on your knees like he used to when he had something serious to say. His eyes search yours, looking for anything and everything.

“I should’ve asked you what was wrong instead of trying to fix you like you were some project. I didn’t know how to handle you—us sometimes. But I never stopped—” His voice catches for a quick second. 

Sylus swallows hard, eyes glancing to the floor. “I never stopped thinking about you. Missing you. Hoping you were okay.”

You stare at him, heart tight in your chest. You want to say something but your throat burns with unshed tears, eyes stinging and cheeks hot.

He lifts his hand, hesitant, brushing his fingers just barely against yours. “I don’t want to keep pretending like losing you didn’t tear something out of me.”

You don’t even realize your hand is moving until it’s already holding his. It fits the same way it always did—like nothing had changed, and everything had.

“Then don’t,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss to each of your fingers, then lingers at the inside of your wrist like he’s afraid to let go. 

“Come back to me, sweetie. Please.”

You lower yourself to the floor beside him, knees brushing the cold tile as you refuse to let him bear the weight of this alone. He didn’t belong down there—not without you. If blame was to be shared, so was the burden. You had always been equals, and you’d meet him where he was, just like always.

Gently, you take his face in your hands, cradling it like something fragile. Your thumbs brush over his cheeks as you tilt his head from side to side, memorizing the features you never truly forgot.

He’s Sylus. He’s home. He’s your heart and soul.

“I never really left,” you whisper.

Sylus leans in, slowly and carefully—just enough for his nose to brush again yours, a quiet question hanging in the air between you. Not demanding, just hoping and waiting.

You close the space with a kiss, gentle and unsure at first, like trying on a memory. But the moment your lips meet, it all comes rushing back—how seamlessly you fit. Like you were made with the shape of him in mind.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, tentative at first, then grounding. The kiss deepens just a little, and it’s not desperate. It’s not about lust. It’s about grief and forgiveness, about missing someone so deeply that your soul aches and yearns to touch theirs again.

Yeah, that doesn’t last long.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But suddenly your hands are tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer like the space between you is unbearable. Like air doesn’t matter if he isn’t in it.

His lips crash back into yours with more urgency this time—less hesitation, more ache. It’s not soft anymore. It’s desperate. Months of wanting, of regret, of missing, all boiling to the surface and spilling out through every touch, every kiss, every small gasp between breaths.

Sylus groans against your lips, his hands everywhere at once—your hips, your back, your jaw—as though he can’t decide what to touch first, only that he has to. Your fingers slide under his shirt, palms skimming fever warm skin, and he shudders like the contact burns. He decides on one hand sliding up your back, the other buried in your hair as if to anchor himself there. You let him. You want him to. You want to feel all of it—everything you’ve been pushing down since the moment he got dragged out of that door a year ago.

When he pulls you into his lap, it’s not gentle. It’s a need—as if not having you near him physically hurts. 

At least, it hurts you.

Your thighs cradle his like instinct, and your bodies slot together like they never really stopped belonging to each other. Like you’re two atoms destined to combine.

The kiss deepens, grows messier—teeth and tongue clashing. Breath shared like oxygen. You’re not even kissing anymore, not really. You’re devouring, rediscovering. Worshipping with your mouths. He breaks only to gasp, to mutter your name like hes singing a psalm, saying a prayer, like he’s drowning in the taste of you.

“You didn’t waste any time,” you pant, lips swollen, eyes glazed.

He grins against your mouth, finally giving you that signature, smug smirk he wears so damn well. “I’ve had thirteen months and twenty eight days to starve, kitten.”

Your laugh is breathless, and it breaks against him as your hips roll forward just once. He chokes on a gasp and grips you harder, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down your throat, dragging teeth and tongue and heat as he goes.

Clothes shift. Shirts inch upward, skin revealed in patches, in hurried grazes of fingers that tremble with the weight of too much time passed. You could cry from the way he touches you—like he’s both reverent and ravenous. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again if he blinks.

Sylus.

Sylus.

Sylus.

“I missed you,” he says, and the words hit you like a lightning strike—hot and electric. It’s enough to draw a sound from your throat, a soft whimper at how deeply you feel it, in your heart and your core. Like music played in a key only your body recognizes, a melody you’ve been yearning to hear.

Because he wanted you all this time as badly as you wanted him.

No, he needed you. And hearing it now, in that voice, in this moment, feels like being set free.

Set free from all of that guilt and pain that’s been haunting you like a vice.

You cup his face again, thumbs sweeping over skin you used to call home. The skin you’ll call home once again. “Then take me back,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “Right here. However you need.”

He doesn’t answer.

You don’t remember standing—you don’t think you did. All you know is the feel of Sylus’ arms wrapped around you; he carries you down the hallway like muscle memory, navigating your space with the ease of someone who never truly left. And in that moment, all you can think is, ‘please don’t leave again.’

He’s on you again before you can exhale—lips crashing to yours like he’s been waiting to breathe, to feel, since the moment you left. Since that moment the cops had to practically drag him out of your front door.

It’s desperate, disheveled, the kind of hunger that comes from months of lonely nights and phantom memories traced on cold sheets. Nights where you buried your face in the pillow that still held the faint shape of where he used to sleep, moaning into the echo of him, aching and wet for the hands that weren’t there.

And now, they were.

You backpedal until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and he follows you down with a gentleness that betrays the way his hands feel when they touch your skin. You fall together, mouths never parting, tangled limbs pressed into the mattress that hasn’t known this kind of weight in far too long.

Your shirt peels away, slow and careful. As if he’s trying to savor every second, like this will never happen again. 

It will—it has to. You may die if you have to go through separation again.

He stares at you like he’s seen heaven and hell and finally made it back to the beginning. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, voice ragged. He’s barely holding himself together, a fierceness in his eyes that makes you think he may eat you alive.

You hope he does.

You reach up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him back down to you with need. “Then stop looking,” you mutter against his lips. “Start remembering.”

Clothes come off in stuttered gasps—half laughed, half moaned—as if each layer is a wall you’re tearing down together. Skin meets skin, the kind of touch that makes you feel tethered again. Anchored to something. 

Someone.

Sylus’ mouth traces a path along your collarbone, down the hollow of your throat, over the curve of your ribs. He bites, he sucks, leaving behind a pattern of bruises and blooming marks—claiming you in color. Like jewelry only he could give you, like tattoos etched in heat that say, without words, mine. You arch into him, a whimper escaping you, and he groans in response—low and guttural.

He sinks between your thighs like a man starved returning to his favorite meal, settling into the place he’s always called home. A low, satisfied sigh escapes him—as if the world’s weight has finally lifted now that he’s right where he belongs. His hands grip your hips like an anchor, grounding himself in your heat, in you. 

He trails open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, nipping at the tender flesh as a warning when you push towards his face.

When he finally buries himself in the place you’ve ached for most, it’s not gentle—it’s ravenous. He devours you like he’s been starving, like every second apart built up into this fevered need to taste and claim. His tongue moves with purpose—etching your name in cursive, apologies, confessing I love you in strokes and swirls only your body can understand.

You’re flushed, burning from the inside out, your skin damp and glowing like firelight. It’s heaven, you’re sure of it—though the way Sylus tears into you with sinful devotion, he might just be a demon sent to drag pleasure out of you until you forget your own name.

But don’t worry, he’ll spell it back out for you. Again, and again, and again.

Your moans pour from your lips, unrestrained and embarrassingly loud, the room echoing with every gasp and whimper. But you’re desperate, and past caring. It’s been too long. You missed this—missed him—the way Sylus touches you like he was made to, the way he knows your body better than you ever could. Missed the way he always, always finds his way back to you.

You haven’t felt this good in ages.

It doesn’t take long—your body coils tight, then shatters, release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision whites out, ears ringing with the force of it. You try to push him away, trembling hands lost in his hair, but he just smirks against your skin like the devil he is.

“One more?” he murmurs, low and wicked. It’s shaped like a question, but you both know it isn’t. It’s a promise. A command. A sentence you’re more than willing to serve.

His arms tighten around your thighs as he drags you back to him, wearing your legs like a crown, worshipping you like a man possessed. His mouth doesn’t stop—it never stops—and you break apart again, undone and helpless beneath the weight of his hunger.

You cry out his name, babbling through the overstimulation, letting the walls shake with the sound of it. Let the neighbors hear. Let the world know. You’re his—you’ve always been. And now, with his mouth rewriting every nerve in your body, you know you’ll never be anything else.

When he finally pulls back, your body is trembling, skin electric. It’s like the universe was reborn beneath your skin—like some celestial detonation bloomed inside you and scattered your bones into stardust. Every nerve feels like it’s glowing, every inch of you humming with aftershocks, like you’ve been rewritten molecule by molecule in his name.

You’re not sure if you're floating or falling, only that Sylus is your anchor in a sky full of stars he put there.

He moves back up your body slowly, this time trailing kisses along your skin like he’s putting you back together with his mouth. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you gently—like you’re something fragile and precious.

In his eyes, you are.

There’s nothing rushed now. The hunger’s still there, sure—it burns under the surface like wildfire—but it’s laced with something softer, sadder. Like you’re making up for lost time. For all the nights you didn’t have this. All the apologies neither of you knew how to give until now.

Your chest is still rising and falling, breath uneven from the waves that just crashed over you, when he finally presses against you—trembling with restraint. His hand finds your chin, tilting your face toward his. He searches your eyes, desperately looking for anything that says no, anything that tells him to stop. There’s fear in his gaze, quiet and vulnerable—terrified this might be too good to be real.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

Instead, you nod, certain, and push your hips toward his like an answer he’s been begging for. Gently, you press a kiss to his forehead.

And when he finally sinks into you—not just physically but emotionally—it’s not about sex. It’s about return. 

Reunion. 

The sacred act of becoming known again, flesh and heart and harmony folding back into one another.

You cling to him like you might fall apart otherwise. He holds you like he’s scared you already have.

Your head tips back with a moan, mouth parted as pleasure ripples through you. He presses a kiss just beneath your ear tenderly, like he’s trying to keep you from floating too far away. “Stay with me, sweetie.”

As if you could be anywhere else.

His movements are slow—painfully slow—the kind of rhythm that feels like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. He’s chasing something deeper than pleasure—he’s trying to feel all of you, to touch the parts of you he lost when you walked away. But even then, it’s not enough. God, it’s never enough.

You meet him halfway, hips rising to meet his, your body pleading before your voice even does.

“Sylus, please,” you whimper, voice cracking.

One of his hands slides down, gripping your hip harder, pulling you to him. “Tell me what you need,” he rasps, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it, sweetie. I’ll give you everything.”

And you know he would. You could ask for a kiss, a kingdom, his last breath—he’d give it without hesitation. He’d peel the stars from the sky just to light your way home. He’d carve out his heart, wrap it in gold leaf, and place it on a priceless platter if it meant seeing you smile.

Sylus made you greedy—gave you a gold thumb. He spoiled you without hesitation, fed your hunger. And he reveled in it. Got off on the way you used him, adored how you took and took, because giving to you was the only thing that ever felt right.

Your fingers thread through his hair like you’re spinning silk, tugging at the silver strands. You press open mouthed kisses along his jaw, his cheek—anything you can reach while writhing beneath the weight of him. “Quit going so slow,” you whisper, breath hitching with every drag of his hips, “you’re gonna kill me.”

You knew exactly what you were signing up for the moment he chuckled against your lips—low, dark, dangerous. He shifted you easily, legs hooked tight around his waist. Then, with a teasing snap of his hips, he drove forward, and the sharp gasp that tore from your throat was instant, involuntary.

You barely had time to say his name before his arms locked around your body—thrusting into you with a punishing rhythm, fast and merciless. It felt like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, like he was trying to replace every cell in your body with the shape of him.

If this was how you died, gasping his name, your body split open with pleasure and your heart cracked wide, then so be it. There was no holier death than this—than being completely, utterly taken by the man you loved.

His hands gripped you hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in like he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting go. And you clawed your nails down his back until you were sure you’d drawn blood—your bodies leaving marks like they were writing poems on each other’s skin.

It wouldn’t be the first time you two had broken a bed—and at this rate, it wouldn’t be the last. Not that he cared. He’d buy you a hundred more without blinking. Hell, he’d buy you a house just to ruin every room in it. He’ll put a baby in you right now to turn that house into a home, just to make sure you never even think about leaving him again.

Sylus groaned your name like it was the only thing keeping him alive. And you? You could only hold on, begging for more through breathless moans, because you knew—no one would ever fuck you like he did.

With every thrust, he drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers twisting in his hair. You could feel the tears streaking your cheeks, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming rush of it all—of him, of pleasure. It was too much and not enough all at once. You’d never felt so full. So wanted. So his.

Your mascara was probably a mess, your lips swollen from kissing and your heart aching from the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

“Sylus,” you gasped, barely able to breathe through it. “Oh, fuck—”

You were close, clinging to him like your body knew this was it. That after all the nights apart, all the words left unsaid, this was where you were meant to be.

His pace faltered for just a moment, a soft hiss through his teeth as you tightened around him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and shaky. You felt him everywhere—his hands, his heart, his love.

You shattered around him, sobbing as your climax overtook you, nearly screaming. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was months of longing, of everything you’d buried now clawing its way to the surface.

All you could think about was him.

His name, carved into your mind like scripture.

His eyes, the way they always burned through you, even when he tried to hide it.

That damned smirk—infuriating and addictive.

The scent of his cologne clinging to your sheets, haunting you even after he left.

His old jacket, the one you swore you hated but wore every chance you got.

The booth in the back corner of the bar where he first kissed you like he meant it.

Everything about him hit you at once—your body, your mind, your heart. Like coming home after wandering lost for far too long.

He followed suit, pulling you so close you half expected to disappear into him entirely. Like your skin was made for his and your bones had always bent to make room for him; as if you were his lifeline—and if that were true, he’d never sign a DNR. He’d beg the universe to keep you beating.

He clung to you like salvation, chanting your name between breathless gasps like a mantra. You were his altar, his ritual, his divine obsession.

His hips finally stilled, buried so deep inside you it felt like you’d been stitched together. His breath was shaky, chest rising and falling against yours, sweat slick skin pressing close as your hearts raced in unison.

And then he kissed you—the kind of kiss meant to seal a vow. It was quiet, sweet, full of all the things he didn’t know how to say.

I love you. I’m sorry. I’m yours.

So you say it—for the first time in thirteen months and twenty eight days.

“I love you.”

It slips out as a whisper, your voice rough, frayed at the edges. But there’s no hesitation in it. No fear. It’s the most certain thing you’ve ever said in your life.

Sylus freezes, eyes locked on yours, like those three words shattered and rebuilt him in real time. And then he exhales, relieved.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw. “Say it again,” he murmurs, almost afraid it was a fluke. A dream he’d blink and lose.

You smile, “I love you.” And this time it’s louder. Stronger.

“I love you too.”

He says it like a vow, a promise, then begins to pepper kisses across your face—each one a quiet apology for every day he went without touching you. Each one a reminder: I’m here. I’m back. I never stopped loving you.

You start to drift, the weight of the night settling into your bones, your body warm and sore and sated. Sleep tugs at you gently. But then Sylus nips playfully at your cheek, and his voice, low and teasing, curls against your ear. “Not yet, sweetie. Let me get you cleaned up.”

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “No, I’ll shower in the morning.”

But you don’t stop him when he pulls away, don’t open your eyes as he disappears briefly and returns with a warm cloth, gentle as ever. He moves with care, cleaning both of you in the quiet hush of the room.

When he’s done, you reach out, fingers circling his wrist like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you don’t. “Don’t go,” you murmur, barely above a breath. “Stay here.”

Sylus leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, that soft smile tugging at his lips—the one he only ever wore for you. “Where else would I go,” he whispers, “if not here with you?”

He climbs back into bed and pulls you into his arms like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head, guiding you to rest against his chest. You breathe him in, his scent, his warmth, the steady rhythm of his heart under your ear—home, in every way that matters.

Sleep comes easy like that, safe in his arms, as if nothing could ever take him away again.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed, and your stomach dropped. For a second, it felt like none of it had happened. Like you'd imagined it all in some sleep deprived dream.

You thought you were going to have to call a therapist for psychosis.

But then you noticed the dent in the pillow beside you. The sheets were still messy, warm where he’d been. And then you heard it—the faint sound of something clinking in the kitchen.

He hadn’t left.

You lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, heart slowly steadying. He was still here. After everything, he was still here.

It was strange how easy it felt, slipping back into something that used to be second nature. The routine. The comfort. The quiet knowing that someone else was there. It didn’t feel forced or awkward. 

It just was.

And maybe that said something. Maybe that was enough proof that this wasn’t a mistake. That loving each other had never been the problem. That the space between then and now hadn’t broken anything that couldn’t be fixed.

After one night, it was like everything was finding its place again.

You crawl out of bed and grab the shirt he left on the floor—It smells like him, that familiar mix of expensive cologne and soap that always lingered on your skin long after he was gone. 

The apartment smells like coffee and something frying. You can already guess what it is. He never cooked with precision—just intention. Eggs were his go to, even if they were usually either barely set or borderline burnt. But he tried. He always did.

You pad quietly down the hallway and stop in the kitchen doorway. He doesn’t notice you right away—he’s too focused, standing at the stove with his back to you. Shirtless, muscles shifting with every little movement. He’s wearing those pajama pants. His pajama pants. The ones you stole and swore you’d thrown out during some emotional cleanse, only to find them months later shoved behind your laundry basket. You never brought yourself to toss them again.

They hang low on his hips now, like they never left.

You lean against the doorframe, just watching him for a second. Listening to the sound of him cook, the birds chirping with the morning sun outside, and the peaceful quiet that this life brought you. 

It was home again.

“Like what you see?” Sylus says without turning around. You’re not sure how long he’s known you were standing there, but then again, he always knew. Could feel you without looking—like you were some extension of him, stitched into the same thread.

You walk up behind him and slip your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to the warm skin between his shoulder blades. “Maybe.”

He chuckles low in his chest, then reaches forward to turn off the stove. In one fluid motion, he spins in your hold, facing you. That smug grin is already there, the one you used to pretend annoyed you. His eyes sweep over you, stopping at the oversized shirt you’re swimming in.

You glance over at the table. The same old mugs. A bowl of fruit. Two plates—simple, a little uneven, but made with care.

“You didn’t have a lot to work with, kitten,” he adds, brushing a piece of hair from your face, “Someone hasn’t been buying groceries.”

You kiss his jaw, lazy and slow, still waking up. “Doesn’t matter. You showed up. That’s enough.”

“Then sit.”

You snort, let him guide you to the table, and as you sit, you watch him pour your coffee the way you like it—still remembering. Still yours.

You two sit in silence—soft, easy. The fruit’s a little mushy, the eggs slightly too done, but not enough to matter. Sylus sits across from you, half smiling, half watching.

‘This is it’, you think. ‘This is the life.’

You think, for a moment, that maybe you should ask him how he’s been. Catch up like normal people. Trade stories from the months apart—what he’s done, what he’s seen, what you missed between the snapshots friends posted with him barely in the frame.

But only one question makes it past the swirl in your chest.

“Sylus,” you say, folding your arms and leaning over the table, eyes narrowing. He mirrors you, brow lifting in challenge. “Yes?”

“How the hell did you get into my apartment?”

He laughs—loud and unbothered. He juts his chin toward the counter where, sure enough, a single key lies.

“I still have that,” he says, far too smug.

You gasp, lurching forward to swat his shoulder. “Why didn’t you give that back?”

“You never asked for it, sweetie.” He shrugs, leaning in like he’s telling a secret. “Besides… I figured it might come in handy one day.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” he hums, biting into a slice of melon. “And yet, here I am. Still your favorite bad decision.”

You scoff, sipping your coffee to cover your laugh. And maybe he is. Maybe he always has been.

But as you sit there with him, sunlight pouring in and the scent of overcooked eggs lingering in the air, it will never feel like a mistake at all.

[frudoo]

hiii sorry ik u write slasher!141 so maybe this could be some random version of that but what if reader is craving physical touch and simon is *refusing* to give it to her and being super mean so she goes to johnny crying and he satisfies her needs and comforts her ?🎀

only if you feel comfortable writing !! 💗🎀

Once again I am SO SORRY it’s taken me so long to get to your ask!!!

This kinda turned into more of a Simon-heavy fic than I thought, I hope that’s okay :(( on this blog, SIMON RILEY GETS A HAPPY ENDING!!!!!!!

Hope this holds y’all over while I’m working on the second part of this 🤞

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Mentions of depression (one use of ‘kys’). Hurt/comfort. Entire series is a dark!fic—MDNI.

Sometimes, Simon gets in a foul mood.

Today, it was a victim that got him all twisted up. Slippery little bitch, always managing to weasel her way out of his usually iron-tight grip and immobilize him just long enough to go into hiding. When he finally took a bludgeon to her knees so that she couldn’t run anymore, she resorted to scratching, and when he ripped off her nails, it turned into harsh words. Typically he’s able to drown their bullshit out, but this harlot was absolutely brutal.

Gotta kill bitches because you can’t get any pussy?

Fucking ugly bastard, you remind me of my uncle’s dead dog.

Why don’t you spare your victims and kill yourself instead?

Needless to say, her death was quick and well-deserved. Still, her words got to him. All the depression he’s tried to fight off for most of his sorry life came back roaring like a forest fire. He came barreling inside the house and upon seeing his bad mood, you attempted to hug him.

He shoved you off.

Simon, your sweet baby boy who always makes sure to give you a lingering kiss each morning, night, and every hour in between; the man who pulls you into the shower every chance he gets just so he can take the time to ask about your day while he carefully washes your hair; the one who brutalizes anyone who dares look at you the wrong way—Simon Riley shoved you off. You fell to the ground and all he did was step over you, storming up the stairs to his room. Kyle was first to get off of the couch and run after him. John pressed a short, apologetic kiss to your forehead then followed the younger man. You heard the lock click and then you were alone.

The tears come before you can fight them off. Not once has Simon ever treated you like this. Even when you beg, the man refuses to do anything remotely kinky in the bedroom if it involves you being brought momentary pain. The sudden change in his behavior is jarring, to say the least. You don’t even bother to pull yourself up, curling into a sad little ball on the ground and sobbing.

“Bon’, did ye see wha’s wrong wit’ Simon? Saw ‘im stompin’ in an’- bleedin’ ‘ell, hen, are ye okey?” Johnny bursts through the door covered in dirt and sweat—he had been in the garden pulling weeds for you and must have seen Simon’s demeanor before he went in the house—immediately falling to his knees when he sees the state you’re in.

“He- I- he’s never-” you ramble through tears, unable to look your beloved Scotsman in the eyes even as he lifts you into his arms.

“Och, it’s alreit, lass, le’s ge’ ye tae bed,” Johnny coos, carrying you up the stairs and into his own bedroom.

Johnny cautiously pulls the covers back and lays you down, making sure you’re comfortable. The contrast of his gentleness and Simon’s indifference makes your chest tighten painfully. It hurts being treated so poorly, especially by someone who swore he would never cause you any harm. It makes you feel icky, wrong.

“Talk tae me, hen,” Johnny insists as he strips off his dirty clothes, stealing a glance at you every so often.

When you shake your head, he frowns, flipping his shirt inside out to rub the grime off of his face. He decides he’s clean enough to get under the covers with you, pulling you close and rubbing random circles all over your skin. Johnny’s always been such a reverent lover. In every graze of his fingertips, every touch that causes a shiver throughout your body, you can feel his devotion.

“Please?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your nose, then the corner of your mouth.

“Simon pushed me,” you mumble, suddenly feeling embarrassed by this entire ordeal.

“Oh, bonnie girl,” he coos, pulling back to look at you. “Ah ken he can be a reit arse.”

“I just wanted to hug him because he seemed sad, b-but he just… he pushed me down. He’s never done that before,” you sniffle, tears gathering in your waterline for the umpteenth time.

“M’sorry, hen, ye didnae deserve tha’. Simon jus’... well, sometimes he lets ‘is brain ge’ the best o’im. Doesnae ‘appen tae often bu’ when it does, changes ‘im,” Johnny explains, cupping your face in his big hands.

“I just wanna sleep it off,” you sigh sadly.

“Ah promise, when ye wake up, it’ll all be back tae normal,” Johnny carefully tucks your face into the crook of his neck and wraps an arm around your soft waist.

It takes no time for you to fall asleep in his arms, your soft snores making him smile to himself. Your eyebrows furrow and your bottom lip puckers out when he presses dozens of kisses to your face. Johnny cracks his neck and settles his body in, about to join you in your nap, when there’s a soft knock at his door. He lifts his head slightly, one eye open to look at whoever just walked in.

“Is she asleep?” Simon asks gruffly, looking undone.

“Aye,” Johnny responds quietly.

“Can- can I come in and ‘old her?”

Johnny’s heart breaks all over again at the tone in his lover’s voice. He waves Simon over, shuffling further in the bed to make room. He adjusts you on his chest as the blond settles in next to him so he could be by the both of you. One huge, scarred hand rests on the small of your back right below the Scot’s.

“Ye feelin’ better?” Johnny questions in a murmur, his free hand wrapping around the back of Simon’s head to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

Simon nods but doesn’t elaborate any further. His gaze is focused on your peaceful face and his chest tightens at the knowledge that he hurt you. Johnny doesn’t allow him to spiral, pulling him down into a slow, tender kiss.

“She’s alreit, ye ken,” he whispers against the older man’s lips. “Kno’s ye didnae mean it.”

“I feel awful,” Simon frowns, nuzzling his crooked nose against Johnny’s jaw. “Too good f’me, all o’ya.”

“Si?” Your small, croaky voice startles both men.

“Here, sweet girl,” he responds instantly.

You yawn as he cups one cheek in his palm, leaning into his touch without hesitation.

“Missed you,” you mutter, opening your eyes just long enough to look at him with a lazy smile.

His heart skips a beat, and tears flood his eyes. He leans forward to press his lips to your temple, resting his head on the opposite side of Johnny’s chest to face you. The younger man grins as he gently massages both you and Simon’s shoulders, happy that both of his loves are finally at peace.

“Missed ya, too,” Simon sniffles, intertwining your fingers with his.

[turcott3]

made for me

matt rempe x fem! reader

warnings: cursing, kissing, oral f and m receiving, protected sex, pet names, fluff

masterlist

-

you giggled at the soft feeling of the bed after matt tossed you onto it, climbing over you, attaching your lips desperately but lovingly. you were both dressed and ready for bed but it seemed you were both far from ready to sleep.

you haven’t been with matt for more than 2 months and if you were honest, you were afraid to get physical with him due to his size. which always sounded stupid coming out, but matt is a giant, beautiful, brunette monster. you couldn’t even fathom the things he would do to you, but tonight things felt different. sex was in the air looming over the two of you. the way his soft lips tangled themselves with yours sent butterflies through your body. you admired the was the light chiseled his abdomen and the way his grey sweatpants made you nervous to have him pummeling deep inside you. you weren’t sure how much you could handle.

“baby.” he says picking his head up and locking eyes with you.

“hm?”

“can we?”

“matt im-“

“baby please, i just want to love you. i want to show you, in more than just words, how beautiful you are and i know you’re afraid but i promise i’ll be so careful. i’ll take such good care of you my love.”

“you promise?” you reply, the fear wasn’t coming from a place of unknown. you weren’t a virgin, you’d just never dated a 6 foot 7 beefy athlete before.

“i promise. i would never hurt you. if it’s too much tell me and i’ll stop okay? i want you to be comfortable.”

“okay.” you accept smiling lightly, watching your boy’s eyes light up made your heart jump in your chest. you knew he was romantic and truthfully you were beyond excited to explore further into your relationship, fears aside. you also, subconsciously, loved the way he was begging for you. the way he’d just begged to touch and love you made you crave him in ways you hadn’t before.

“my beautiful baby.” he smiles, attaching your lips in a kiss that you swore could’ve caused a spark that set the whole room on fire. he toyed with the seam of your large tshirt, allowing him to tug it off you carefully, hardly losing touch.

“to make this even, let’s lose these.” you giggle as you sat there in only your thong, tugging at the waistband of his dreadful sweatpants. he smirks at you before pulling them down, keeping eye contact with you. he stepped back out of his pants and looked you up and down. you become painfully aware of your bare chest and fight the urge to cover up.

“wow.” he scoffs.

“what?” you reply nervously.

“this was so worth waiting for, look at you. fucking gorgeous.” he smiles as your cheeks heat up.

“stop it matt.”

“what? i’m just stating the obvious.” he giggles, walking back over to you, kissing you with more passion than you’ve ever felt. his hand found its way into your hair, grabbing into it lightly,

“okay, what do you want to do?” he asks randomly.

“what do you mean?”

“like do you want to go a little further?”

“yes.” you simply say.

“lay back for me.” he says and you comply. delicately, he pulls your underwear down and your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden contact between your legs. his large hands wrapping around the outside of your thighs as his tongue pays close attention to your clit.

“oh fuck.” you say, your abdomen tightening as your hand tugs the brunettes hair. the way he paid such close attention to your pleasure. you were creeping close to the edge, you could feel yourself coming close to a climax.

“matt-“ you say and he backs off quickly, wiping his mouth with his arm.

“why’d you stop?” you frown.

“i don’t want you to get off on just that.” he giggles. you reach out and grab his face, bringing his lips back to yours.

“let me.” you say pushing him away. setting in the edge of the bed, yanking his boxers down. your eyes widened at the sight in front of you.

“holy shit.” you whisper to yourself before taking him into your hand, stroking him fully hard. you bring his tip to your lips as you push spit through your lips, circling the saliva with your tongue, striking him wet with your hand.

“jesus christ.” he groans looking down at the sight below him. he gathers your hair behind your head carefully, not pushing you. you lock eyes with him as you take him fully into your mouth, pushing your limits, holding your thumb to attempt to keep yourself from gagging. somehow, your lips almost touch the base of his cock. not once losing eye contact, your eyes well up with tears. fighting the urge to gag you remove him from your mouth, stroking him with your hand completely out of air.

“no more.” he says quietly, using two fingers to guide your chin back to his lips.

“but why?” you pout.

“because.” he giggles, making his point very clear as he drags his fingers through your soaking folds.

“promise you’ll go slow?”

“yes baby, i promise.” he smiles, grabbing a condom from his drawer.

“give me that.” you say. he hands you the condom and you carefully tear it open, rolling it onto his thick cock.

“lay back my love.” he says fluffing the pillows behind you before you lean back. he lines himself up with you, pushing in slowly. you gasped at the way he stretched you out, moaning out in pleasure. once he bottoms out, you can feel your stomach bulging.

“god matt you’re so big.” you gasp, running light fingers over the bulge which directed his attention to it.

“i’m all yours.” he smirks, using one hand to lift your head to meet his in the middle, connecting your lips sensually. slowly, he retracts his hips, thrusting back into you at the same speed. you couldn’t lie and say you were t enjoying the sensation of him being almost too big for you.

“are you okay?” he asks keeping his speed.

“yes baby, you can go faster.” you say, becoming anxious for him to speed up. carefully, he speeds up just enough for your moans to practically become cries.

“oh my god.” you say, your moans snapping up an octave.

“i love you.” he says lowly, his face inches away from yours.

“i love you too.” you choke out, your eyes fighting the urge to roll into the back of your head. he hit every single sensitive spot inside you, practically overwhelming all of your senses.

“matt.” you moan, your fingers scratching his back harshly.

“god fuck, say it again.” he grunts, picking up his pace.

“oh my fucking god, matt you feel so good,” you moan upon his request.

“i’m close.” you whisper just barely audible due to the loud sound of your skin slapping together.

“come for me baby. just let go.” he says, sucking at the skin in your neck as the line snaps in your stomach, releasing all of your tightened muscles, a galaxy forming in your eyes as he fucks you right through your orgasm. he slows down quickly, pulling out of you, still stroking his cock. hazily, you get into your knees and pull the condom off of him, quickly taking him back into your mouth. you sucked in your cheeks, paying close attention to his sensitive tip. you pull away, stroking him with pressure until you felt his cock twitch in your hand. you open your mouth immediately, allowing him to spill his salty climax into your tongue, locking eyes with him as you swallow every last drop of it. with daze in your eyes, you lay back down not worrying about your clothes.

“you okay baby?” he giggles, taking his place next to you, running a finger lightly down your arm.

“that was fucking incredible, you’re incredible.” you say rolling over to face him. he smiles at your words, bringing you in for a kiss before pulling you to his chest. the warmth of his bare skin, lulling you to a sleepy state.

“can we go to sleep now? you wore me out.” you ask, cuddled to his side.

“of course y/n.” he says pressing a kiss to your temple.

“i hope i dream about you.” you mumble closing your eyes.

“me too.” he giggles as your breathing slows.

“my beautiful beautiful baby. i love you so much.” he whispers into your hair, your heart fluttering, falling asleep very quickly after.

-

[hoshifighting]

I was reading your leaving after a fight reaction and o got an idea could you please do one where reader leaves and goes to a bar and gets drunk they get a call from the bar and it’s just fluff

seventeen reacting to you getting drunk after a fight WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and arguments, & fluff too.

seungcheol grabs his keys, his mind racing. he can’t let you drown in this. when he arrives at the bar, he spots you immediately. you’re laughing with a group, a glass in hand. “hey!” he snaps, but the bark in his tone quickly fades as you turn to him “what the hell are you doing? this isn’t fun. you need to come home.” he tries to keep his voice steady, but the concern leaks through. “why? so we can fight more?” you roll your eyes, but u look vulnerable still. “you think you’re perfect? you’re not!” “i never said that. im just taking care of you” he bites. your eyes soften, and relief washes over him as you touch his arm, guiding him toward the door.

jeonghan's phone buzzes, cutting through his thoughts. it’s the bar, and his stomach drops. “on my way,” he snaps, not bothering to hide the urgency in his voice. when he arrives you turn, a grin spreading across your face that makes his heart ache. “jeonghan! come join the party!” “this isn’t a party! you need to come home y/n.” he reaches for the glass in your hand, gently prying it away. “let’s go home and talk this out. please babygirl” you hesitate, the fire in your eyes dimming as you look at him, the fight leaving your body.

joshua dont hop into the car, he throws himself in!!! he asks the bar number if you're doing okay as he drives. “there you are,” he says, pushing through the crowd. you know joshua cares too much. he’s sweet like that, always wanting to shield you from everything, even yourself. you look down at the bar top, the wood grain swirling under your fingertips. “i just... needed a break.” “from me?” he asks, sadly. you bite your lip. joshua’s expression softens, and he reaches out, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “can we just talk about it? please?” u glance up, meeting his gaze, and it feels like home. “fine. but only if u promise to stop being so fucking cute when we fight.” he chuckles, relief flooding his features. “no promises, babe.”

junhui “where are you?” he texts after the call, worry oozing through the words. “out,” you reply tersely, taking another drink. “the bar? seriously?” “what if i am?” you shoot back, but inside, you know you’re pushing him away. “stay there. i’ll be there soon.” “don’t bother,” you type, but your heart sinks at the thought of him not showing up. a short while later, the door swings open, and there he is—his hair a little messy, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. he strides over, concern etched into his features. “what are you doing?” he asks, taking the seat next to you. “just enjoying my night,” you reply, a little too defensively. he raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “by drinking alone?” “i’m not alone; i have my drink,” you mutter, taking a long sip as if it could drown your frustration. he leans closer, his voice dropping to a gentle tone. “you know that’s not what i meant. you’re not okay. let me take care of you baby? hm?” you nod, feeling the walls you built starting to crumble. “fine, but if you keep looking at me like that, i might just forgive you too easily.”

hoshi wrinkled his nose the moment he smelled the strong drink you were drinking, he was clearly sweating like he was running a marathon to get to where you were. “you’re mad at me, but this isn’t how we solve things... you know you can tell me anything, right? even if it’s hard?” you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. “i just hate fighting with you. it feels like we’re always stuck in this cycle.” “i hate it too,” he admits, reaching for your hand. “but running away doesn’t fix it. let’s talk.” “talk? like, actually talk?” you tease, a small smile creeping onto your face. “yeah, that thing where we don’t just yell at each other,” he says, grinning back. “i’m pretty good at it.” you can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood.

wonwoo slides the helmet, and hops on his motorcycle, a few moments later, the door swings open, and there he is—hands in his pockets, that serious yet soft expression making your heart ache. he spots you and makes his way over, concern etched in his features. “you’re really here,” he says, his voice low. “didn’t think you’d come,” you reply, trying to sound indifferent, but you're soft. “and leave you alone like this? not a chance.” he sits beside you, his presence instantly calming. you glance at him, catching the way his brows furrow slightly. he squeezes your hand and kisses your neck softly “let's go home, hm? i'll give u a nice warm bath and we'll talk before going to bed, is that okay, sweetie?”

woozi strides over the bar, hair messy, body stiff, eyes worried, after the call, and you can see the scolding ready to spill from his lips. “i can’t believe you left without telling me. i was worried sick. you really just left? you could’ve told me!” “ listen jihoon, i didn’t want to fight anymore. it was too much.” he flinches, he didn't mean to snap at you, but he was really worried. “i get it,” he replies quietly, his voice gentler now. “but you know you can tell me when it gets too heavy, right?” you take a deep breath, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “what do u say we talk about it over ice cream? my treat,” he suggests, a playful grin breaking through. “ice cream sounds perfect,” you reply, matching his smile. “you always know how to fix things.” “it’s a talent,” he jokes, and you can’t help but laugh, the heaviness of earlier fading into something sweet.

minghao asks the bartended to pass the phone to you, “i’m coming to get you,” minghao’s voice is steady, cutting through your haze. “you shouldn’t be there.” “i’m fine,” you snap, but even you can hear the slight slur in your words. he knows you better than that. “you’re not,” he replies. when minghao finally walks in, the door swings open, and the bell jingles, like a damn superhero coming to save the day. “hey,” he says softly, the frown on his face deepening as he takes in your state. “you look… rough.” “yeah, well, thanks for the observation,” you retort, but there’s no real bite in your words. he steps closer, the scent of him wrapping around you like a familiar hug. “i didn’t ask you to come.” “no, but you need me,” he counters, taking your hand, grounding you. his touch makes your cheeks flush, and you can’t help but lean into him, feeling the fight inside you melt away. “let’s talk, okay? i love you and I hate fighting with you.” you melt, and minghao smiles small.

mingyu in quesiton of minutes was there, tall and worried searching for you on the bar, the call made him stumble on his feet on his way there. “you really shouldn’t be here,” you murmur, but your heart races as he approaches, the worry etched on his face only making you want to lean into him. “and you shouldn’t be here alone. we both know you’ll feel worse if you stay out like this. just let me take care of you.” the softness in his tone makes your heart twist. “you don’t have to play the hero.” “but i want to,” he insists, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. the warmth of his grip pulls you back from the edge of your frustration, reminding you of everything you love about him. “please?” you take a deep breath, the tension in your shoulders easing as you look into his eyes. “fine. let’s go home.” “thank you,” he whispers, pulling you into a hug that feels like coming home, before arriving in.

seokmin not even five minutes later appears on the bar, seokmin steps inside, scanning the crowd until his eyes land on you. relief floods his expression, and he rushes over, pulling you into his arms before you can say a word. “what the hell, you scared me,” he murmurs, hugging your back tightly. his warmth seeps into you, and you can’t help but melt a little. “you’re drunk.” his concern wraps around you like a blanket, and suddenly, the anger feels distant. “let’s get you out of here,” he whispers, still holding you close. “i don’t want you to feel like this.” “it’s just… everything’s a mess,” you admit, your voice cracking a bit. “we were fighting and—” “i know,” he interrupts softly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “but we can talk about it later. right now, i just want to make sure you’re okay.” the sincerity in his gaze makes you want to cry, and you nod slowly. “okay.” he smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “let’s go home, yeah?”

seungkwan the minutes tick by slowly, and every time the door swings open, your heart skips a beat. finally, you spot him striding in, “it’s… it’s not safe for you to be out like this,” he says. you pout. “i can take care of myself.” “you’re making this harder than it has to be,” he grumbles. as you slide off the bar stool, he’s already there, an arm around your waist, guiding you out. you laugh, the sound a bit shaky. “u should try being less of a pain in the ass, kwanniee” you tease, but it’s soft, a flicker of something sweet cutting through the tension. he smirks, finally breaking into a grin. “noted. now, let’s get you home before you say something else you’ll regret.”

vernon would keep his emotions bottled up, when he's almost purple in worry, would run to the bar fast, breathing properly only when he finally sees you. “i don’t need you to babysit me,” you sulk when you feel him taking you from the bar stool, “just… please? for once, let me be the responsible one,” he replies squeezing your waist. “oh, shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “i was just having a good time.” “more like trying to forget about our fight,” he counters, crossing his arms, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “let’s get you home before you embarrass yourself further.”

chan before the bartender ended the call, was already on the way. the moment he reaches you, he slips an arm around your shoulder, guiding you away from the noise. “you okay?” he asks, searching your face with those steady eyes. you can see the maturity in his expression, the way he balances concern in his heart with the logic, “i will be,” you say, though you know it’s not entirely trrue. his presence calms the storm brewing inside you, and u lean into him. “you’re allowed to feel things,” he expresses, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “but next time, can we talk instead of shouting? i’d rather understand what you’re going through.” you nod, the way he watches over you even after an imense fight. “yeah, that sounds good babe...” he smiles with the full of love name.

[ha-rinrin]

Drunk Confessions

summary: Your best friend Jinx convinces you to accompany her to a frat party—what’s the worst that could happen?

word count: 8.8k

pairing: Jinx x fem!reader

warning: smut

note: I wrote this at 2am if its bad im deeply sorry my eyes were closing as I wrote it

masterlist

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window of Jinx’s dorm, casting a cozy glow over the beautifully chaotic space. Posters of her favorite bands were plastered everywhere, and her desk? A vibrant mess of colorful sketches and paint tubes spilling over. The air carried a faintly sweet scent, probably from whatever concoction she’d been whipping up in the kitchen. You and Jinx lounged on her bed, tangled in a heap of blankets and pillows, just enjoying the rare calm of a lazy afternoon. Her body so close to yours made you nervous, the palm of your hands becoming sweaty.

“You’re coming with me, right?” Jinx asked, her eyes practically sparkling as she scrolled through her phone, on a mission to find every detail about the frat party that night, who was going, where it was, she was going as far as to search if there was a specific dress code and “how to dress for a party” on wikihow. She leaned in closer, her blue hair brushing against your arm, sending a little jolt of energy through you.

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t know, Jinx. Frat parties can get pretty…  you know, overwhelming. What if things get out of control, you know that I'm not an extrovert and what if I end up making things awkward?. what if I end up in a corner and everyone thinks “look at this weirdo standing by the wall”, or-?”

She looked at you as if she were one word away from calling a psych ward. “Okay, now stop right there. Where’s your university student spirit?” she asked, her tone playful but firm. She always had this unique way of calming you down, even if it was a little unconventional. “Come on!” she urged, throwing her hands up dramatically, as if you were being ridiculous. “I’m not asking you to jump into a pit of fire! It’s just a party—music, dancing, and a whole lot of fun! Plus, it wouldn’t be the same without my best friend there.”

Even when you were freaking out, you couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. “You know  I’m not exactly the ‘party’ type. I’m way more into our movie marathons and snack fests. Those are fun too,” you said with a sweet smile.

But this will be different! Just picture it—it’ll be just like in the movies! Music pumping, everyone dancing like nobody’s watching, and us stirring up some delightful chaos as always!” Jinx grinned, leaning in, her eyes wide with mischief. “Come on, it’ll be a blast! We’re a team, remember? We can handle anything together!”

“Delightful chaos? Is that your new way of saying ‘let’s get kicked out’?” you teased, raising an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk.

“Maybe just a little,” she admitted, biting her lip to stifle a laugh. “But think about it! This is our chance to break out of our comfort zones. Besides, I can’t do this without my ride-or-die! We’ll stick together, and I’ll keep you safe. Mostly.”

You rolled your eyes, your heart warming at her enthusiasm. “I don’t know, Jinx. What if it gets too wild? I’m not exactly a social butterfly here, you are the one who takes that role.”

“That’s exactly why I need you!” she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over. “You balance me out! And who knows? You might actually have fun! Plus, what if I end up in a food fight again? I’ll need you there to help me dodge flying pizza!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that ridiculous image. “That was one time!”

“Exactly! And it was the best night ever!” Jinx said, her enthusiasm infectious. “You’ll totally regret it if you don’t come. Just think of all the crazy stories we could tell! Pretty please? I really want my best friend by my side!”

You looked at her, taking in how sincere she was, hope shining in her eyes. “Fine, but only if you promise not to get us kicked out and staying by my side.”

“Deal!” she exclaimed, her grin stretching wide as she pulled you into a quick hug that felt warm and comforting. “You’re not going to regret this! Now, let’s get ready!”

As she jumped off the bed and started rifling through her closet, you couldn’t help but smile at her infectious excitement. Maybe stepping out of your comfort zone wouldn’t be so bad, especially with Jinx by your side.

As you both stepped out of her dorm, the energy crackled between you. Jinx practically skipped, her excitement infectious as she led you down the bustling streets toward the frat house. The music thumped louder with each step, pulling you closer to the chaotic glow of string lights, neon paint, and a wild swarm of partygoers.

“Jinx! Over here!” called a girl with a bright green streak in her hair, a friend of Jinx’s you recognized from campus but had never spoken to before. She was surrounded by others from Jinx's circle, each one more eccentric than the last. They erupted into cheers upon seeing her, welcoming her with quick hugs and high-fives.

“Hey, you all made it!” Jinx cheered, bouncing over to them. With a proud grin, she introduced you, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you gave a nervous wave. Her friends greeted you warmly, instantly pulling you into their circle and helping you feel more at ease in the lively, unfamiliar environment.

You stood there, adjusting to the crowded atmosphere, but Jinx’s friends made it easier. They were loud and full of life, radiating the same chaotic energy that Jinx thrived on. Each one had a unique style: mismatched patterns, brightly colored hair, and bold makeup you wouldn’t expect to see in a classroom. It felt like Jinx had magnetized a group of people as wild and vibrant as she was.

“Finally dragged you out, huh?” said a tall girl with neon blue lipstick, winking as she handed you a plastic cup. “It takes a lot to get someone out of their cocoon, but Jinx is persistent.” She nudged Jinx playfully, who rolled her eyes with a grin.

“Trust me, this is a rare occurrence,” Jinx said, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “But I had to bring my best friend into the madness at least once, right?”

Her words warmed you, even though you could feel her friends’ curious gazes on you. You took a sip from the cup, feeling the buzz of Jinx’s excitement wrap around you like a blanket.

As the night went on, Jinx’s group chatted animatedly, and every so often, you caught her glancing over to check on you, her hand brushing against your arm as she leaned in to hear your responses. Each time her skin touched yours, an unmistakable spark ignited, even if it was just a fleeting connection.

As the night deepened, Jinx remained the life of the party, her laughter ringing out above the pulsing music. Each time she returned to your side, she held a new drink—colorful concoctions that seemed to amplify her energy even more.

“You have to try this one! It’s delicious!” she exclaimed while holding up a vibrant pink cocktail, her grin widening as she leaned in closer.

You took a cautious sip; the sweetness almost masked the alcohol. “Okay, this one’s not bad,” you admitted, your smile growing as you handed it back. You watched her down a good portion of it, her eyes sparkling with delight.

With each drink, Jinx became even more animated. She danced around you, tugging you along as she pulled her friends into playful conversations. The rosy hue in her cheeks deepened, and a slight slur in her words made her even more charming.

“Are you having fun?” she shouted, swaying to the beat. Her laughter bubbled up, contagious in its joy. “I mean, like, really having fun?”

“I’m getting there!” you replied, feeling the warmth of her spirit wrap around you.

As the night wore on, you noticed her friends keeping a closer eye on her, subtly guiding her back when she drifted too far into the crowd. Jinx, however, seemed blissfully unaware, caught up in her whirlwind of excitement. She had just finished another drink—a bright green one.

“Check this out!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with mischief as she took a big gulp. “This is the best!”

After downing the drink, she stumbled slightly, catching herself against your shoulder with a laugh. “Oops! I think I’m getting a little tipsy,” she admitted, her voice a mix of excitement and amusement.

“Just a little?” you teased, chuckling as you steadied her.

“This is what parties are all about, right? Just let go and have fun!” she answered.

You watched her with a mix of affection and concern as she took another drink from a passing friend, her laughter growing more exuberant with each sip. Despite her slight wobble, there was a light in her eyes that seemed to shine brighter, her joy infectious.

“Promise me you’ll stay close?” she asked, her expression earnest as she looked at you with those bright, swirling purple eyes.

“Always,” you replied, squeezing her hand reassuringly, warmth blooming in your chest at the sincerity in her gaze.

After another round, she returned to your side, clutching a neon blue drink.

“Maybe we should slow it down a bit, huh?” you suggested, attempting to steer her away from the colorful drinks.

“Slow down? Never!” she exclaimed, then leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But seriously, you’re the best. I love having you here.”

You felt your heart flutter, caught off guard by the sincerity in her gaze. “I love being here with you, too,” you replied, your voice softening as you looked into her eyes.

She smiled, the warmth of the moment hanging in the air, but instead of saying more, you both swayed gently to the music, her shoulder brushing against yours, sending little sparks up your arm.

As the party continued, Jinx’s energy ebbed and flowed. She’d lose herself in dance, twirling around before suddenly collapsing against you, breathless and giggling. “I’m definitely tipsy now,” she confessed, finally self-aware, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide. “But you’re still here.”

“Of course I am,” you assured her, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. It felt natural, as if you were meant to be this close.

“Good,” she murmured, resting her head against your shoulder. The moment felt intimate, surrounded by chaos yet cocooned in your own little world.

You wanted to say something more, to bridge the gap between friendship and something deeper. But the thought of her waking up tomorrow, her mind clearer and possibly regretting this moment, held you back. Instead, you focused on the way her laughter resonated in your chest.

As she tilted her head up, her eyes gleaming under the colored lights, you noticed the slight wobble in her posture. “Hey,” she said, mischief dancing in her voice. “You’re really special, you know that? Like… you get me.”

You smiled softly, your heart racing. “Thanks, Jinx. You’re pretty special too.”

Without warning, she leaned in, her breath warm against your skin. In that fleeting moment, you felt her lips brush against yours—soft and tentative. But just as quickly, you pulled away, a wave of uncertainty washing over you. Confusion crossed her features, and you could see the glimmer of disappointment in her eyes.

“Why didn't you kiss me back?”

You could see the heaviness in her gaze, a hint of sadness creeping in.

“Jinx…” You didn't even know what to say to her, so you went for the classic and safe option. “Let’s get you some water, alright?” you said gently, trying to guide her toward the kitchen.

“I like you, okay?” she finally blurted out, her voice earnest, cutting through the noise of the party.

Your heart raced, the weight of her words hanging in the air between you. “Jinx, I—”

“Wait!” she interrupted, her eyes wide with determination. “I know it sounds crazy, but you make me feel… I don’t know, like I can just be myself.”

You took a breath, trying to process everything. “You’re really drunk right now. This isn’t the best time to have this conversation,” you said, your voice soft yet firm.

“Maybe,” she admitted, her expression shifting as she leaned closer, her breath warm against your face. “But it’s true. You get me in a way no one else does.”

The sincerity in her gaze made your chest tighten. “Jinx, I care about you. But you have to know that it’s the drinks talking right now. You might not even remember this tomorrow.”

“Who cares about tomorrow?” she shot back, frustration creeping into her tone. “Right now, I want you to know how I feel.”

You could feel the tension building, the unspoken feelings that had always lingered just beneath the surface. “It’s complicated, Jinx. I don’t want to ruin what we have,” you said, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening.

“Then don’t!” she pleaded, her voice dropping to a whisper as she stepped closer, her presence intoxicating. “Just let me have this moment. Please.”

“Jinx—,” you said, your heart pounding. “We need to get you home. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Home? What’s so great about that?” she asked, her expression faltering. “I just want to be here with you, right now.”

“Being here with you is amazing, but I care about you too much to let this go too far when you’re like this,” you said gently, trying to balance her feelings with your concern.

“Why can't you just let go for one night? We’ll deal with the aftermath in the morning,” she tried to convince you, her frustration boiling beneath the surface.

As her words settled in, you knew you had to keep her safe. “Come on, Jinx. Let’s get you home. You need water, not more drinks,” you said, guiding her gently toward the door.

With each step, you felt the weight of her lingering gaze on your back, the unspoken words hanging in the air. You knew she wouldn’t remember everything in the morning, and that was both a relief and a burden.

As you pulled her out of the chaotic house and into the cool night air, you felt her lean into you, exhaustion finally taking over. “You’re the best, you know that?” she mumbled, her voice slurred yet sincere. “I really appreciate you being here. Even if… you don’t really like me back.”

Her words stung, and you turned to face her, feeling the ache of unfulfilled possibilities. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Jinx. It’s just… complicated.”

She looked up at you, her eyes hazy yet searching. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? When I’m sober?”

You shook your head softly, trying to keep the moment light despite the heaviness in your chest. “Let’s just focus on getting you home for tonight, okay?”

She nodded, her disappointment palpable. As you walked together, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you, a bond strengthened yet fraught with unspoken truths.

As you stepped into Jinx’s dorm, you immediately took action. 

“Alright, let’s get you settled,” you said, gently guiding her toward the couch. Jinx plopped down, her head drooping slightly as she leaned back against the cushions. You quickly grabbed a water bottle from her desk, unscrewing the cap and holding it up to her lips.

“Drink up,” you instructed, watching as she took small sips, her eyes fluttering as she fought to stay awake.

“Thank you, you’re the best,” she mumbled, a lazy smile spreading across her face.

Once she had finished the water, you decided to help her get ready for bed. “I’ll be right back,” you said, heading toward her closet. You rummaged through her clothes until you found a pair of soft pajamas—a comfy, oversized shirt and matching shorts.

When you returned, though, you found Jinx curled up on the couch, her breathing even and soft, the energy from earlier dissipating into peaceful slumber. Your heart swelled with affection as you watched her for a moment, her colorful hair sprawled out around her like a halo.

“Guess I’m not needed after all,” you murmured to yourself, a smile tugging at your lips. But the thought of leaving her on the couch didn’t sit well with you. She needed a proper place to sleep.

With a careful determination, you knelt beside her. “Hey, Jinx,” you said gently, brushing a few stray hairs from her face. “Time to move to your bed.”

There was no response. She just shifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. You took a deep breath, wrapping your arms around her and lifting her up with surprising ease. Her weight was familiar and comforting, and you could feel the warmth radiating from her as you cradled her against your chest.

“Here we go,” you whispered, navigating the small room with care. You stepped over her scattered shoes and clothes, your heart racing as you carried her toward the bed.

As you laid her down, Jinx stirred slightly but didn’t fully wake, a sleepy smile gracing her lips as she nestled deeper into the blankets. You quickly slipped the pajamas onto her, careful not to jostle her too much.

“Goodnight, Jinx,” you whispered, brushing a soft kiss against her forehead. She sighed contentedly, and for a moment, you stood there, watching her peaceful form.

Feeling a rush of warmth, you decided to settle in on the edge of her bed, the soft sheets inviting. As you sat there, your mind wandered, replaying the night’s events—the laughter, the dancing, the momentary brush of her lips against yours.

You couldn’t shake the feeling of what she had said earlier, the sincerity of her words hanging in the air. It felt like a turning point, one that you hoped tomorrow would help clarify.

Eventually, fatigue began to pull at your eyelids. You leaned back against the headboard, listening to her gentle breathing as you drifted into a light sleep, the room filled with the comforting glow of string lights. before you even knew it, you were fast asleep. 

The soft light of morning crept through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred awake, the events of the night still fresh in your mind. Glancing over at Jinx, you smiled softly at the sight of her peacefully sleeping, her colorful hair spilling across the pillows.

Careful not to wake her, you quietly slipped out of bed, stretching a little as you got to your feet. You padded over to the small bedside table, a little nightstand with a drawer that seemed to hold everything from old textbooks to stray hair ties. You opened the drawer and rummaged around until you found a bottle of aspirin.

After grabbing the bottle, you filled a glass with water from her desk, setting it gently on the nightstand next to the aspirin. You paused for a moment, glancing back at Jinx, who was still nestled under the covers, a serene expression on her face.

“Just in case you need it,” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips. You tiptoed out of the room, making your way to the small kitchen area in her dorm.

Once there, you decided to make breakfast. The scent of coffee filled the air as you started brewing a fresh pot. You rummaged through her cabinets, pulling out some eggs and bread for toast. Cooking felt oddly calming, and the rhythmic motions of cracking eggs and toasting bread helped clear your mind.

As you worked, thoughts of Jinx floated through your mind—her laughter, the way she lit up the room, and the unexpected confession from the night before. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety about how she would feel in the morning.

The scent of coffee filled the air as you worked, the rhythmic motions of cracking eggs and toasting bread helping clear your mind. Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps approached, and you turned to see Jinx walking into the kitchen, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you said, a smile spreading across your face.

She rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn as she leaned against the doorframe. “What time is it?” she mumbled, still half-lost in her dreams.

“Late enough for breakfast,” you replied, flipping a slice of toast. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Jinx blinked a few times, her expression slowly shifting from drowsy confusion to delight. “You’re the best! I can’t believe you made breakfast. What are you cooking?”

“Just some eggs and toast,” you said, pouring her a cup of coffee and handing it to her. “Nothing fancy, but I hope it’ll help with your hangover.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she groaned, taking a sip and making a face at the taste. “Is that black coffee? You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

You chuckled, leaning against the counter as you watched her. “I can always add cream and sugar if you’d like.”

She waved a hand dismissively, already turning her attention to the toast popping up from the toaster. “Nah, I’ll take it strong. What’s life without a little bitterness, right?”

“Speaking of bitterness,” you began, your voice light as you tried to gauge her mood, “how are you feeling this morning?”

Jinx leaned against the counter, a playful smirk on her lips. “Like I’ve been run over by a truck. But I’d say it was worth it for last night. You kept me from doing anything too crazy, right?”

“Just trying to look out for you,” you said, your heart racing slightly at the memory of her words from the night before. “But you were definitely having fun.”

Her smile faltered just a bit, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind. “Yeah… about that.”

You raised an eyebrow, bracing yourself for what she might say next. “What about it?”

Jinx glanced down at her coffee, biting her lip. “I kind of remember some things. Like… maybe telling you you’re special?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You said a few things, yeah.”

“Did I embarrass myself?” she asked, looking up at you with those bright, swirling eyes, a mixture of anxiety and curiosity flickering in them.

“Not really,” you assured her, trying to keep your tone light. “You just expressed some feelings.”

She blinked, the weight of your words hanging between you. “Feelings?” she echoed softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Yeah, feelings,” you said, your heart racing as you fought the urge to say more. “But maybe we should focus on breakfast first?”

“Right, breakfast.” Jinx nodded, but you could see that her mind was still on the night before. As you both stood there, the air thick with unspoken words, you hoped she’d be ready to talk about it again soon.

You turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs with practiced ease. “So, what do you think? Scrambled or sunny-side up?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Scrambled, definitely. Can’t handle any more surprises this morning,” she replied, a hint of a smile creeping back onto her lips.

With the eggs cooking, you let the comfortable silence settle between you, stealing glances at Jinx as she took another sip of her coffee. Her gaze drifted toward the window, the sunlight illuminating the room in warm hues.

“Last night was… fun,” Jinx said finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but you could hear the hint of vulnerability underneath. “I just—I hope I didn’t say anything too crazy.”

You chuckled lightly, trying to ease her worries. “You were just being you, Jinx. It was kind of nice, actually. You don’t have to worry about what you said.”

She turned to you, her eyes searching your face for reassurance. “But you know I can get a little… reckless when I drink. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“It wasn’t awkward,” you reassured her, your heart racing again as the memory of her words flashed through your mind—the way she had looked at you, the closeness you had shared. “You just told me you think I’m special. It was sweet.”

“Sweet, huh?” Jinx replied, her lips quirking up in a teasing grin. “And what exactly does that mean? Are we talking ‘special friend’ sweet, or ‘I think you’re cute’ sweet?”

You hesitated, the weight of her gaze making it hard to form the words. “It could mean a bit of both,” you said cautiously. “But it depends on how you feel this morning.”

Her expression shifted, a mix of playfulness and genuine curiosity. “What if I told you I remembered a little more? Like… that kiss?”

You turned to face her fully, heart pounding. “You remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” she said, her tone teasing yet edged with something deeper. “I also remember how you didn’t really return it. But, uh, I’m sorry; it kinda slipped.”

You could feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, and your pulse quickened at her admission. “It’s not that I didn’t want to,” you stumbled over your words, scrambling for an explanation. “I just—”

“Just what?” she prompted, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Were you scared of my breath? It was probably awful.”

“No! It wasn’t that!” You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing slightly as you caught her playful grin. “I just didn’t want to make things weird.”

“Aw, so you were thinking of my feelings,” she teased, leaning closer, her expression shifting as she tried to gauge your seriousness. “But, like, what do you think about it now? I mean, is it still weird?”

You took a deep breath, trying to navigate the sudden shift in the conversation. “I think it was a moment,” you said slowly. “And it felt… nice. But I don’t want to rush into anything. Especially since you were—”

“Drunk?” she interrupted, a bit of uncertainty creeping into her playful demeanor. “Yeah, I get that. But maybe it was a bit more than just that, you know?”

Your heart raced as you met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe there’s something there that we haven’t really explored yet,” she said softly, her voice losing its playful edge. “Like, between us.”

You swallowed hard, the implications hanging thick in the air. “Are you saying you want to explore it?”

Jinx hesitated, the teasing glint in her eyes dimming slightly as she shifted her weight, looking almost vulnerable. “I don’t know. I’m scared, honestly. I don’t want to mess up what we have.”

“Neither do I,” you replied earnestly, wanting to bridge the gap between you. “But if we don’t talk about it, we’ll never know.”

“True,” she said, biting her lip as she considered your words. “And you know me—I’m not great with talking about feelings. They’re just… there. And sometimes they scare me.”

“I get it,” you said, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. “Feelings can be confusing, especially with everything that happened last night.”

“Yeah, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “But I guess I’m just not as brave as I pretend to be.”

You felt a surge of empathy for her, knowing how hard it could be to voice what lay beneath the surface. “It’s okay to be scared, Jinx. We can figure this out together.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “Together sounds nice,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But, like, what does that even mean? Do we just hang out more, or…?”

“I think it means being honest with each other,” you suggested, feeling the weight of the conversation start to settle into something more hopeful. “Maybe we take things slow and see where it goes?”

“Slow, huh? You mean like taking it easy, not like a rollercoaster ride?” she replied, a teasing tone creeping back into her voice. “Because you know I’m all for the thrill, but this feels different.”

You chuckled lightly, appreciating her humor amidst the serious talk. “Exactly. No rollercoasters. Just… us. Hanging out, having fun. And if things happen, then they happen.”

“Okay, I can work with that,” Jinx said, her smile returning, though there was still a hint of apprehension in her eyes. “But what if I get too reckless again? You might end up in a weird position where you have to deal with my chaos.”

“Chaos is kind of your specialty,” you said, your heart fluttering at the thought of her quirks. “And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her laughter filled the kitchen, lightening the air between you. “You’re seriously the best. I mean, how did I get so lucky to have you around?”

You couldn’t help but grin back at her, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “I could say the same about you. You keep things interesting.”

She stepped closer, her playful demeanor shifting again as she looked into your eyes, the laughter lingering in the air between you like a sweet melody. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” you replied, your heart racing at the intensity of her gaze. “You make everything more fun. More... alive.”

A flicker of vulnerability passed through her eyes, and you could sense the shift in the atmosphere. The teasing edges of the conversation softened, replaced by something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a while now.

“Do you think,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper, “that we could… maybe try to be more than friends?”

The question hung in the air, and your heart raced in response. “I’d like that,” you said, the words spilling out before you could second-guess yourself. “I really would.”

Jinx stepped even closer, her breath warm against your skin. “Then maybe we should just go for it,” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief yet grounded with sincerity.

“Go for it?” you echoed, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Yeah. Like… a kiss. Just to see how it feels, you know?” she said, her voice teasing but her expression earnest.

“Okay, but if we’re doing this, I want to make sure it’s not just a spur-of-the-moment thing.” You took a step closer, feeling the space between you disappear. “I want it to mean something.”

Jinx nodded, her eyes locked onto yours, the playful edge returning just a touch. “I’m all for meaningful moments. Just don’t blame me if it ends up being a little chaotic.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With that, Jinx leaned in, her gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again, searching for confirmation. You felt your breath hitch as the moment stretched between you, filled with unspoken words and uncharted territory.

Then, as if the world faded away, you closed the distance. Her lips brushed against yours softly, tentative at first, sending a rush of warmth through you. It was gentle yet electric, a perfect blend of sweetness and a hint of the wildness that defined Jinx.

As you kissed, it felt like everything else disappeared—the kitchen, the smell of breakfast, the morning light filtering through the curtains. It was just the two of you, suspended in a moment that felt both familiar and entirely new.

Just as you began to pull away, Jinx grabbed the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, her lips moving against yours with a newfound urgency. The softness of her kiss quickly transformed into something more passionate, igniting a fire within you that sent shivers down your spine.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat radiating from her body. Jinx responded by pressing herself against you, her hands weaving into your hair as she tilted her head, deepening the kiss even further. The world outside faded into oblivion as you lost yourselves in the moment, the taste of her lips intoxicating, each brush igniting sparks of electricity between you.

The kiss grew more fervent, each movement becoming bolder, more desperate. You felt her heart racing against your chest, mirroring your own excitement. She pulled you in, and you could feel the playful chaos she thrived on, but it was paired with a tenderness that made your heart race.

“Wow,” Jinx breathed against your lips, her eyes sparkling as she pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a teasing smile playing on her mouth. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, breathless. Your heart was pounding, and the warmth spreading through your body felt electrifying.

Jinx leaned in again, this time capturing your lips with a fierceness that made your head spin. She pressed you against the counter, her body fitting against yours perfectly, igniting every nerve ending in a way that made you forget everything but her. You could feel her smile against your mouth as she pulled you in deeper, her fingers dancing down your sides.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you asked between heated kisses, the pulse of adrenaline making your heart race even faster.

“More than okay,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry as she nipped at your lower lip, sending a jolt through you. “I’ve wanted this for a while.”

With that, the air thickened with desire, the playful banter fading as you both surrendered to the moment. Jinx's hands explored your back, pulling you even closer as you kissed her back with equal intensity. It was a dance of chaos and connection, both of you losing yourselves in the rhythm of your lips moving together.

As you kissed, you became aware of the world around you again—sounds of the eggs sizzling on the stove, the coffee still brewing, the gentle hum of life outside—but none of it mattered. It was just you and Jinx, tangled up in each other’s arms, feeling the rush of something new and thrilling.

“Wait,” you said suddenly, pulling back, breathless. “What if we burn the toast?”

Jinx laughed, a bright sound that lit up the kitchen even more than the morning sun. “Oh, right! Priorities!” She reluctantly stepped back, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “But I wouldn’t mind some toast and maybe a side of more kisses later?”

You grinned, heart still racing from both the kiss and her playful tone. “Deal. But for now, let’s save breakfast before it turns into a charred mess.”

With a shared laugh, you turned back to the stove, stealing glances at each other as the air buzzed with a new energy. You couldn’t help but feel like everything had changed in that kitchen, and you were both excited to see where this new path would lead.

The soft morning light spilled into Jinx's room, painting everything in warm hues as you snuggled under the cozy blankets. You were nestled against Jinx, who had sprawled out comfortably beside you after a chaotic yet delicious breakfast. Her hair was a wild mess, a testament to the way she rolled out of bed in her usual chaotic style, and you couldn’t help but smile at how adorable she looked.

With a dramatic sigh, she flopped back down, burying her head between your breasts, her voice muffled as she said, “I like this relationship benefit.”

You felt your heart race, a warm flush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh really?” you replied, your fingers gently running through her hair. “What else do you like?”

“Mmm, definitely the cuddles,” she sighed contentedly, her breath warm against your skin. “But mostly this.” She wiggled a little closer, clearly enjoying the closeness.

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around her, pulling her even tighter against you. “You’re just using me for cuddles, huh?”

“Guilty as charged,” she said, lifting her head to flash you a cheeky grin. “But can you blame me? You’re the best pillow ever.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face betrayed you. “A pillow? Really?”

“Yeah, the best kind—soft and warm,” she teased, leaning in to nuzzle you again. “And I can’t get enough of you right now.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at her words, heart swelling with affection. “I could get used to this,” you admitted, pulling her in closer, both of you sinking deeper into the sheets.

“Me too,” she said softly, her voice a little more serious now. “You’re like the perfect chaos to my perfectly chaotic life.”

“Perfectly chaotic, huh? I like the sound of that,” you replied, grinning at her.

Jinx giggled, but her laughter faded as she studied your face, her gaze lingering on your lips. You felt a spark of anticipation in the air, a delicious tension that made your heart race.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice low, “can I…?”

You didn’t need to answer. In one smooth motion, Jinx closed the space between you, capturing your lips in a soft, tentative kiss. The world outside faded away as you melted into the moment, your fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.

Her lips were warm and inviting, and you felt a rush of exhilaration as the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. Jinx sighed against your mouth, the sound sending shivers down your spine. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, and you could taste the remnants of breakfast lingering on her.

As you both finally pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, Jinx rested her forehead against yours, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, does this count as a benefit?”

You chuckled, still feeling the warmth of her lips on yours. “I think it counts as a pretty great benefit,” you replied, your heart swelling with joy.

“Good,” she said with a sly smile, “because I plan on taking full advantage of it.”

You laughed again, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You lay there, lost in each other’s embrace, knowing that this—Jinx, the cuddles, the kisses—was exactly where you belonged.

You couldn't help but feel a mischievous grin spread across your face. “I might need to show you just how much I like these benefits, too,” you teased, leaning in closer.

Jinx’s eyes sparkled with excitement, her playful energy radiating off her. “Oh? I’d love to see what you have in mind,” she said, her voice dropping to that breathy tone that sent heat rushing through you.

Before you could overthink it, you leaned in, capturing her lips again. This kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if you were both trying to convey everything you felt in that moment. You pulled her closer, fingers tracing down her side as you savored the sweet taste of her.

Jinx responded eagerly, her hands threading into your hair, pulling you in as if she wanted to become one with you. You could feel the rush of passion growing between you, each kiss igniting a spark that left you both breathless.

As the kiss deepened, you found yourself shifting lower, your lips trailing from her mouth down to her neck, planting soft kisses along her skin. Jinx shivered beneath your touch, her breaths coming in quick gasps

as you continued your descent, each kiss eliciting a sweet sound from her lips. You reveled in the way she reacted, her body responding eagerly to your every move.

“Wow,” she breathed, her voice filled with a mixture of surprise and delight. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

You smirked against her skin, relishing the way she melted under your touch. “Just trying to show you how much I appreciate our little relationship benefits,” you replied playfully, your lips brushing against her collarbone.

“More, please,” Jinx urged, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she pulled you back for another kiss, this one even more heated than before. Her hands roamed down your back, fingers dancing over your skin, igniting a fire within you that you could hardly contain.

With renewed determination, you resumed your exploration, trailing kisses down her torso, pausing to admire her beauty. Each kiss left a lingering warmth, and you could feel her pulse quicken beneath your lips.

“Hey, don’t forget about me up here,” Jinx teased breathlessly, her playful tone mingling with the seriousness of the moment. You looked up at her, grinning at the way her cheeks flushed a deeper shade.

“Oh, I could never forget about you,” you replied, your voice low and teasing as you moved back up to capture her lips again.

She pulled you closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly, as if you were made for this. The kiss deepened once more, the world around you fading away as you lost yourselves in each other.

After a few blissful moments, you pulled away slightly, resting your forehead against hers. “I could get used to this,” you murmured, your breath mingling with hers.

Jinx’s gaze softened, and she smiled, a genuine warmth filling her eyes. “Me too. It feels… right, you know?”

You nodded, the weight of her words settling over you like a cozy blanket. “Yeah, it really does.”

With a playful smirk, you let your fingers trail down to her thighs, feeling the softness of her skin. “But I think I still have some benefits to explore,” you said, looking up at her with a teasing glint in your eye.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Jinx challenged, her voice laced with playful urgency. “Get to it!”

With a laugh, you lowered your head once more, ready to discover just how far this delightful chaos could take you both. The room was filled with soft laughter, warmth, and the promise of so many more sweet moments together.

You pressed your lips to her inner thigh, feeling the warmth radiate from her skin. Jinx gasped softly, her body responding eagerly to your touch, and you smiled against her, savoring the thrill of the moment.

“Is this what you meant by ‘benefits’?” you teased, your voice low and playful as you continued your trail of kisses.

“Definitely,” she breathed, her fingers tangling in your hair as she held you close. “But I might need a little more encouragement.”

With a playful glint in your eye, you shifted lower, planting kisses along the inside of her thigh, slowly building the anticipation. Jinx squirmed beneath you, her breath hitching as you took your time, enjoying every second of your exploration.

“You’re such a tease,” she murmured, half-laughing, half-pleading.

“Only because you love it,” you shot back, glancing up at her with a mischievous grin.

“Guilty,” she admitted, her voice a mix of sincerity and playful defiance.

Encouraged by her words, you continued your journey, your kisses trailing ever closer, teasingly brushing against the edge of her shorts. Jinx’s breaths quickened, the tension in the air crackling with electricity.

“Please,” she whispered, her eyes pleading, and that single word ignited a fire within you. You knew exactly what she wanted, and you were more than willing to give it to her.

You shifted your attention, pressing a soft kiss on the waistband of her shorts before slowly pulling back to look into her eyes. “Are you sure?” you asked, wanting to make sure she was comfortable.

“More than sure,” she replied, her voice firm yet filled with an undeniable sweetness.

With a smile of affirmation you discarded her shorts along with her underwear, you pressed your lips against her clit, and Jinx gasped, her body arching towards you as you continued your teasing exploration, sucking, twirling her bundle of nerves with your tongue. Each kiss sent shivers through her, and you felt empowered by the effect you had on her.

“God, you’re incredible,” she breathed, her fingers tightening in your hair as you took your time, cherishing every moment, every reaction.

You decided to add your fingers into the mix, thrusting them inside of her, and a long, soft moan escaped her lips. Jinx’s body responded eagerly, arching toward you as if craving more. You could feel the warmth radiating from her, the way she melted beneath your touch igniting a rush of exhilaration within you.

“Just like that,” she gasped, her fingers still tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if she wanted you to be a part of her completely. The urgency in her voice made your heart race, and you reveled in the control you had over her pleasure.

“Is this what you wanted?” you teased, your breath warm against her skin as you began to move your fingers in a steady rhythm, curling them just right. Each thrust brought forth another wave of pleasure, another gasp that made you want to smile.

“Yes! Just like that!” Jinx breathed, her voice trembling with need. You could see the way her body reacted, how she squirmed and writhed beneath you, and it only encouraged you to go further.

You leaned down, placing gentle kisses along her thigh, reminding her of the connection you shared as you continued to tease and explore her. Every movement was deliberate, designed to drive her wild, to make her forget everything else but the sensation of being with you in that moment.

“God, I can’t get enough of you,” you murmured against her skin, feeling the heat of her body against your lips. Jinx’s eyes sparkled with mischief and desire, and you could tell she was close.

“Don’t stop, please!” she urged, her voice a mix of desperation and delight. You quickened your pace, your fingers moving with newfound urgency as you watched her face, captivated by the way her pleasure built higher and higher.

“Let go for me,” you encouraged softly, feeling the tension in her body as it coiled tighter. The room was filled with the sounds of her gasps and the rhythm of your movements, creating a beautiful melody that echoed the intensity of the moment.

As Jinx finally surrendered to the wave of pleasure, you felt a rush of triumph wash over you. In that blissful moment, everything else faded away, and all that remained was the two of you, lost in your own little world.

Jinx's body tensed and then relaxed in a series of delightful shudders. You watched in awe as her expression transformed, a mix of bliss and vulnerability that made your heart swell. You slowed your movements, wanting her to savor every lingering moment, every aftershock of ecstasy.

“Wow,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering open, filled with a soft glow. “You really know how to treat a girl right.”

You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I just aim to please,” you replied playfully, your heart racing at the intimate connection you had just shared.

Jinx’s smile was radiant, and she pulled you closer, capturing your lips in a tender kiss that sent warmth through your entire body. “You definitely succeeded,” she whispered against your mouth, her fingers tracing the outline of your jaw.

As you kissed her, the world around you faded again, the intimacy of the moment enveloping you both like a warm embrace. The taste of her lingered on your lips, sweet and intoxicating, fueling the spark of desire that still flickered between you.

“Can I return the favor?” she asked, her voice playful but with an underlying sincerity that sent a thrill through you.

You felt your cheeks heat at the suggestion, but you nodded eagerly. “Only if you want to,” you replied, your heart racing at the thought of her taking charge.

“Trust me, I do,” Jinx said, her grin wide and mischievous. She shifted to position herself above you, a look of determination in her eyes that made your breath hitch.

As she settled between your legs, you couldn’t help but admire her confidence. Jinx leaned down, planting soft kisses along your body, savoring every inch of your skin. Each touch felt electric, igniting your senses and leaving you craving more.

“Just relax,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. You nodded, allowing her to take the lead, your heart racing in anticipation of what was to come.

The sensation of her lips trailing lower sent shivers through you, and you felt yourself sinking deeper into the sheets, completely at her mercy. Every kiss was filled with love and passion, a reminder of the connection you had forged in that cozy bed.

Jinx paused, looking up at you with a playful sparkle in her eyes. “You ready?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

You nodded, breathless with excitement. “Always,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

With that, she continued her descent, and you felt the world around you fade away again as she focused her attention on you, filling the room with shared laughter, love, and warmth that made everything feel just right.

With a sly smile, Jinx shifted her focus, her lips dancing across your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Each kiss sent ripples of anticipation through you, drawing soft gasps from your lips. You couldn’t help but arch your back slightly, urging her on, lost in the intoxicating sensations.

Jinx’s laughter echoed softly in the room as she reveled in the effect she had on you. “You’re so cute when you get all flustered,” she teased, looking up at you with those bright, playful eyes that held a hint of mischief.

“Only because you make it impossible to stay calm,” you replied, your voice breathless, heart racing as you felt her warmth envelop you.

She smirked, leaning in closer, her breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. “Good,” she whispered, before pressing a soft kiss against your stomach as she slowly took down your own underwear, sending another wave of shivers coursing through you. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, anticipation building with every gentle caress.

As she continued her descent, her lips brushed against your thighs, teasingly lingering just enough to drive you wild. You could feel the tension in the air, thick with desire, every breath feeling heavier as you awaited her next move. “Jinx, please…” you murmured, half a plea and half a command.

“Patience,” she shot back playfully, her eyes sparkling with delight as she pulled back slightly to tease you. “I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”

With a determined look, she finally kissed you where you needed it the most, her mouth immediately sucking your clit, just as you did with her, each gentle touch eliciting gasps that echoed in the quiet room. She took her time, savoring every reaction you gave her, her confidence radiating as she explored what made you tick.

“God, you’re amazing,” you breathed, lost in the sensations she was creating. You could feel the warmth pooling deep inside you, the tension building to an almost unbearable level. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” she replied with a soft chuckle, the sound sending shivers down your spine. As she licked and flicked her tongue on your pussy, making you feel an overwhelming rush of pleasure, your body responded instinctively as you melted into her.

Every movement was filled with a playful urgency, and you tangled your fingers in her hair, guiding her as she navigated the sensitive areas with expert precision. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you and the blissful connection that deepened with every moment.

“Jinx,” you gasped, feeling the tension building to a breaking point. “I’m so close…”

“Let go, toots,” she murmured, her voice low and encouraging. “I’ve got you.”

With her words echoing in your mind, you surrendered to the waves of pleasure that crashed over you. Your body responded eagerly, a rush of bliss that left you breathless as you found release, each wave washing away any lingering doubts or worries.

Jinx held you close, her movements slowing as she savored every moment, every reaction. As you came down from the high, she pressed gentle kisses along your thighs, your skin still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Your heart racing as you pulled her up to you, wanting to feel her warmth enveloping you once again. “You really are incredible.”

Jinx’s smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I aim to please,” she quoted you, her voice teasing yet filled with affection. “So, what do you think about these relationship benefits now?”

You laughed, pulling her in for a kiss, savoring the taste of her lips and the lingering sweetness of your shared moments. “I think they might just be my favorite thing about us.”

She grinned against your mouth, her playful energy infectious. “Good, because I’m not done exploring all the benefits yet.”

And as you both settled back under the covers, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of warmth, laughter, and love. Just like it was always meant to be.

[katsyarn]

I love the way you write can you do Kenma. Kinda toxic Kenma, reader and him had an argument but it’s mainly just him being awful to her. So reader is sad and then he gets worried she’ll do some stuff to herself and then he comforts her yeaaaa emphasis on the him getting worried and guilty part.☺️

sorry this is kinda detailed

ECHOES OF SILENCE

Pairing: Kenma x Reader

Genre: Angst with Comfort

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I BROKE MY COMPUTER. also change of writing style I literally physically couldn't go back to my old one LMAO

The door shut behind you with a hollow thud, the kind that echoed through your chest long after the sound had died away. The air inside the apartment felt heavier than usual, weighted down with the aftermath of your latest argument with Kenma. Your hands trembled as you reached for the back of a chair, grounding yourself before your legs gave out entirely.

He’d been harsh tonight. Harsher than ever before.

His words—cold, cutting, and merciless—had pierced through every defense you had built. They circled in your mind like vultures, picking apart the fragile pieces of your heart.

“Why do you always need my attention? It’s suffocating, honestly.”

“It’s not my job to make you feel okay all the time.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so insecure, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you bit down on your lip hard enough to taste copper, refusing to let them fall. You felt small—so unbearably small—and so unbearably alone.

Kenma hadn’t even looked at you when he delivered the final blow, his amber eyes fixed on the glow of his game screen as if you were nothing more than a background noise he could turn off.

And maybe he was right. Maybe you were too much.

The ache in your chest grew sharper, blooming into a storm of hurt that wrapped around your ribs like a vice. You rubbed at your arms, seeking warmth where there was none, your breaths shallow and shaky. The spiral was familiar, dark thoughts gnawing at the edges of your mind, whispering that you weren’t enough, that no one would miss you if you disappeared for a while.

Or for longer.

You blinked slowly, your gaze drifting to the window. The city lights outside twinkled, cold and distant. There was a numbness creeping up your spine, spreading through your limbs until you felt disconnected from yourself, like you were watching someone else exist inside your body.

Kenma leaned back in his gaming chair, the controller still in his hands. The room was quiet now—too quiet. He could hear his own breathing, uneven and shallow. The last thing you’d said before you left replayed in his mind.

“I don’t know what you want from me anymore.”

There was no fire in your voice, no anger. Just sadness. Defeat.

Kenma swallowed hard, his heart thudding unevenly against his ribs. The glow of the screen in front of him felt blinding now, the sound effects grating in his ears. He turned it off with a sharp click, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint light seeping in from the hallway.

Guilt clawed at his throat, a thick, suffocating weight that made it hard to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand through his hair, the silky strands slipping through his fingers like sand. He knew he was cruel tonight. He’d known even as the words left his mouth that they were too sharp, too unfair. But he’d been so frustrated, so overwhelmed, that he lashed out the only way he knew how—by pushing away the person who mattered most.

And now you were gone.

What if you didn’t come back?

A cold shiver ran down his spine. What if—

No.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

Kenma stood abruptly, his feet carrying him out of his gaming room before he even registered he was moving. He opened the door to your shared bedroom, half expecting you to be sitting on the bed, waiting for him like you always did after a fight. But the room was empty, and the silence was deafening.

His heart dropped.

You didn’t hear the door creak open behind you. You were too lost in the storm of your own thoughts, too far gone to notice the way Kenma hesitated on the threshold, his eyes wide and full of something you hadn’t seen in him before—fear.

“Y/N.” His voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it cut through the haze in your mind like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping up to meet his gaze. He looked pale, his hands trembling as they gripped the doorframe.

“What do you want?” Your voice cracked, raw and brittle.

“I…” Kenma swallowed, stepping into the room. “I was worried about you.”

You laughed, a bitter sound that didn’t reach your eyes. “Worried about me? Since when?”

“Don’t say that.” His voice broke, and the sound of it made your heart stutter. “Please… don’t say that.”

You looked away, your shoulders curling in on themselves as if you could shrink away from the weight of his guilt. “You don’t have to pretend to care now. You made it pretty clear where I stand with you.”

“I’m an idiot,” he blurted out, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’m… I’m so stupid, Y/N. I don’t know why I say those things. I don’t mean them—I never mean them.”

“Then why do you keep hurting me?”

Kenma felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to stop. But I want to. I swear I do.”

The silence between you stretched thin, fragile as glass. Kenma took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I thought… I thought I was losing you tonight. And it scared me. It terrified me.”

You blinked, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “You are losing me, Kenma. Every time you say those things… it chips away at me. And I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, the words trembling on his lips. “I’m so sorry. I’ll do better. Please… don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

The vulnerability in his voice broke something inside you, the walls you’d built around your heart crumbling as he reached out to cup your face with trembling hands. His touch was warm, grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into him.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. “Together.”

And for now, that was enough.

[curly-fry-3]

EPISODE ONE

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Daughter!Reader, Sam Winchester x Niece!Reader

word count𖦹5,784

notes𖦹 omg this took so long and its the longest thing ive ever written. part of the reason it took forever was cause my hyper-fixation kinda died down in the middle of it, but whatever. please give me constructive criticism, im still learning how to write people with a personality

It had been for years. Four years since you'd seen your Uncle Sam. You were six and couldn't understand why he had to leave. Dean had to explain to you multiple times what college was and how that led to a job and a regular life. Your uncle would probably never come back. The night he left was the first time you truly saw how dysfunctional the family was. Your dad always tried his best to keep you away from the arguments, but nothing could've stopped you from hearing John’s shouting. 

But now, four years later, you're driving with your dad to Sam’s apartment. Your grandfather had recently gone MIA during a hunt, and Dean thought the best plan of action was to get Sam and find him together. 

Normally, Dean wouldn't be ok with you being so close to all the monsters, but ever since Sam had run off, he hadn't been able to keep you away from the family business. John thought that you should be raised to fight, that you should know about the creatures out there. Dean wanted better for you. He didn't want you to grow up like him–constantly scared and on the move–but Dean always listened to his father like a good little soldier. Why wouldn't he, John’s raised kids before, and they turned out arguably alright.

At least, that's what Dean thought, but you could tell it was bullshit. Every time you overheard one of their arguments, he would always come to you, trying to defend your grandfather. You don't understand how your dad could still be so devoted to him. You don't like your grandfather– he is mean to Dean– so why does he think that John's extended leave of absence was something he needed to fix? Though you couldn't complain much about this road trip if it meant you got to see your uncle Sam again.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the impala came to a stop in front of the Stanford student housing. You look out your passenger window at the multiple-story building before turning towards your dad. You could tell that this was hard for him, seeing Sam after all this time, “Do we really have to do a home invasion, can't we just knock on the door like normal people? What if he sleeps naked or something, I don't wanna see that.”

Dean shakes his head with a light smile, “If that's something you're really worried about, I'll go in first, make sure he's clothed.”

You pause for a minute, looking back out the window before turning to Dean again, “We could've called. Told him we were coming….we should’ve.”

His smile dropped “You know he doesn't answer. This way is more efficient.”

You wanted to say something else, but you knew it was too late to change the plan. Instead, you follow your dad's lead, out of the car and up the fire escape, breaking into your uncle's apartment. 

Following a couple of steps behind your dad, he starts quietly snooping through the room, although it wasn't quiet enough because soon a taller man emerges from the doorway and tackles Dean, taking both of them to the ground. You back up against the wall as your dad gets the upper hand and the other man stops fighting. “Dean?” he asks, out of breath.

“Getting a little rusty there, Sammy,” Dean says, smugly, before Sam fights back, swapping their places on the hardwood floor.

After their little pissing contest, they both stand up, and that's when you really get a good look at your uncle. Even though you didn't really remember what he looked like, you could tell he had gotten taller. Before he ever realized you were in the room, you're running out of your hiding spot and tackling him in a hug.

Sam lets out an ‘oof’ when your body collides with his, and he looks down, confused, before immediately hugging you back. “Hey munchkin”

You crane your neck to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “Hey, Uncle Sammy! Sorry for breaking in, Dad loves a flashy entrance," I tease.

He chuckles before loosening his hold on you and crouching down to your level, “What's with this little impromptu visit?”

Instead of answering, you turn towards Dean, who's standing a couple of feet away, watching you two with his hands in his pockets. 

Sam follows your gaze and stands back up, directing his question to Dean instead of you. “What are you two doing here?”

Before your dad could answer, the light was flicked on by a blonde woman. “Sam?”

Everyone turns to look at her before your uncle breaks the silence “Jess. Hey. Dean, Y/N, this is my girlfriend Jessica.”

She looks over at Sam. “Wait, your brother and his kid?”

You roll your eyes as your dad takes a couple of steps closer to Jess, eyeing her appreciatively, before making some stupid comment about her slightly revealing pajamas. You watch the awkward interaction between the two before Dean turns back to Sam, “Anyways, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here. Talk about some private family business. But, uh, nice meeting you.”

Sam takes a step closer to Jess and wraps his arm around her. “No, whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her.”

That’s when you realize how much your uncle has changed, and not physical changes, he’s happier, healthier. You had always understood why he needed to leave. John was strict and mean, and the hunting life was miserable. And now that Sam is here, standing up to Dean, you feel guilty for coming to try and bring him back. Your dad obviously doesn’t get that vibe because he continued. Looking straight at the two, “Um, Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

“He's working overtime on a miller time shift. He’ll stumble back sooner or later.” Your uncle dismissed

Dean ducks his head and nods, “Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, and he excuses himself to go outside to talk.

The three of you make your way down the apartment staircase, heading towards the impala. Sam grumbles in annoyance as he follows Dean, “You can’t just break in and expect me to hit the road with you. And why the hell are you bringing Y/N with you? You said she would stay out of hunting.”

Dean shrugs nonchalantly and looks back towards your uncle. “Well, Sam, I couldn't exactly leave her behind with Dad. And, I thought you’d be more likely to come if I brought her.”

That makes you angry. How could your dad be using you as a pawn and not even tell you? “Seriously, I don't want to be part of your strategy. I don’t wanna be part of the reason he leaves his happy life.” You pause your movements at the bottom of the stairs and interject

Sam pauses with you, “Munchkin, it’s not your fault. It’s Dean's fault for bringing you. I swore that I was done hunting for good.” 

Dean smirks before brushing him off “oh come on it wasnt that bad” 

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “If it wasn’t that bad, why didn't you wanna raise her in it?”

Your dad's demeanor shifts to be defensive, “That’s different. She doesn’t have to be scared of what’s in the dark, cause I’m there to protect her.”

“Well, Dad should’ve been there to protect us, but he was too busy trying to find what killed Mom. But he can’t find it, so we kill everything we can find,” Sam responds. 

“We save a lot of people by doing it,” Dean justifies 

Sam takes a second to pause, “You think Mom would want this for us?”

Dean rolls his eyes angrily before slamming the door open and ushering you out, letting Sam trail behind him.

You try to block out the sounds of them fighting while you all make your way out of the parking lot and towards the car. Sure, you knew they had some stuff to work out before they would be close again, but you just missed when they would try to hide their fighting from you. I guess they decided you were old enough to hear all the family drama.

By the time you made your way to the trunk of the Impala, Dean had convinced (guilt-tripped) Sam into coming on this one hunt to find John. You peeked over their shoulders while they were discussing some lore, trying to look at your dad’s collection of weapons. He didn't like it when you went into the trunk, so you take every chance you can get to snoop. 

Not long after, they're slamming the trunk shut, and your uncle is going back up to his apartment to pack an overnight bag. You lean against the trunk next to Dean as you wait for him to come back.

He takes a breath before turning slightly and looking down at you, “Sweetheart, even though you aren't gonna be helping us hunt, you're still gonna be really close to the action. I need to make sure you know how to stay safe.”

You nod before looking back up at him, “I know. Stay in the car, and there's a gun in the glove box, but only use it if I have to.”

“I mean it when I say stay in the car. Even if you're scared, or if Sammy and I are taking too long, you stay. It's safe in the car, no matter what.” He explains.

“Can I at least help with research?” You ask, expectantly

He sighs, “Maybe. You're still young.”

You cross your arms defiantly, “Grandpa told me you've been helping with hunting since you were six.”

He shakes his head, “And that was way too young. I thought I told you hunting wasn't a good thing, it's not fun, I don't feel comfortable with you helping.”

You look down at your toes before weakly muttering out, “I just want to be useful.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder before pulling you into his side, “Sweetie, you are useful. After a long day of work, you're always there to make me feel better; that's the most important job you could have.”

You sit in silence with Dean, leaning against him, as you wait for Sam to ascend the apartment stairs. When he does finally arrive, duffle bag in hand, the three of you immediately hit the road, trying to reach your destination–Jericho, California–as soon as possible.

You fall asleep about thirty minutes into the drive, and when you wake up, the car is parked at a gas station and the sun is out. 

Your dad opens the back door before handing you a bag of chips and a water, “Good Morning sunshine, I got you your favorite for breakfast.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you respond before opening the water to take a sip.

Dean notices Sam watching the interaction with slight confusion, “What, you want breakfast too?”

Sammy shakes his head, “You're seriously feeding her chips for breakfast.”

“Well, it's not like I make enough money to get her a five-star meal every morning,” Your dad justifies, looking back at you happily munching on the savory treat. “Besides, she doesn't seem to mind.”

Dean puts the nozzle back onto the pump before hopping back into the driver's seat and speeding off. You lean forward between the two, “Don't worry, Sammy, I don't have chips every day, sometimes I prefer a meat stick. And, when we're splurging, I can get one of the ready-made sandwiches at the counter.”

Sam sighs and turns to Dean, “How'd you even pay for that stuff, you and Dad still running credit card scams?”

Your dad shrugs, “Hunting can't really pay the bills. Besides, all we do is apply; it's not our fault they send us the cards.”

“This all sounds like really boring adult stuff. Can I play some music?” You interject

Dean smiles at you through the rearview mirror, “Sammy, hand her the box of cassettes.”

He furrows his brows as he passes the box over into the backseat. “Seriously dude, you gotta update your cassette collection”

“Why?” You and Dean ask in unison

“Well, for one, they're cassettes. And two.” Sam looks back at you rifling through the collection, “Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock”

“I have some of my own music in here too, and even if I didn't, it's good music,” You rebut while handing Dean the album you picked out.

He looks at the one you choose before putting it on the radio, “Nice choice, sweetheart.” He turns back towards Sam, “Well, house rules, Sammy. Backseat driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole”

You drive for a couple more hours before passing a sign labeled JERICHO 7. Uncle Sam has been on his phone for a while, but he suddenly turns towards Dean to talk about the case. You felt bored and left out. Sure, you knew that they would actually have to do their job, but you were so excited to see Sam again, and he's barely talking to you. You got used to the attention Dean would give you when Sam was gone, so now you felt weird.

You push down the feeling of what you're trying to deny as jealousy, as your dad pulls the car to a stop in front of a bridge. The entrance is blocked off by caution tape and many cops are circling what appears to be an abandoned car. 

You hear Dean shuffling through his multiple fake IDs before he picks one and turns back towards you, “Stay in the car, ok? Sammy and I won't be gone long.”

You sigh dramatically, “Fine, I guess I'll just stay in the locked car with no AC like a peasant–or a dog.”

Your dad rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll be back.”

Sam nods back at you before they both exit the car and confidently cross the caution tape border. You try to analyze the crime scene through the back window of the Impala. You notice the people searching the water below the bridge and the lack of anything in the abandoned cars' windows. Nobody. That doesn't narrow it down. You're trying to search for clues from the comfort of the tan bench seat, but it's quite difficult when you can't ask the sheriff questions. You justwant to be helpful, like Sam. Your grandpa always said that you should be contributing more to hunting.

Sam and Dean bicker as they walk back to the car. Apparently, they got just as much information as you, so they decided to drive into town. Your dad parks the car, and the three of you get out and walk down the street together, looking for a girl named Amy. 

You stay close to your dad as you walk together, scanning the area just like he does. You spot two girls hanging up missing persons posters for the kid whose car was on the bridge. Dean notices the two. He turns toward sam “I'll bet you thats her”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees

The three of you walk towards the girl, and your dad grabs her attention. “You must be Amy,” He says, keeping one hand on your back.

She gives you a questioning look before responding, “Yeah.”

“Yeah, Troy told us about you. Were his uncles. I'm Dean, that's Sammy, and this is my daughter Y/N,” your dad introduces, pointing at each of you.

“He never mentioned you to me,” Amy says before turning away to continue hanging posters.

“Well, that's Troy, I guess. We’re not around much. We're up in Modesto.” Dean explains.

“So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around,” Sam says, trying to move things along.

Another woman walks up to Amy and asks if she's ok, giving our group a sideways glance. She reassures that she's fine before Sam interjects, “You mind if we ask you a couple of questions?”

The five of you walk to a diner. Amy and her friend sit on one side of the booth and you sit in between Sam and Dean on the other side. You listen as she tells her side of what happened the night her boyfriend went missing. 

You keep to yourself, not really knowing what questions need to be asked and observe the two young women. You take note of how they do their makeup and hair, they're both very pretty, then your eyes land on the necklace that Amy is wearing. It's a pentagram; you read up on them one time when Dean left some lore books out. 

Before you can think about it, you interrupt their conversation, “I like your necklace,” you compliment, while pointing towards the pendant that rested on Amy's chest.

She grabs the charm and looks down at it before looking up at you. “Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents with all that devil stuff.”

“Actually, it means just the opposite.  A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.” You correct

Dean turns towards you with a look of confusion “where the hell did you learn that”

“I pay more attention than you think,” You respond.

Your dad doesn't look away from you. He stares you down like he's trying to analyze you, or maybe see if you'll crack and tell him more ‘secrets’. He only focuses back onto the young girls when Sam puts the conversation back on track. “Here's the deal. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything…”

Amy and the other girl look over at each other before responding. “Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

“What do they talk about?” You, Sam, and Dean ask in unison. Dean looks down at you, confused by your interest, and looks back over at the two girls.

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago. Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.” Amy’s friend explains.

You look up at your dad as he looks over at your uncle, the two having a silent conversation. Sam and Dean thank the two girls for their time before sliding out of the booth, pushing you along with them.

You're sitting at the library, reading a comic book Dean had let you check out, when you get distracted by your dad and uncle Sammy fighting over the computer. You knew that Dean had gotten you the Batman comic to keep you distracted from the case, but you couldn't resist listening in on the bickering and looking over Sam's shoulder to the computer screen- “female murder hitchhiker–0 results”. 

You completely abandon your comic as you speak up, “Angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?”

Both of the boys freeze, and they turn from the screen to you. “Yeah,” Dean responds with furrowed brows.

“Well, maybe it's not murder,” you say, hesitantly, “it could be suicide.”

Your dad keeps his gaze on you while Sam turns to search the web. Bingo, multiple articles about a suicide on Centennial. Sammy nudges Dean with his elbow, grabbing his attention, and they pick the first link to read. You go back to your comic with a smile on your face, satisfied that you could help, as they gather information about Constance's death.

Later that night, you were back at the bridge–back to waiting in the car while Sam and Dean did all the important work. You couldn't understand why they didn't want to help, you were obviously good at research.

You could hear your dad and uncle fighting again; it seemed like they were doing a lot of that now. It wasn't like that before sam went to collage–maybe it was. The more they fight, the more you learn about what your grandfather was like, and the more you learn how much Dean was hiding from you. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the car starts. But nobody is in the front seat. You look past and out the front window to see Sammy and Dean standing a couple of yards away from the car, just as confused and worried as you were. Suddenly, the car lurches forward, and you're thrown around the backseat as it speeds towards the two. In your panic, you find shelter in the footwell of the backseat and stay crouched there even after the car stops. 

You have no clue how much time has passed when you hear the back door slam open, Dean frantically looking for you. He's breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon. “Oh, thank god, Y/N?”

Recognizing the voice, you look up at him with tear-stained cheeks and start to relax from your fetal position on the dirty floor of the backseat, “Dad?”

He pulls you out of the car and picks you up, holding you tightly against him. He cradles the back of your head, pushing your face into the crook of his neck, and kissing your temple. “You're ok, you're ok. I got you, baby.”

When you make contact with him, you realize he's covered in mud and smells somewhat rotten. Still, you hug him back as tightly as possible, fearfully clutching onto his soiled jacket, “I-I didn't know what to do.” 

“You did exactly what you were supposed to” he comforts

You hold onto him for a minute more before Dean crouches and sets you down on the asphalt. He stays squatting, holding both your arms to your sides, and runs his eyes over you, "You're not hurt, right?”

You shake your head, reassuring him. “Im ok, im not hurt”

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and muttered under his breath, “thank god.”

Only after you and your dad helped each other calm down did you notice Sam awkwardly standing a couple of feet away. Dean followed your gaze to him, and he stood up fully, his expression hardening. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

Sam turns from dean to you, with a worried expression, and you quickly wipe the tears from your face, hoping to hide them.

The three of you spend a minute decompressing, Dean checking to see if his car is ok, before you finally say something to break the tension. Leaning against the impala, you turn to Dean, “You smell like a toilet.”

Your dad drops his credit card onto the front desk of the motel lobby, “One room, please.” You're standing between the two men as the clerk picks up the card, glancing at the name, before looking back up at Dean. “You guys having a reunion or something?” he asks, slightly skeptical.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, grabbing the clerk's attention.

“I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought a room for the whole month.” He answers.

Your dad looks over at you and your uncle before taking his card back and thanking the clerk.

You're standing behind Sam as he picks the lock of your grandfather's motel room, Dean facing away from the two of you on lookout. Your uncle opens the door and steps in, letting you get an unobstructed view of the room. Sure, you've read a couple of lore books when you were left alone in a motel room, but you've never seen anything like this. The walls of the room were lined with printed-out articles and pages of notes. You turn around and pull your dad into the room with you before you shut the door.

Sam and Dean look around the room, gathering clues on the case and John’s whereabouts, while you focus on the wall lined with papers. You're reading through the article about the woman in white when your dad taps your shoulder, grabbing your attention, “Why don't you grab your book from the car or something? I'm gonna get cleaned up.”

“I got some reading material right here,” you joke, pointing at the article on the wall.

Dean doesn't seem amused; he gives you the dad look that says I'm not in the mood. You bow your head and take the keys from him. Dean goes over to talk to Sam while you step over the salt circle on your way out the door and to the car.

Sam sits on the edge of the bed, checking his voicemail, while you lie on your stomach on the bed, reading your book. Dean comes back into the room, showered up with clean clothes, and addresses Sam, “Hey, man. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?”

“No,” Sam replies, not taking his attention away from his phone.

“Aframan’s buying,” Your dad says with a smirk, trying to incentivise him.

Your uncle shakes his head, so Dean turns to you and puts his hand on the back of your calf, "Come on, sweetheart, let's get some food.”

You mark the page in your book before closing it and hopping off the bed. “Can I pick where we go? I can't stand burgers again. We're in California, we should get Mexican.”

“Ohh, I like how you think,” Dean says while putting on his jacket, while he waits for you to lace your shoes, and the two of you walk out to the Impala together.

You start to catch Dean up on what happened in the last few chapters of your book when he spots a police car across the parking lot. The motel clerk talks to an officer before turning and pointing at Dean. You look at your dad in worry before he pulls out his phone and calls Sam, telling him to take off. He hangs up just as the deputies approach, “Problem, officers?”

The cop gives him an unimpressed look “Wheres your partner”

Your dad furrows his brows. “What partner? It's just me and my lovely daughter.” he grabs you by the shoulder and pulls you closer to his side. 

You give the officer a wide-eyed look as his gaze meets yours, and he signals to the other cop to check out the motel room, “So. Fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?”

Dean smirks, “My boobs.”

One officer separates you from your dad while the other slams him against the roof of a cop car, arresting him. You struggle in the grip of the cop that's holding you, "you're hurting him, stop!”

“Sweetheart, I'm ok. I got some big muscles, and I don't get hurt easily. You gotta just do what the officer says, ok?”Dean reassures.

Your scared gaze moves from your dad to the two officers before you look back at the now-empty motel room.

The sheriff walks into his office with a box of evidence slamming it down on the table across from Dean, starting his interrogation. You're sitting in the station outside the glass windows of the room they've locked your father in, worriedly watching everything go down. Sure, you knew that your family constantly broke the law–and you've had some close calls–but never anything like this. 

Suddenly, everyone starts to run frantically around the bullpen. As people are rushing around you, you hear someone say something about an active shooter. Not before long, everybody–including the sheriff– has left the station to answer the call.

You quickly make your way to the office your dad is in, hoping to get him out before people come back. You unlock the door and swing it open, “Dad!” You throw your arms around him while he sits, handcuffed to the desk.

“Sweetheart, we need to be quick about this,” he says sternly.

You stop hugging him and straighten up, ready to follow his instructions. “Good. Now, do you have a bobby pin or some kinda wire?” He asks

You silently pull a pin out of your hair and hand it to him, watching as he picks the lock on the handcuffs. When the cuff clicks open, he rubs his sore wrist and looks up at you, handing you back your pin. Dean grabs what you recognize as Grandpa John's journal before the two of you make a stealthy escape.

Your dad manages to find a phone booth and you both crowd inside it as he dials for Sam. You're playing with the strap on the outside of the journal and flicking through pages while Dean is distracted by your Uncle Sam's rambling. You landed on a page about windigos and started reading through it when Dean snatches the book from your grasp. “We’ve got his journal,” he says on the phone, looking down at you with a hardened expression. You give him a slightly sheepish look before turning away and zoning out of the conversation.

You were reading the customized license plate of a car that was driving past when your dad yells for Sam over the line. Before you could fully turn around to face him, he hangs up the phone and grabs your wrist, dragging you out of the phone booth.

“What happened? Is Sammy ok?” You ask while speedwalking, trying to match Dean’s pace. Your dad stays silent, but you can tell he's freaking out. You keep quiet, putting on a brave face to not worry him further. 

By the time you've reached Constance's house, the fight has already started. Your uncle is in the front seat of the Impala, and the woman in white appears on his lap, her face distorted and her fingers digging into his chest. You fall to the ground as Dean roughly pushes you behind him before pulling out his pistol and shooting multiple rounds into the ghost, breaking the front driver's side window in the process. 

You stand up, whipping the dirt off your scraped knee, when Sam slams on the gas, flinging the car into the front of the house. You stand frozen at the sound of the crash, watching Dean run at full speed into the home to make sure your uncle was alive. Your feet are heavy and planted firmly in the dirt as your heart beats rapidly in your chest. 

The only thing you can see from your spot in the overgrown front lawn is Constance, standing ominously at the bottom of the stairs. The fact that you can't see Sam or Dean–that you have no idea if they're ok- is the most terrifying part. So terrifying that you don't notice the blood dripping down your shin, or the rock lodged in your cut. 

Suddenly, a young boy and girl–younger than you–apper at the top of the stairs. They look just as ghostly as her. She looks terrified, like you, frozen in place as the children calmly walk down the steps and embrace her. She screams, her image flickering, and the three of them melt into the floor.

After a couple seconds of silence, the adrenaline starts to wear off. You wince when you start to feel the pain in your leg, but you hesitantly walk towards the house, imagining what you might see and fearing the worst. Before you could fall too deeply into the hypotheticals, you hear your dad curse, and a wooden crashing sound. 

You hurriedly turn the corner, limping as you run, and see Sam and Dean leaning against the Impala, catching their breath. You pounce on them, trapping the two in a group hug. “I thought…oh, god, that was so scary”

They hug you back, gripping onto you with just as much force as you hold them. Your uncle pulls back from the embrace, gripping his chest with a pained expression. Dean is able to get a better look at you and notices the scrape on your knee. “Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, wanted you to be safe and out of the way.”

“I know…hurts though.” You pout.

The music plays softly in the impala as it drives swiftly down the road. You're lying in the backseat, half asleep, picking at the Scooby-Doo band-aid on your knee. The conversation in the front seat was tense as your uncle said he needed to go back home. You were disappointed. You had just gotten him back, and now he's leaving again. You already had little to no memories with him, you didn't want to see him leave. 

You and Dean didn't even get out of the car when he left, saying his goodbyes from the open passenger window, like he'd see you again in the morning. “Bye, Dean. Call me when you find him.”

“Yeah, all right,” Your dad replies dismissively.

Sam then turns to you, “Bye, munchkin.” he stays for a second, watching your disappointed expression. “Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Sam nods, and you smile slightly. “Ok…bye, Uncle Sammy” 

He pats the outside of the car door twice before walking away, back to his apartment. Dean lingers for a minute before turning the car back on and driving away. You stayed silent in the backseat. The farther you drive, the more a feeling of dread comes over you. Your dad apparently feels it too, before he even makes it onto the freeway, he's turning the car sound off and heading back. “Something's not right,” he says while looking at you through the rearview mirror.

The impala came to a quick stop in front of the apartments, and your dad jumped out of the driver's seat, you following him. He turns around and ushers you back into the car. “You're not coming this time, ok? Remember the gun in the glovebox. I'll be right back.”

You pout as you’re forced into the backseat, but comply with his orders. You were pushing a crumb around the leather seats when you noticed the flames. Scrambling up to the front seat, you open the glovebox and take out the gun. You had no clue what was going down, but if it was something supernatural, you sure as hell wouldn't be going down with it. 

You were breathing heavily and nervously scanning your surroundings when you noticed Dean dragging Sam from the building, without Jess, and you knew something bad had happened.

You stood behind your dad and uncle, watching the firemen running around the building, only turning towards them when Sam threw a shotgun into the trunk. “We got work to do.” Your uncle says, looking down at his feet, before slamming the trunk closed.

sorry for any typos

@aetherawasneverhere @mfstargirlsworld @gaymuppets

[grapenamjams]

Arcane Loris x Pregnant!femReader

“Oh no you don’t” Loris voice rumbles out hitting the walls of your shared apartment. Next you hear his thudding steps towards you. Large tan hands taking the box filled with groceries from your grasp.

Lifting it onto the table. His eyes give you a once over, taking in how your pregnant belly imprints against your simple dress. “Please tell me you didn’t carry this up the stairs yourself.” His tone gentle laced with worry, which many don’t expect coming from a large man like him.

“It’s not that heavy. Just greens and a couple of vegs” you go to lift up the box to prove your point but Loris scoots it away, furrowing his brows at you. His silence speaking volumes at his disagreement.

You give him a small smile stepping closer to him “don’t give me that look” rubbing his arm reassuringly “the young boy down stairs ran to the shops for me and brought it up.”

Loris breathes out a sigh of relief that you had followed his request of not using the stairs outside the apartment without him. He brushes your hair back, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Still, shouldn’t be lifting anything, hon” he mumbles into your hair, taking in your fresh scent.

His eyes glancing to the kitchen. a pan already on the stove and bowls filled with ingredients on the counter. Mind already flicking with ways you could strain or hurt yourself. If he could, he’d have you just rest the whole nine months. But he had to accept-with numerous glares and clever retorts from you- that wasn’t gonna happen. His lips tilt up at the memories. The fire in you he fell in-love with still burning bright against his calm demeanor.

“Lo, im Not weak. I am carrying your child here” his attention goes back to you. “kicks from her makes me think she’ll be joining your fight trainings before she can talk”

He lets out a chuckle. Pulling you closer into his large frame. Feeling you rest your head in his sturdy chest, watching his hand come to rub your 6 month old belly. “Trust me hon I know you’re not. But you know, I just want you and baby-wait she?” He stops himself, leaning back still holding onto you. Brown eyes widening.

Placing a hand over his on your belly. you shrug with a tentative smile. “It’s just a feeling”

his eyes light up with a smile on his rugged face. His chest expands with adoring affection at the thought of having a baby girl. Carrying her small body in his arms then seeing her run around his legs with a joyous, laugh, bubbling out of her hopefully resembling yours.

His free hand goes to your face, swiping a knuckle under your chin. “She’s, gonna be a fighter like her mama”

You hum, a finger hooking onto his pendant necklace. “If she’s anything like me then you’re in for a ride” bringing him down towards you.

Loris grins leaning his head “that a promise?” Sealing his words to your lips.

Because I can’t get enough of him rn.

Loris as a partner headcanons ⬇️

Oh he would not leave the house until he knows you are doing okay.

Need clothes folded? Done. Foot massage? On it.

Same with arguments he’d try work it out in the moment. Big on not going to sleep angry. But in those cases where there are arguments without a resolve insight at the moment. He’d know that you both needed to be alone so he’d go out and drink. However he will not be too far off. Bringing his drinks outside. Resting his back against the wall of your apartment. You can push him away but one thing about this man is that he’ll always be at your disposal.

Expect daily check ins. He is going to want to hear about your day and your thoughts.

Every decision he makes he has you (his family) in mind. Knowing his decisions affect you as well so he’ll ask your input. Ultimately, He’d choose what he thinks is best for the family but still wants to know where you stand and try to come to an agreement.

Silent but aware. He can read your body language like the back of his hand!

Would offer his hand to you so you can fidget with when you get anxious.

Always close enough to you so you can reach him. Knowing he helps you keep you grounded.

Letting you and his daughter braid his hair and add beads into it. Yes yes!