#ideas for these two are already brewing...

[couldawouldashoulda50]

the I need some William and Loren fluffy smut to cure my post-season-leaf-loss depression? Or part two of yes day? Or anything of that sort… I need Loren comforting her man, I need William having a summer baby fever breeding kink. I need all of that if you are still inspired!!!

Thank you so much for your ask. I actually have resumed working on Yes Day Part 2 - I had spent some time before that spinning a potential break-up scenarios....but this ask reset my brain and I came up with the idea below - aptly named The Reset (both for me and my fictional William). I hope you like it!

Word count - approx 4 k

Warnings - not much, swearing. general smut (oral [both m & f], p in v)

The Reset

The game was over. So was the season.

Game 7 had come and gone — and so had any last sliver of hope.

The car ride home was quiet. Not a peaceful, comfortable quiet — but the tense, jaw-clenched kind. William sat in the front with Michael driving. Loren was in the back with Ella. Camilla and Alex were in a separate car. Everyone was stiff and silent. The only sound came from the occasional throat clear or clipped attempt at small talk that fizzled just as fast.

Loren had tried to mentally prepare for this moment — the playoff heartbreak, the weight of disappointment — but nothing hit quite like being in that car, amidst the thick air of another exit that felt far too early.

She’d felt strongly that William should have some space once he wrapped up the season and headed to Sweden. She felt it was best for him to unwind with family and friends first — play golf, hang out, visit family.

William appreciated where she was coming from but he had wanted some time alone with her too.

When they got back to his place, Pablo and Banksy were waiting like his own personal therapists on four legs. William barely got through the front door before scooping Pablo up and burying his face in the dog’s neck. “You’re such a good boy,” he whispered, his voice thick. He knelt to hug Banksy next, murmuring something only the dog seemed to understand.

Pablo made a beeline for Loren, tail wagging. Banksy followed close behind. The tension in the room shifted — not gone, but softened — and nobody rushed to rehash the game. Not yet.

Loren kissed William on the cheek and said she was going to change. She didn’t want to hover. Sometimes she felt he needed time with his family without her and she gave him that space when she could. And honestly? She needed a moment herself. That game had been brutal.

A few minutes later, he came into the bedroom. Quiet. Exhausted. Still gorgeous but looking rumpled in his suit. She smiled softly as he walked toward her, his whole body heavy. She wrapped her arms around him, and after a second, he melted into her.

Neither of them said it — I’m sorry about the game - about how the series went — because what would that fix? He knew what happened. What had to be faced in the coming days.

She assumed he’d want to take the dogs for a walk alone, maybe use it to clear his head. But instead, he surprised her.

“Come with me?”

She looked up. “I thought you’d want to be alone.”

“I might need you for security,” he said, voice flat. “Could flash angry fans with your tits while I hide behind a tree or something.”

She snorted. “Oh yeah. Classy.”

But she grabbed her jacket.

They took a quieter route, hoping to blend in, though William and his dogs were far from inconspicuous. Still, no one bothered them. They walked in silence for a while — the good kind this time. The kind that always existed between them. Loren loved that about him. They could shut the hell up around each other and never feel weird about it.

Eventually, he reached for her hand. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. No words needed. She was here. Whatever he needed.

They talked a little about the whirlwind already brewing — locker cleanout, press conferences, speculation. Another season ending with more questions than answers.

“I can’t believe it went that fast,” he said.

She glanced at him. “I was so proud of you.”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed ahead. “Thanks for everything this year. The driving. The scheduling. Putting up with me when I was an asshole.”

She laughed quietly. “Yeah - you really are a fucking grump sometimes, y’know?”

He nudged her hip gently with his. “And Alex? He’s spoiled now. That’s on you.”

As they neared the building again, his pace slowed. She watched him out of the corner of her eye.

“So…I was thinking. What’s your cottage like?” he asked casually. “The one you’ve invited everyone to except me.”

She grinned. “You don’t strike me as a shit-in-the-woods kind of guy.”

He looked at her quizzically.

Loren smiled. “You have to do your business in an outhouse. It’s actually a very nice outhouse,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“I can deal with an outhouse.” William paused. “Are there bears?”

“There can be bears.”

“Hydro?”

“Most of the time.”

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You think I’d survive it?”

“Best chance is you’d survive with me.”

A beat passed.

“Are you really thinking you want to go up there?” she asked.

He gave a small nod. “I need to get the fuck out of the city. Just me, you, the dogs.”

Loren raised a brow. “So I’m only getting the invite because I have the keys?”

He smiled — really smiled — for the first time that night.

“Obviously.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They left Toronto first thing Monday morning.

It was early. Too early for traffic, too early for texts, too early for anyone to care about where William Nylander was going.

Which was exactly the point.

He wasn’t running away, not really. But the thought of the impending exit interviews, hearing more takes from the media, even facing his own family — it all felt like a weight pressing into his chest. He needed air. He needed to feel like time was suspended, even for only a short time.

Loren was still surprised with him asking to go to her family cottage — stunned, really. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him there. She just never imagined he’d want to be there. But he said it with such simple clarity — “Just you, me, and the dogs” — that she didn’t question it. She just started packing.

They planned for a quick trip — out first thing Monday morning, back first thing Tuesday. Just long enough to breathe.

William was asleep for most of the first hour and a half, slouched in the passenger seat with his hoodie pulled low. The dogs were knocked out in the back. Loren drove, the highway stretching ahead in soft, winding curves as they slipped deeper into cottage country.

They stopped once — all three males needing to piss on a dirt sideroad — and then kept going, passing rock walls, pine forests and still lakes that looked as cold as they probably felt.

Loren kept her expectations low for him. She warned him five different times that her cottage was not some tricked-out lakeside mansion like JT’s or Mitch’s. She joked that even Mitch’s boathouse was nicer than her whole place. William just smirked.

Eventually, she turned down a hilly, twisty backroad and rolled down the windows slightly. Banksy and Pablo stuck their noses out to sniff the air. Loren glanced at William.

“Do you wanna stick your head out too?” she teased, giggling when he tickled her knee in retaliation.

She’d be paying for that later. She already knew.

They pulled into the marina, loaded their bags and groceries onto Loren’s gleaming black pontoon boat, and set off across the lake. The further they got from land, the more William could feel the tension leaving his body.

Loren looked unreasonably hot driving the boat, even bundled up in layers. She rocked a windbreaker with sunglasses and her hair pulled back, she looked every bit the boss she was — steering through the buoys that marked rocks that would doom a boat's bow on impact. He watched her from the seat across from her, both dogs huddled beside him, and just loved who he was looking at.

She docked the boat flawlessly. She opened up the front of the boat and both dogs bolted out and up onto a massive deck built on stilts which hovered just above the water line.

As he looked around, William felt something loosen in his neck and chest that hadn’t budged in days.

When Loren stepped onto the dock, she stopped trying to lower his expectations. The moment he saw the place, she couldn’t hide how much it meant to her.

He kissed her on the dock — slow, grateful — and she could already see a bit of light returning to his eyes. She hauled the groceries up the long flight of stairs, with William carrying their other bags behind her.

Fuck, these stairs are worse than his normal cardio he thought.

Loren unpacked enough food for a small army and he watched her move about the tiny kitchen. She offered him something to eat but William wasn’t in a rush— at least not for food, anyway. He had other cravings. And now, with no one around for miles? They didn’t have to hold back.

Before he got his hands on her she tried to give him the “grand tour” which took all of five minutes — three rooms, a pseudo bathroom with a shower that an adult could barely fit into, and a porch with an incredible view.

Loren was still rambling about how it wasn’t much, just the essentials, barely enough hot water if they both wanted showers, yada yada…

William was barely listening.

She was standing in front of him with cold-flushed cheeks and her windbreaker half unzipped. The lake was behind her, grey and glassy. The dogs were already curled up in the living room. And for the first time in what felt like forever, no one needed anything from him.

No cameras.

No coaches.

No fucking press conferences.

Just her.

She turned to set a basket of extra linens on the bed, and he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in close.

“You know,” he murmured into her neck, “for a place that’s supposed to be ‘not much’… I already kind of love it.”

Loren turned her head to the side, smiling. “You’re just saying that because you’re literally stuck here….with no way off other than that boat.”

“No,” he said, kissing just below her ear. “That’s a bonus. But this? This is all I need right now.”

His voice was low, rough. Exhaustion still shrouded him, but so did something else — a need to connect. Not in the usual way, not even in the way they sometimes used sex as a pressure relief valve. This was different.

He needed to feel her.

Loren turned in his arms and really looked at him — looked into his eyes. She saw flashes of all the highs and lows of the past few weeks. But she saw something else. The need for something human - something that only she could give him where nothing depended on whether he blocked a shot or forechecked hard enough.

She didn’t say anything. Just kissed him.

And that kiss… wasn’t rushed. It was long. It lingered as her thumb stroked his perfect playoff beard. She waited all season for him to rock that beard. She kissed it knowing it would eventually be gone, like a ritual shedding of the playoff loss itself.

His hands moved beneath her sweater, fingertips gliding along her sides. Hers slid up the back of his hoodie, tugging it upward until he let her pull it off entirely. Her sweater followed, then her bra. Neither of them said a word. It didn’t feel necessary.

They slid under the sheets, beneath the blankets and the heavy quilt, and he was quick to find his place between her legs. He hovered over her for a moment — just looking at her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, brushing his knuckles across her cheek, then down the slope of her throat. “I don’t think I’ve told you that enough lately.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” she murmured, soft and teasing. “Totally got my ass in a twist about you not falling to your knees and telling me that every single second.”

He chuckled…that signature laugh of his — and the sound made her heart swell. She pulled him down, catching his mouth in another kiss.

There was nothing wild or crazy about what came next. Just slow touches, the kind that allowed two people to really feel each other’s full presence.

His mouth moved down her neck, his lips and his beard already creating that magical ache between her legs. His open-mouthed kisses which he lavished her nipples with only furthered that ache - the urge for him to slide inside of her and stay there, possibly for forever. She arched her back as he kissed, tongued and kneaded each breast while her hands smoothed over his back and her mouth kissed along his forehead. She whispered his name, threading her fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against her skin.

He kissed his way lower — she giggled and sighed as he kissed her pussy through her panties, soon removing them while kissing across her lower abdomen. There was no rushing. No feeling of pressure - only the blissful kind that comes from heightening arousal.

Loren was already wet —truth be told she had envisioned this moment since he asked to come up. Like her body had been waiting for this all season: the quiet, the time, the way he looked at her like she would forever be in his future.

He moved between her thighs, kissing her like she was the only thing that mattered — slow, deep strokes of his tongue, eyes locked on hers when he could.

She teased that he couldn’t have all the fun, so she changed positions - her on top, him still having full oral access to her pussy while she sucked his cock in the most sensually sinful way.

Although the heat was certainly rising between them, the still-cool air throughout the cottage won out, both retreating quickly back under the heavy covers.

They both snuggled as close as they could get, like two horny teenagers - their kiss was the kind that lit up the deepest need in each other.

He rolled her onto her back and she spread her legs, feeling every inch of his hardness pressing against her slit. She bit her lip as her hips rocked against him, her hands splayed across his round, bare ass.

They whispered their “I love yous,” smiling and giggling between kisses — some sensual and slow, others a chaotic barrage of smooches.

Loren soon gave him a look — like, ‘What are you waiting for, Mr. Perfect?’ — and wiggled her body in excited anticipation for his cock. She was so fucking ready.

When he entered her, it was smooth and slow. He watched her eyes soften and almost cross as her lids closed. The vein in her neck protruded and he was quick to plunge his mouth into the crook just above her shoulder. His beard tickled but it was such a heavenly feeling, his lips kissing up her neck while he thrust deeply into her.

He was close from the beginning. So was she. But one thing they never did when they had all the time in the world was chase an orgasm. They just enjoyed each other so much, their bodies moving together, eyes connected, full of meaning and lusciously dirty sounds.

Loren whispered his name again - awe would wash over her from time to time and she sometimes just had to say it to make sure he was real.

He kissed her forehead. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth.

“I needed this,” he said. “So much.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”

When they finally came — her first, then him just seconds after — it wasn’t loud. It was quiet and shuddering, like something tender unraveling between them.

He stayed inside her for a long while after, their bodies fully satiated beneath the weight of the quilt, hands exploring each other in slow, contented strokes.

I love that you wanted to come up here,” she murmured. “You just need to conquer using the shitter and you’ll be a certified woodsman.”

William nuzzled her neck and smiled. “You might need to stand guard outside. Y’know — just in case I fall in or something.”

“William — with that big badonkadonk dump truck you’ve got,” Loren giggled, giving his ass cheek a squeeze, “you have nothing to worry about.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Loren had drifted off in her usual post-orgasm way — flushed and breathing against his chest. One leg thrown over his thigh. One hand twitched loosely against his ribs.

William stayed awake.

Not in the restless way he sometimes did after road games or long stretches of adrenaline. This was different. His body was relaxed. His mind — for once — was quiet.

He looked around the bedroom.

It was small. Wood-panelled. The kind of room that hadn’t been updated much since the ‘80s or ‘90s — but it didn’t need to be. It was pure cottage chic. There were framed photos scattered everywhere. Signs of a family’s life built slowly over summers. A younger version of Loren in almost every one.

Her as a toddler in water wings and a neon-pink bikini, sitting on a warped dock, eating corn on the cob with melted butter smeared all over her cheeks.

Her in an oversized T-shirt, knee-deep in lake water, holding up a rock bass with a look of pure pride.

Her on her dad’s shoulders, both of them in matching baseball caps, their skin sunburnt and smiling.

He kept looking. At the girl she was. At the woman lying beside him now.

A love story between a cottage and a girl — one that quietly led her into the woman she’s become.

He turned back toward her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He kissed her bare shoulder. She smiled sleepily but didn’t open her eyes — just rolled in closer and tugged the quilt higher around them both.

His gaze wandered back to a photo on the far wall. Loren and her dad again — this time sitting side by side in the their aluminum fishing boat. He was teaching her how to drive the boat - she couldn’t have been more than five or six. She was wearing sunglasses and bright orange socks with sandals, grinning like she owned the world.

He swallowed.

Quietly, like he wasn’t even sure the words should be said aloud, he asked,

“Do you ever think about having kids with me?”

Loren blinked her eyes open slowly. Not startled — just… surprised.

She looked at him for a long second.

Then, without a trace of irony, she said,

“I want nothing more than to be waddling along, eight months pregnant, with little Willy Junior holding one hand—”

William grinned.

“—and whoever comes next holding the other—”

“Wait, there’s already a second one? And a third on the way?” he teased.

She smirked. “Oh, you think I’m stopping there?”

He laughed, kissed her, and let her continue.

“Both of them holding my hands, watching their dad at morning skate. Or pressed up against the glass at a home game. I think about it all the time.” She paused, her voice a little softer now. “I think about what kind of dad you’d be. I somehow think I’ll be the bad cop between us two.”

He couldn’t speak for a moment.

So instead, he slid down under the covers and pressed his mouth to her stomach — soft, reverent kisses across her belly. His voice muffled slightly against her skin.

“That sounds about perfect. I’m fine with being the good guy.”

Loren smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “Oh yeah. I can imagine it now. You guys will all gang up on me - poor old Mommy’s gone to the insane asylum,” she feigned pouting. “Wait - is it perfect just because you like the idea of getting me pregnant again and again.”

He nipped at her side, making her yelp.

“I love the idea,” he said, lifting his head. “So…yeah… I’m game.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They watched one of Loren’s favourite ‘80s movies — still on VHS tapes. William shook his head as she hunkered down under the blanket, beaming with excitement to watch Beverly Hills Cop.

The rest of the day unfolded like time had slowed down just for them.

They snacked. They dozed. They went for a short hike and followed the shoreline back to the cottage.

Then came the dare — a naked cold plunge, since the lake was all but deserted. William, ever smug, managed just over three minutes. Loren lasted just under two before scrambling up the ladder, wrapping herself in a giant towel, shivering uncontrollably.

She watched William tread water, controlling his breathing and she playfully scolded him for putting “Cowboy Bill” through that kind of trauma.

He offered her the chance to warm him up — which she gladly accepted.

After dinner, they bundled themselves in layers — fleece-lined everything — to take the pontoon boat back out for a sunset cruise.

The sky was still bright, the lake like glass, but the temperature had dropped even further over the past few hours. It wasn’t long before William started grumbling about the cold — though secretly, he was enjoying the stillness… and watching Loren play tour guide.

After listening to him whine a little more, Loren brought them back to the cottage. A bottle of wine was opened — and somehow, very quickly, polished off.

There was an attempt at strip Uno, which turned out to be a disaster from the jump. Neither of them could remember if the reverse card meant you put clothes back on… or took more off.

William cheated.

Loren caught him.

They both ended up topless anyway.

By 10 p.m., they were in bed — very much not asleep — making the old bed frame creak like it was one good thrust away from snapping in half. They passed out by eleven, tangled under a quilt that smelled like wood smoke, both completely spent.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Morning came too fast.

Loren made coffee and French toast and the best damn turkey sausages William had ever tasted. She teased him when he went back for seconds. He kissed her neck and said something about marrying her if she kept feeding him like this.

She rolled her eyes — but her cheeks flushed anyway.

Leaving day always sucked. Loren had warned him about it the night before, how it felt like the hours stretched while you were here… but snapped back to reality the minute you started packing. He felt it too.

While Loren jumped in the shower, William stayed in the living room with the dogs, a mug of coffee balanced on his knee, half-watching the Golf Channel on low volume.

His gaze drifted to the low bookshelf near the fireplace — stacked with photo albums, their spines cracked and faded from years of flipping.

He grabbed one at random and started flipping through it absently. Summer after summer of lake days, backyard birthdays, dogs long since passed, and winters with snow up to the windows.

And then he saw it.

Loren’s mom, very pregnant. Standing on the dock out front. Strands of her long hair being lifted by the wind. One hand cradling her belly. Laughing like someone just said something really stupid and really sweet at the same time.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the photo.

It looked so much like Loren.

If he ever needed a glimpse of what their future might look like — what she might look like carrying their baby — this was it. A living preview. And he wanted it so badly, it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He reached for his phone and snapped a quick photo just to keep for himself.

The last 24 hours had been exactly what he needed. Exit interviews awaited him as soon as he was back in the city. But Loren — the calm she surrounded him with — helped quiet his mind.

But now — with that picture — it felt like a peek into all the tomorrows.

How he could see them spending every single one of them together.

[evangeline-huntington]

If Evie was the sun, Maude was the peach that grew in the light - delicate outside, rich and fragrant on the inside. Maude was meant to be selected, Evie was meant to set. Mo was for savoring, Evie for basking. No matter what way Mo turned, or where she grew, or how bountiful the fruit, you could find Mo nourishing her best (and sometimes worst) impulses and urges. All Evie ever wanted to see Mo be was happy, that most fickle of feelings, and it was obvious that between the two of them, there was more consistency to that endeavor than any poet had ever written.

When Maude joined her on the crate, Evie found herself staring; she was haloed by the sun behind her coming in from the tall store windows, and it seemed fitting. Bathed in light, crowned by the angels. That was her Mo.

Evie swung an arm through the crook of her friend's elbow. "Of course I'm prettier than your father. I'm also smarter and funnier, but don't ever tell him that, I fear he'll have nothing left to lean on!" She laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, yes, what a horrid failure you've been at being a lady! We should strip you of the title completely. From now on, we shall be ruthless, old bog witches - casting spells from our homes inside grassy knolls and brewing potions of swamp grass and toads. What do you think?"

She felt fingers on her chin and found herself gazing at Maude in a way she seldom let creep into her expression - longing. Her lips threatened a slightly downward turn. But she was a fool. Flirting with women in the shadows of her family's own shop, kissing them in cupboards and back rooms for a decade, making love only when she knew they would hold their tongues in public. Waiting on her baby brother to do the damned marriage thing already so she could be free. What kind of sister - woman - was that?

Evie leaned in, and felt the weight of the world fall from her shoulders into Maude's ready arms. "You have no idea what the kind of love you give me really means to me, Mo. Remember that."

Her eyes opened when she heard the grin in Maude's voice, and just like that, her own sorrows were wiped from the chalkboard of the universe. Consistency - that was their way. Evie poured her energy into making sure this topic lasted, for it seemed to spark something in Maude she'd rarely seen before. "Mister Hunter Thorpe?" she gasped, her own smile widening, like a child holding a secret. "Oh, darling, whatever are you scared for? Falling in love is of the most sacred, natural blessings we can have in this life. What's going on in that curly head of yours?"

when maude thought of evie, she thought of their sunny summers sipping lemonade, walking next to a bubbly creek barefoot, and lying in a field behind maude’s home — tickling each other’s noses with wildflowers and laughing until the moon peeked over the horizon. evie huntington was her twin flame — the one who’d happily taken maude’s hand when she was searching for trouble. she knew one thing for sure — evie was an angel placed on earth to make life brighter for others, and, oh, how maude loved to soak her presence up.

a loud giggle fell from maude’s lips and she grabbed evie’s hand, squeezing onto the top of the crate with her and gently bumping her waist against evie’s. “then i shall join you! certainly i can protect you from flour and rotten vegetables — no one shall dare heckle you if i’m around!” she triumphantly placed a hand on her hip as she tossed her curls over her shoulders.

“don’t tell my father, but you’re far prettier than him and you allow me to indulge in as many sweets as my heart desires,” she mused, stepping down as well. “evie, my dear, i fear it’s far too late to turn me into a lady — we should all abandon that cause altogether,” a wink and a nudge.

maude smiled adoringly at her friend, placing a finger under evie’s chin so that she could look into her eyes, a delighted grin on her lips. “i’m just desperate for you to find a lady!” she pouted, “you deserve all the love in the world.” stepping closer, she gently took evie’s shoulders in her hands, leaning forward to press her forehead against the other’s as a smile pulled on her lips, “you, my darling, are no fool. you’re the most wonderful woman i know.”

“you’re not old, you’re practically a spring chicken,” maude protested with a grin, “and it’s my mission to find you someone who will make you the happiest woman who has ever lived.” evie’s question stirred butterflies in maude’s chest. she was terrified of losing hunter — terrified if she spoke his name out loud he’d slip through her fingers, but evie was her best friend and she wanted to gush and giggle about him with her. she leaned closer, conspiratorially, taking evie’s hands in hers. a blush bloomed across her cheeks and she sighed happily. “mister hunter thorpe,” delight danced in her eyes, “evie, i’m falling for him and i’m scared.”

[whumpbug]

new ocs!!!

hi gang!!!!!!!!!!!! i've been hinting at more characters for a bit and HERE THEY ARE!!! i might try to use the whumperless event to intro them a bit more, but if anyone has any drabble requests until then feel free to send em in! and if you have any clarifying questions, PLEASE ask them!!!

as you can tell, i love westerns. i love cowboys. i NEEDED a cowboy/wild west setting to whump in so i made these guys (yes i am aware their color palletes are just simon and archie in a different font. i am a one trick pony.)

sidenote: rdr2 fans, you're gonna love this (these two are practically rdr2 ocs) (′ꈍᴗꈍ‵)

onto the boys (men?? we'll go with men.) this post is embarassingly long. strap in guys.

picrew here (though i couldn't find one that captured their looks the way i envisioned.... sigh i need to start drawing again. anyways, i included some outfits to go along with them!

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eugene (gene) delaney

age: 28

height: 6'2

occupation: deputy sherriff (his town is called Whiteridge)

description: gene is. well, for lack of better words, he has a stick up his ass. that is to say that he is very particular about things, namely the safety of his town and the activities that go down in it. he cares very much about keeping the streets safe from gangs and criminals because his mother was killed by a gang when he was just a child and he knows the dangers of having bad people run around unrestrained. also, the sherriff he works under is crooked and useless, so gene is left with a lot of responsibility in terms of managing Whiteridge. he's strong-willed and intelligent, but very morally conflicted about many things. he wants whats best for his people, but is controlling everything with an iron grip really the best way to go about it?

here is his outfit that you'll usually see him in!

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cassidy "silver" mccoy

age: 27

height: 6'0

occupation: outlaw/one of "montana's boys"

description: cassidy gets his nickname "silver" from his silver tongue. he's been known to talk his way out of death more times than he can count. he runs with a gang lead by a man named welles montana, and he is one of montana's most respected men. he was taken in by montana when he was very young, and believes he owes him his life. he trusts him blindly and is convinced evetything he does is for a good cause, even if sometimes it's questionable. he greatly enjoys his job and loves seeing the fruits of his labor in the form of hungry kids getting to eat for the first time in weeks, or single mothers able to afford a new dress. he did not grow up wealthy, so what he does is very personal. despite wanting to appear smooth and charismatic, he is a deeply feeling person that sort of lets his emotions rule him.

here is his typical outfit!

a bit about montana's gang: they lead robin hood-esque type heists where they exclusively take from the wealthy to give to the poor, but their methods are often violent and destructive. also, montana himself is not a very good man but cassidy doesn't necessarily know that. montana is sort of leading a double life where he spends part of his time with his gang and the other part with the wealthy assholes they're trying to take down. none of his gang know he is getting the best of both worlds and betraying them all. he's very manipulative and acts as a whumper in this story. cassidy is at his beck and call, and follows orders often without question.

also, there is a rival gang lead by a man named o'malley. they are your typical old western gang with no strict morals, sort of just trying to get the most money they can. members of o'malley's gang act mostly as whumpers as they are much more harmful and destructive than montana's boys, and have it out for cassidy specifically.

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their relationship/more background info:

cassidy and gene have a bit of a cat and mouse thing going on. cassidy often pulls heists with his boys in plain sight and since gene is the deputy, he's the one sent to bring him into custody. the two spend quite a bit of time together because of it. (cassidy is an escape artist. he is never locked up for more than a few days. gene hates this.) to gene, cassidy is infuriating. he believes you can't fight fire with fire and that cassidy is just causing more problems with his violent approach to "helping others"

cassidy on the other hand, loves to tease and provoke gene. when they first meet, it's while cassidy is locked up in a jail cell. he clocks how "stuck up" gene is, and sees it as a challege to try and piss of gene as much as he can and get away with it. he knows and he and gene actually have very similar goals: protect the people that can't protect themselves, but gene's approach feels too slow and ineffective to cassidy. still, he respects his dedication and never actively wants to cause him harm. regardless, cassidy's loyalty to montana is stronger than any respect he has for gene (AT FIRST), so the two have an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers type thing going on

as for a silly detail, even though the two men are less than fond of eachother, their horses are infatuated with eachother. they seriously have the biggest crushes on eachother, and make it known that they are upset when they have to be seperated.

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BONUS here are their respective horses:

this is calliope, gene's mare. she is sweet as sweet can be, very gentle and extremely, totally spoiled by gene.

this is scotch, cassidy's gelding. he is opinionated and stubborn and only answers to cassidy (and even then, it's only about half the time)

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thank you so much for listening to be ramble! i plan to have at least one fic of these guys during the event, maybe more, but i'm honestly so excited for them. i've been wanting to make ocs like them for a LONG time and here they finally are!! i hope you all enjoy!

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[violetscanfly]

This has probably been done before but I haven't seen it so! Today I offer you Alien Stage except wangxian👽

[bardengarde]

Needing to do work but plagued by video edit ideas I have in my brain

[bcowlick]

POSEIDON AND AMPHITRITE WIN!!!

For the two other couples, no worries! I have plans for them but they'll come later

For now, i'm already brewing ideas for Posey and Amphi jjsjsksk

Thanks to everyone who voted! You guys made it a very close race!!

Just for funsies, if i were to draw another short dirty comic (NSFW) which couple should i do? 👀

Take your pick!

[yuusishi]

Azul really is a victim on this account cuz I just posted angst of him and one of my drafts is another angst fic (unrequested this time) 😭😭😭

[arolesbianism]

Thinks oh so hard abt raccoon au printing pod doomed yuri.... What if you were a robot in love with your fellow robot but your past human selves had to fuck it all up and murder eachother 🙄

[jinx-xxed]

Silver Chains

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I’ve already watched Sinners 4 times and became obsessed so I fear it’s necessary for me to write a fic for Remmick at least once 🤕 this is my first time writing vampires and blood like this so please forgive me if it sucks 🙏 also if I’ve written anything in relation to the movie incorrectly please tell me so I can fix it! I have some other ideas brewing that I might write as well so I hope you enjoy :P!

Summary; A hunt gone awry leaves you caught by vampire hunters with the threat of the sun looming over you.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, vampire reader, vampirism, vampire hunters, blood and injury, death, feral behavior, you almost die, protective/possessive Remmick, very dependent relationship, bloodsucking, blood eating as kink, a lot of drool, he comes with it what can I say, feeding off Remmick, putting those claws and teeth to good use, eating out, fingering, piv sex, multiple orgasms, little bit of aftercare, soft Remmick

Wc; 7.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The stench of blood assaults your nose.

It’s not the tantalizing, mouth-watering scent of someone else’s, no, it’s your own. It smells all sorts of wrong, impure and old with decay only to a thing like you.

Your blood runs down your skin in rivulets, staining it a deep, shiny red. Droplets fling from your body as you thrash and jerk against the heavy, silver chains that bind you to a thick and sturdy tree. The pain of the bark digging into your back is nothing compared to the agony of the chains burning your flesh away, steam rising from your injuries like you’d been placed on burning coals. It makes you wild, desperate to get away but with nowhere to go.

There’s no chance of you escaping the chains that sit against your neck, arms, waist, and legs in sets of two, even despite your struggling and the way you try to launch yourself from the tree with the slight leeway you have with your feet. Your unnerving eyes gleam in the moonlight, wide and frantic with fear, your bloodstained, jagged teeth showing in your open mouth. You feel as far from human as you possibly could be, snarling like an animal and chained just like one too.

The men watching you seem to think the same thing.

There’s five of them, two sit on their horses while the other three steadily pace the small clearing they have you in. God damn vampire hunters, armed to the teeth with everything they need to kill the likes of you. Silver bullets, silver chains, garlic and holy water, wooden stakes on their belts. It’s like they’re surrounded by a bubble of protection that you can’t penetrate, that’ll hurt you if they get too close—which isn’t that far off.

You curse yourself over and over. You and Remmick made damn sure to stay away from Choctaw land and yet here you are, caught and beaten. This is a new type of hunter, one you’d never had the misfortune of coming across before. They hunt in the dead of night, they enjoy watching you thrash and suffer, and their methods are cruel, meant to draw out your punishment.

You’ve never heard or seen a lick of them prior to tonight when you’d been ambushed and chased through the woods.

A gunshot had pierced your shoulder, one that brought more pain than your typical lead bullet. It had left you stumbling with a choked yell, steam rising from the hole in your shoulder blade. Then you’d heard the rustling in the underbrush, the hoots and hollers of men with a different kind of bloodlust than what you’re used to. Oh you’d ran, you’d ran as fast as your legs could carry you through the rough terrain of the forest, clearing fallen logs and scraping your bare arms on branches and thorns.

They’d caught you with another bullet to your thigh and a rope around your legs, pulling snug as soon as you tried to take another step and sending you thudding onto the hard ground. They’d wrapped you in silver soon after, seemingly experts on how to maneuver around you to avoid your snapping teeth and deadly nails. The first touch of the silver made your skin bubble and burn, a scream tearing out of your throat against your will. They’d dragged you crying for you don’t know how long behind their horses, all the way to the edge of the forest that overlooks a field that’s flat for as far as the eye can see.

You don’t know where they came from, they’re clearly unrelated to any other group or tribe of hunters, instead being just a gaggle of men who have dedicated their lives to eradicating yours. The history of your kind isn’t widely known, isn’t readily available to the public, so in your pain-addled brain you still wonder where they heard your tales, still wonder what else you might have to worry about if the knowledge is growing.

Your head thumps back, your breath coming ragged through your lungs. You shut your eyes tight for just a moment, trying to force away any more tears and clear your head. You haven’t felt pain like this in a long, long time, especially because Remmick has always been there to keep an eye on you, to keep you out of harms way. But not this time, not when you strayed too far and got too distracted to be vigilant about your surroundings. You’d been stupid and you know that, so part of you thinks you deserve this.

“Just stake me and be done.” You groan, ultimately defeated as the silver chains bite through your skin to the bone. It’s not like you want to die necessarily, you just want to be released from your own agony. You hate the way they’re toying with you, watching like wolves as you writhe and bleed.

One man shakes his head, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat he wears. “Nah, we like to watch y’all burn.” He looks to his watch and then up at the sky. “Ain’t gon’ be much longer now.”

You can’t help looking as well, your eyes finding the ever lightening night sky. The stars have been chased away, the moon laying itself to rest on the other side of the earth. You can feel the threat of the sun as the air steadily warms, as time tick, tick, ticks away. If you had to guess, you have about thirty minutes left at most before yellow rays peak over the horizon line.

You force a swallow down your torn throat, your breathing stutters as panic kicks up in your chest. You figure seeing the sun in your final moments won’t be the worst thing, it has been seven years after all, but nobody wants to be burned alive. You don’t want to feel your skin cook and be engulfed by flames, you don’t want your last memory to be pain. Tears fall down your bloodstained cheeks without you realizing, dripping to the forest floor as your head hangs.

Then there’s a rustle in the trees beyond that makes your attention snap back up. That’s when you sense it, when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise. It’s like a blanket of eerie quiet was laid over the clearing, quieting any crickets or frogs or birds and leaving just the whispers of an old wind through the trees. There’s a flash of red, the familiar smell of ancient blood and earth hitting your nostrils. It’s an instant comfort.

Your own reaction has caused the hunters to become alert, clutching their guns a little tighter and looking into the trees. They don’t even realize what’s happening before the screams start.

The first man goes down—the first is always the easiest. The horses startle in turn, rearing up with loud, shrill whinnies that make the men on their backs shout. One falls off his beast while the other gets dragged from the saddle with a yell. The horses shake their heads and shriek before crashing into the forest, leaving their riders behind to get their throats torn open.

You could sob in relief at seeing Remmick, his claws extended and his fangs bared. He looks feral, his hair wild and his eyes wide and gleaming bright red. Blood coats his chin and his neck, staining the collar of his button up as he rips into his victims as messily as he pleases. The two men left got enough of their senses to try and fire their guns, to use the weapons they so carefully prepared. One wields a wooden stake and runs at Remmick who grabs the man’s wrists to prevent the stake from being buried into his heart.

They grapple briefly before the man is being slammed onto the ground with a terrifying ease, something within his body cracking. Claws are raked across his neck in a quick slash, urgency spurred by the cock of a gun, the sound of the shot being fired making you flinch as it rings through the clearing. It misses its target by just a hair and it’s unable to reload fast enough to prevent Remmick from jumping on the final hunter. The man goes down with a choked scream and you hear the familiar sounds of flesh being devoured and blood being drained. There’s only a sickly silence that follows.

All of the spilled blood has thick strings of drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, your hunger flaring up from the lack of food you’d gotten tonight and the exhaustion of struggling against the hunters. You lean forward instinctively, desperate for a taste, before the silver chains binding your body remind you of where you are. You jolt back with a whimper, pain biting into you tenfold.

Remmick’s head snaps up, those sinister red eyes finding you as the bloodlust and blind rage fades, as he seems to remember you. He’s up in an instant, hurrying over and flinching away with a snarl when he realizes what’s wrapped around your body. “Shit.” He spits angrily, doing it again when he looks to the horizon and sees the slow infiltration of the oranges and yellows of morning into the purples and blues of night. Ten minutes left.

“Rem- Remmick- please, please get me out- it hurts, Remmick, please.” You beg, your babbling words warbling with pain and emotion. You don’t want to be left behind, not again, not by him. It’d hurt more than the searing kiss of the sun.

“I ain’t leavin’ you, darlin’.” He says with finality through gritted teeth, even as every instinctual thing inside him whispers to leave you here to die, to save himself and let you be engulfed in the flames of your mistake. He circles behind you, taking a deep breath before beginning to tug at the chains, hissing as they burn the calloused skin on his hands. Despite the pain, they steadily come undone, dropping to the ground around you so you can finally take in a gasping breath.

“I told you to stay with me, didn’t I? Would it kill ya to listen for once?” Remmick snaps as he undoes the last of the chains around your legs, leaving you to stumble forward. You’re charred and covered in wounds, but now your body can finally begin to regenerate. You look a mess and you feel like one too, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you struggle just to stay standing.

Before you can even get out an apology, he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you with him. His own blood smears on your skin, the smell threatening to cloud your mind. “C’mon, or else we’ll both be fried.” His tone is low and angry and focused, telling you to save whatever you need to say for later.

You eagerly follow him, doing your best to keep up as you both run to outrace the rising warmth of morning. Panic hangs heavy around you, knowing how quickly those final minutes tick by, feeling the heat licking at your heels. Your skin threatens to begin sizzling again, sweat gleaming on your forms.

But by the grace of some cursed god, it turns out the hunters had dragged you not too far from where you and Remmick have made your home in a tiny little house hidden in the trees. It’s temporary, of course, and you’ll no doubt be moving again after tonight, but in the moment it’s like finding a blessed sanctuary in the midst of damnation. You both fly up the porch steps and burst into your home just as the sun clears the horizon line, its beams filtering through the trees while you slam the door in its face.

You fall to your knees instantly, panting and heaving like a dog as your deep injuries throb and ooze. Your whole body is shaking, weak from a pain and hunger you haven’t experienced before. You can feel the ache in your teeth, the drool that still runs down your chin despite how many times you’ve wiped it away.

Remmick is less fazed, simply shrugging off his sweat and blood soaked button up and tossing it aside, his suspenders falling loose around his hips and leaving him in his once white tank. The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim lighting, a twin to the gold band on his ring finger. He’s cut it close enough times in his long past that he’s familiar with the sensation of the sun at his back, but he’s been more careful with you. He makes sure to have you both fed and back with time to spare, but everything seemed to go wrong tonight. Though, he supposes the scare was probably good for you. Teach you not to wander off again.

He looks idly at his hands, at the blisters that are already beginning to fade. He’s always healed pretty fast, while you on the other hand aren’t as fortunate. The scent of your blood fills his nose, fills the room of the house. You’re both lucky his hunger was satiated earlier, otherwise he’d be on you like a leech. Even after he turned you, your blood stayed just as mouthwatering, just as delicious to something twisted inside of him. It proved to him that you were something different, something he’d been searching for without really knowing it.

“Are you upset with me?” You sniffle, quite pathetic really. But it’s been a long while since you’ve felt this much shame and embarrassment, and your body doesn’t quite know what to do with it besides force it out through tears.

Remmick stands in silence with his thoughts for a moment more before he sighs, defeated. “I ain’t angry with ya, sugar. Just worried, is all.” He turns, his steps marked by the too-soft thud of boots against hardwood. You see the toes of his shoes in your vision, but you still can’t make yourself lift your head, to look at him—so he does it for you. He crouches down, taking your face in his hand, making you meet his eyes. “Fuck, darlin’, they almost killed you.”

You can see the concern etched onto his eternally young face, the memory of seeing you chained in silver and presented like a sacrifice to the morning sun. You can’t even begin to understand the fear he’d felt; hearing all the commotion far off in the woods, hearing your screams and hoping he ran fast enough to reach you. He could smell the way your blood poured from your body, the way it burned under your confines. He’d sensed your terror too, your emotions sitting just behind his own like a second pair, locked together by a bond too ancient to be understood. You’d called out to him without your voice and he answered without a second thought.

Oh, how he’d raged seeing you against that tree, begging your captors for a quick death. Your face was covered in tears and blood, you’d looked to the horizon with a mixture of acceptance and panic, something he’s seen plenty of times before. He never should have let it happen, should have known to keep you closer, should have known you were still too young into this and got too excited over fresh meat. Hell, he didn’t even know how you managed to sneak off but he’d looked away for one damn minute and then you were gone. He’d been a fool to trust that you’d come back before a gunshot rang through the forest.

Killing those men was one of the easier things he’s done. Remmick barely even registered their deaths, the only thought in his mind being eliminating any threats to you and getting some food out of it as well. Their wards and stakes and silver bullets did nothing to deter him, they were weak and weightless—the opposite of the other hunters he’s come across, the ones with real strength. No, those men were new and ultimately inexperienced, and yet still stupidly dangerous.

He’d worry about them later. They’re dead and gone while you’re still bleeding and sniffling in front of him.

You lean into his touch like a cat, desperate for comfort. “Yer starvin’, ain’t ‘cha?” He murmurs, running his thumb along your cheek. He can see it clear as day in your gleaming eyes, the drool that won’t stop, and the way your wounds are refusing to close because you don’t have enough sustenance. You nod sadly, your head bowed while tears of frustration burn behind your eyelids. Remmick is quick to wipe them away. “Shh, don’t cry, sugar. You’ll be alright. You got food right here.”

You look at him with confusion before seeing the way he’s presented his thick forearm to you, underside up. Your eyes widen and you almost jump immediately at the opportunity, your teeth aching painfully and hunger howling within you. He nods his head towards his arm. “Go on, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t let ya go hungry.”

You sit up, acting on autopilot as you grip his arm in both of your hands, your drool dripping onto his skin before your teeth sink in. Blood immediately comes to the surface of the puncture wounds, and you take every drop you’re offered. The iron-sweet tang on your tongue instantly brings out your hunger tenfold, your fangs digging even deeper into the soft skin. Remmick makes a low noise, something between a groan and a grunt, watching with satisfaction as you take from him.

It’s rare when he lets you do this. Typically there’s enough food for the both of you, enough to keep you happily satiated until the next time that primordial hunger comes knocking. But sometimes there’s nights when the hunt fails, nights like tonight when the need to feast is bad enough to kill you if it’s left too long, when you need to rely on your last resort. However, no matter what, Remmick will never let his lady go hungry.

The age of Remmick’s blood blooms in your mouth, rich with an aftertaste of ancient iron and old, hidden stories. Only people like you would know how much you can learn from someone’s blood, from the life force of their body. The whispers of the lives they led running along your tongue as you feast, the emotions they held within hopes and dreams. It’s fascinating, and it was something Remmick was eager to show you when you were first turned, teaching you the crimson stained wonders of being what he is.

You relish the feeling of his blood flowing through you, working to heal the wounds littering your body. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his fingers occasionally squeezing and letting you feel the pricks of his claws that have begun to slide from their sheaths. He keeps you there, encouraging you to take and take and take.

You eventually pull back, twisting out of his hold on you and releasing his bloody arm with a pop. Your breath comes as pants through your open mouth, blood staining your lips and teeth, the gleam having returned to your eyes. Your bites have always been cleaner than Remmick’s, less gruesome and destructive, leaving his forearm with tiny wounds that will heal quickly. The sight of red beading from them still makes you salivate but it’s easier to reel yourself in now, dragging your hunger back by a leash around its neck to keep it from going rabid. It allows your fangs and claws to be more willing to retract, your mind no longer running in restless, desperate circles around the concept of food.

You notice the way Remmick has been looking at you, full of some type of reverence mixed with relief, you think. Relief at the fact you’re not a sniveling, bleeding mess on the floor anymore, your usual shine quickly coming back. Your wounds have stitched themselves back together, bone no longer showing and just the outermost layers still being torn and burnt. It makes you feel like you can breathe again, every movement free of the horrible agony.

“C’mere.” Remmick says, voice dropping a few levels as he continues staring at your blood stained mouth. He pulls you in before you even have the chance to sit up properly, your lips meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth. He groans when he tastes his own blood on you, practically taking it from you with the way he licks you. You gasp against him as he fully invades your space, your back hitting the wooden door so that there’s nowhere else to go, his body effectively caging you in. His hands easily roam over your form, knowing every inch and detail with the precision of a man who’s explored them a hundred times before.

Hands come to rest on your waist and before you know it, you’re being hoisted up with a startled noise that Remmick quickly swallows with a kiss. His muscled biceps flex as he easily holds you against him, your legs coming to wrap around his hips and your hands gripping at his shoulders for purchase. You’re carried upstairs with a newfound urgency, Remmick kicking open the bedroom door and roughly laying you onto the soft sheets of a bed that used to belong to somebody else—before you two took over, of course.

Blood, sweat, and dirt immediately stain the covers beneath you, smearing across the fabric as you move. It’s nothing new, this happens just about every time you return from an exhilarating hunt. You both barely ever have the foresight to wash off first before climbing into bed together. Remmick follows after you, your hands resting on either side of his face to draw him in, never wanting to be apart for too long. His fingers pull at the shirt that was tucked into your pants that are too big on you, the ones you always wear on a hunt that are now ruined by the burn marks of silver chains.

His touch is always just on the side of too cold, a consequence of being undead, the same one that you suffer from. It’s something you were quick to grow used to, along with the way his temperature fluctuates depending on how much fresh blood he has coursing through him. His ring bites like ice beneath your shirt as he eases it up and over your body, tossing it somewhere into a corner to be picked up later.

“Mm, Remmick..” you mumble, your hands coming up to run through his short black hair, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His bloody chain dangles from his sternum, hanging just above you like a taunt.

“I know, sugar.” He responds, feeling the way your legs rub together beneath him, your body quivering with anticipation. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, past the spot where he bit you all those years ago. He licks away stains of the dried blood remaining from your sealed injuries, groaning like an animal at the taste that leaves him drooling.

Saliva smears across your skin on his way down your body, stopping briefly at your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling it against his tongue and teasing it between his thankfully normal teeth as you arch into him, little breathy moans and gasps tumbling out of you. He envelops the other breast in his calloused hand, squeezing and rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. “So beautiful… so good fer me, sugar.” He murmurs against you, his nose nudging at the space between your breasts where more blood has dried. It doesn’t take long for him to clean it off.

He makes quick work of your pants, undoing the buttons deftly and lifting your hips to tug them free. His hands run along your thighs lovingly, goosebumps rising in his wake. He straightens, red eyes roving over your now exposed body with appreciation. Drool beads at the corners of his lips, steadily building and running down his chin while you smile at him.

“Pretty thing, all fer me.” Remmick says it like a confirmation and a vow, even though he needs none. There’s nothing that could separate you two besides a stake through the heart or the sun’s warmth. You gave yourself to him completely the day you let him bite you, let him take your life and forge it into something new, something unholy and damned.

“All yours.” You agree, stretching your arms above your head like a cat. You give him a sly grin. “Now stop teasing.”

His eyebrows shoot up, a deep chuckle leaving him, even as he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear and tugs it off. “Always impatient, huh?”

You hum as he kneels, his strong arms coming up to wrap around your thighs and settle them nicely on his wide shoulders. “I just know how good you feel. Can’t a girl be excited?”

Remmick smirks, huffing a laugh. “Shoot, I don’t see why not.”

His breath fans across your cunt, already wet and glistening with your arousal. The red in his eyes smolders like coals, burning brighter with his desire as he looks at you like you’re his next meal. He leans in, that first connection acting like lightning shooting through you, your body arching and mouth falling open. His tongue licks between your folds, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit where he toys with the bud, circling it with little flicks and pecks while you moan above him.

Remmick sucks your clit into his mouth, the rest of you immediately responding in turn as you jolt from the pleasure. He knows how to play you like his banjo, how to keep you easy and pliant while he works you to climax. He knows your body like it’s his own, the bond you share allowing him to hold a presence within you, to tell your emotions and thoughts. Most of all, he knows how you like to be licked, his tongue dipping into your hole as your noises raise a pitch.

“Remmick.. fuck-“ You moan, hands coming down to run through his hair, tugging after a particularly harsh kiss to your clit. He groans into your pussy, the sound reverberating through you as he swallows down your arousal with an eagerness he doesn’t even display during feedings. His drool makes your cunt shine, mixing with your slick to the point you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He practically buries himself into your cunt, licking and kissing and taking whatever you have to offer. His hands are like vices on your thighs, the unmistakable tips of his claws occasionally pricking your skin as they again slide from their nail beds with his excitement. You can feel the way pleasure courses through you, tightening your muscles and creating a familiar knot in your lower abdomen that will steadily build until it’s ready to come loose. It won’t be long with the way Remmick eats you like he hasn’t had a meal in years.

His nose nudges at your clit, his tongue circling your hole before slipping inside, collecting the wetness you continually drip for him. You whine loudly, pulling harder at the black strands of his hair, your thighs attempting to clench around his head. “Shit- feels so good Rem, fuck-“ You curse, falling back against the pillows, chest heaving.

You writhe under his ministrations, his hands having to move up to your hips just to keep you still, his biceps flexing against your legs. He knows how close you are so he ramps it up, licking from your center to your clit and drawing it into his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. Your moans and whimpers are music to his ears, listening to the way you call his name with a breathy gasp as he makes you cum.

It crashes over you like a wave, that knot coming undone and pleasure wracking your body. Remmick drinks it all, not letting a single drop of it go to waste as his eyes burn red. He’s quick to slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sinking into the plush heat of your pussy, his claws sheathed just for now. He pumps them in and out while you ride through your orgasm, scissoring your gummy walls to stretch you even further. He doesn’t let up, even as you grab at him to try and get him off, the attention bordering on overstimulation. He continues to kiss at your clit all the while, his fingers and his mouth bringing you straight into another orgasm that has you seeing white.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, overly sensitive and leaving your legs twitching. Remmick licks you clean with as much care and diligence a man like him can muster, his fanged teeth occasionally scraping against you and making you shudder. His fingers slip out of your warmth covered in your cum, your walls fluttering and aching at the emptiness that you know won’t last long.

He finally releases your thighs, letting them fall from his shoulders as he lifts himself from between your legs. The lower half of his face is covered in a shiny mixture of drool, cum, and blood, making him look all sorts of a mess. You couldn’t care less, knowing that no matter what he does, it’s going to be a little messy—and you love that about him.

He slowly makes his way back up your body, kissing from your clavicle to your ribs, to your breasts, and then up the column of your neck before at last reaching your lips. You’re eager to kiss him, hands tugging at his shoulders to pull him in, keeping him as close as possible. You taste yourself on his tongue, along with a familiar iron tang that has your hunger flaring again. You pull away only to lick along his chin, eagerly collecting the bloody mixture until there’s none left. Your fangs released without you even realizing.

“Yer still hungry.” He says it as a statement rather than a question, seeing the blatant craving in your dazed eyes, feeling it within himself as if it was his own. You’ve tried to subdue it all this time, not wanting to take more than you’re allowed, but it still makes your stomach clench, your teeth ache. Your body is too weak to resist the pangs, still too busy patching up whatever damage can’t be seen externally. Remmick coos at you, “c’mon, s’okay. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You begin to protest, your more human sensibility allowing guilt to take charge. “You already gave me-“

He shakes his head, silencing you. “Sugar, ya won’t last long if yer starvin’. I think I ate enough for the both of us anyhow.” You think back to all those dead hunters in that clearing, their bodies strewn along the forest floor and their blood splattered on the grass like paint. You can still smell their foreign iron-laced scents on Remmick, and it only serves to make you crave more. Drool falls down your chin, and he just smiles knowingly. His head tilts, the skin on his neck becoming taut as he bares it to you. “C’mon now.”

There’s a singular moment of hesitation, where you look into those red gleaming eyes of his for a type of confirmation, and all you find is that he’s just watching you expectantly. Well, if a meal’s going to be served to you on a silver platter like this, you’d do good to take it.

Your jaw goes slack, your teeth sharp and ready, before your body lunges up to latch onto his neck. As the first drops hit your tongue, he grunts, his form falling over yours while he wraps an arm swiftly around your waist so you can both fall back onto the bed. His other hand slams down next to your head while his blood fills your mouth and you gulp it down like there won’t be a tomorrow.

Being fed on is always jarring for Remmick, his body still not used to it after the centuries of him being the only one to feast. His neck is so much different than his arm, he realizes, something dangerous being set off within him this time as a result. But it turns out he’d do just about anything for you, so he makes himself ease into the sensation, even as his claws dig into the bedsheets and his fanged teeth grind together hard enough to shatter, the primal part of him fearing that, for once, he’s being preyed on.

“That’s it, sugar.” He says with a husky laugh. “Shit.”

Past the initial shock, it’s easy for the pain to shift into pleasure. It is quite erotic, really, the way he can feel his own blood coursing through your body. The little noises you make while you feed on him, the trickles of blood mixing with spit on your chin, your strength returning all because of him. It fills him with a twisted sense of pride, knowing that he’s the one satiating that bone deep hunger, knowing his blood is mixing with yours and becoming one inside you. “Take it all, darlin’, suck me dry.” He groans, the tips of his claws making little pinpricks in your sides as he holds onto you.

It’s almost involuntary, the way his hips rut against you, his cock straining in his pants and demanding attention. It has his hands fumbling between your bodies, eager to undo the thick buckle of his belt with a clink, the buttons of his trousers following after. You nearly choke on his blood when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, coating himself in the mixture of your cum and his drool. He does a few slow, experimental thrusts, not sinking in just yet but simply feeling you instead. It has you groaning against his neck, your teeth digging in deeper and greedily drinking at the ambrosia that is Remmick’s blood while he pants above you.

You release him with a sharp gasp when the head of his cock catches your entrance, at last pressing in with slippery ease. His moan is throaty and guttural, a shiver running through him at the way your walls draw him in, enveloping him in plush warmth. He sheathes himself completely and he stays with his hips flush to yours for just a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the initial pleasure. It amazes you how he never gets tired of it, even after his centuries of being alive and his years of fucking you.

You pull him back down with hands on either side of his face, encouraging him to kiss you. He does, of course, his mouth enveloping yours just as he begins to thrust, drawing almost completely from your cunt before slamming back in. His tongue roves over yours, licking away any remnants of his blood and swallowing down your moans. He pulls away with his chest heaving, a sharp groan falling from his open mouth, fangs on full display just beneath his lips.

There’s a sudden wetness against your collarbones that makes you jolt, looking down to see blood from Remmick’s neck splattered along your skin. The wound you’d bitten into him is still bleeding, droplets coming loose with his thrusts and the way he’s bent over you. He smirks, lifting two fingers and drawing them over the bite marks, collecting the blood smeared there. “Clean up yer mess, sugar.” He tells you between breathy pants, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

You take them eagerly, swirling the pads against your tongue, licking off every bit of blood and enjoying the earthly, metal taste. He watches you in awe, his eyes burning bright red in the dim lighting, full of adoration and reverence and desire. Your spit coats his fingers generously, leaving them shiny when you let go with a wet smack. He buries his head into the side of your neck with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly morphs into a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin as your hands clutch at his bloodied white tank.

You use the opportunity to mouth at the bite on his throat like an animal, like a cat grooming its mate. You whine suddenly when he hits that spot at the top of your core, the one that has you keening and pleasure sparking like lightning beneath your skin. “Fu-fuck, Remmick-“ You mewl, claws digging into the expanse of his back, even through the tank. He growls appreciatively at the pain, at the red, angry lines undoubtedly rising along his skin and beading with blood.

Remmick nips hungrily at your neck, his hands digging harshly into your sides. He’s practically laid over top of you while he thrusts his cock deep into your throbbing pussy, keeping you as close as possible. There’s something possessive and raw about it, about the way he breathes you in, clutching at you desperately, biting you as if to prove you’re there.

“Ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sight again. Nearly fuckin’ lost ya.” He snarls with a groan, his claws digging in a little deeper at the memories of what happened just hours prior. Though your body no longer holds proof of it, he won’t forget anytime soon. He’ll chain you to him if he has to, just to make sure you’re safe.

“I- I know- I’m sorry-“ You say, moans stuttering with the way his hips slam into you, fueled by his declaration and the feral desires that howl a constant song within him. It’s not often that Remmick reveals any kind of vulnerability to you, instead letting you guess at it based on what you can gather from the bond you share. But it seems the very real idea of you bound in silver and burning brought it out of him, even if only a little.

You’re both nearing release, the pleasure burning in your core while his movements grow choppy and uneven. The noises he makes change, becoming breathy at the edges as his brows furrow, his nose nudging at your jaw. “Rem- Remmick- shit-“ You whine, feeling the way you’re so close to tumbling off the edge.

“I got ‘cha, sugar.” He says, voice rumbling right next to your ear. One hand comes between you, his calloused fingers finding your clit and swirling it in hurried circles, your mouth falling open and your eyes pinching shut as your muscles tense. His response is near instant, his free hand pinching your chin like a reminder, “nuh-uh, look at me, darlin’.”

You have no choice but to oblige him, meeting his gaze through tear stained lashes. You learned quickly how obsessed he is with seeing your face, seeing your eyes. No matter what position you’re in, he’ll make sure he can still see you or else you’ll find yourself flipped around to rectify it. You think he does it as a way to ground himself, a near impossible feat in an immortal body that’s hundreds of years old. You let him use you as an anchor, keeping him tethered here with you, two lonely souls finding company in one another.

It feels like all the breath gets knocked from your lungs as your third orgasm overtakes you. You whimper and whine and moan Remmick’s name, your hands scrabbling at him desperately. The way your cunt spasms around him makes him quick to follow after you with a loud curse, his cum hot as it paints your walls white, filling you to the brim with him. He rides out his high, emptying every last drop into you with small jerks of his hips and soft words, encouraging you to take it all.

“Fuck, sugar, yer somethin’ else.” Remmick pants, muscled chest heaving, straightening just a little to look at you in your fucked-out state. Hair wild, skin flushed, looking almost human if it weren’t for the unholy gleam in your eyes. There’s sticky trails of blood and spit all along your forms, remnants of both the hunt and your copulation. It’s made a further mess of the sheets below you, but quite frankly, you’re too tired to care.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, cum dribbling from your abused hole with his cock no longer there to keep you plugged full. You wince at the feeling, your energy spent and your body rightfully exhausted. As much as Remmick would love to keep you ruined with the reminders of what he did to you, he knows how you hate sleeping while sticky—and he needs you to be able to rest. He gently pries himself from you, even as you continuously try to wrap your arms around him again. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.” He promises, finally getting free despite your grumbling.

He gets a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water before returning. Your arms are open for him, welcoming him back into your embrace so you can feel him against you, so you can feel complete. He holds you like something precious, cleans you like you’re made of delicate glass. He wipes the blood off with no issue, his appetite blissfully satiated for now, and he’s gentle between your legs, this routine so familiar that he could do it with his eyes closed. You go limp from his touch, your body pliant beneath him. He kisses you more than once, unable to help himself when you bask so nicely in the afterglow.

When he’s finished, Remmick tosses the cloth absently into a corner somewhere, followed by his bloody tank that joins his button up on the floor to be washed later. He then settles into a non-soiled part of the bed, sitting back against the headboard and easily pulling you on top of him. You simply follow wherever his hands want you to go, more than happy to relax in his lap with your head pressed to his bare chest and his thick arms enveloping you. His scent floods your nose—sweat, iron, dirt, and old leather, making you hum appreciatively.

“My sweet girl,” Remmick murmurs against your hair, his hand running along your back in soothing lines. He pulls one of the spare quilts free and wraps it around you and you nestle into its comfort, the heavy material soft against your bare skin. You nuzzle against Remmick, too tired to resist fully giving in to those base desires for warmth and safety, knowing he’ll give you exactly that. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Rest. Y’need it.”

“You’ll still be here?” You mumble, barely able to muster a sentence, eyes already beginning to shut. Sometimes there’s days when you need that extra confirmation, his promise that he won’t leave you behind, that he’ll still be waiting for you by the time you wake up. You feel his grip on you tighten, just for a moment.

“‘Course I will, sugar. I ain’t ever leavin’.”

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Tags; @vesnaragast

[vinnyvamppp]

Pretty When You Cry

Did I leave for two hours and come back with this?! Yes, I did! Mainly, my idea for writing this is because he cries often in the show when upset or overwhelmed, so why not let that apply to sex too?

Synopsis: He's having relationship issues with Amber, but you're willing to be his distraction... right?

Warnings: Dacryphillia, Sub!Mark (canonically loves his women in charge), Soft Dom!Reader, Position changes, implied struggles with romance, no contraception (pull out game 💀), porn w a plot, fem presenting reader, friends to lovers?

Mark Grayson/Invincible x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,542

He was such a pretty crier. A man in tears was a man you could love for years. It was a sight you never grew tired of. While it would be shameful to admit, you partially listened to him spill his troubles to see those glistening pearls bubble down his waterline. As you stared at him admiringly—perched against his rooftop—you listened as he poured his heart out, a feeling of pity settling in your gaze.

Little did you know, his emotions were stirring more than usual and creating an unfamiliar sense of lust towards you.

This was wrong—utterly and irrevocably wrong.

Mark gazed idly at your dimly lit features as you looked up at the stars from the roof, he had decided to invite you over to his place after a fight with his girlfriend; he didn't want to go home, and he definitely didn't want to be alone. The fight with Amber still lingered—a bitter taste in his mouth—but it was nothing compared to the turmoil brewing in his chest.

He wanted a break—you were just that. One of his childhood friends and confidants. He was certain he and Amber were over; it was a situation where he didn’t realize they were broken up until it was too late. So why the hell—in the midst of everything—was he thinking about kissing you? He HAD a girlfriend a few hours ago, one who loved him with every fiber of her being.

Yet, you were always so pretty to him. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t had a crush on you in the past—or even fucked his fist at the thought of you until his dick was raw and coated in lotion. It was pathetic, he knew it, but more than ever now he felt enticed by your very presence. The way your lips would speak such comforting words, and you would stare at him as if only he existed. Sure, the relationship between him and Amber didn’t work out because he’s Invincible and she’s a regular human, but he could be selfish just this once… right?

For the thousandth time, you reassured him Amber would return to him with a new resolve. It was almost like you were trying to convince the two of you. It was nonexistent now. So what else could he do besides cast aside his doubt and stare at those puffy lips?

“You okay?” you asked, curious about his staring. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay,” he muttered like a dejected puppy, tugging at your heartstrings. “Right, so instead of moping… you need a stress reliever. For your sake. Dragging yourself around all day won’t help.” You sighed quietly, your fingers gently resting against the thin cloth of his back reassuringly.

“Right,” he replied. “What’s your idea of a stress reliever—and don’t say exercise; I already do that constantly.” His fingers gestured in your direction, some of his playfulness returning. “Get this,” you started, as if to say something revolutionary. “Exercise.”

His eyes rolled as he mumbled under his breath, his head turning to face you with a raised brow. “You’re such a comedian,” he quipped. “Come on, an actual one that won’t have me sweating and panting like a dog, okay? Please?” His voice struck a chord within you; it was the perfect rasp and whine.

Not to mention his words causing your thoughts to travel a million miles past sexual. “I wouldn’t mind the sight,” you said casually. “Besides—the lotion and tissue in your room suggests you ‘exercise’ more than enough.”

It was a harmless joke—enough to bring him pause as you two quietly chuckled. It was embarrassing, but nothing he couldn’t deny.

“Uh. Yeah,” he muttered. As you leaned over slightly, his staring persisted. Your shoulder rested against his as you stared into his eyes. His gaze avoided you momentarily before locking within your reflection. “Mark, what’s going on?” you asked, head tilting slightly. “I know I’m not going crazy—you’ve been staring at me since you invited me over. You didn’t call me over just to stare.” The last sentence was sarcastic. “I did,” he rasped—it was hushed and nearly caused your hearts to flutter in tandem.

“They are different." He started, "Very different. But I… didn’tknowhowtotellyoubecauseitfeelsdesperatetosaythisnowthatamberandibrokeupbutivelikeyouforalongtimeandimeansincewewerekidsandireallywanttokissyourightnowandineedtobeinsideyou.”

It poured out like an unexpected dam breaking.

As you stared at him in silence—your looks of bewilderment matched one another’s. To escape his embarrassment, he briskly stood up, opened his bedroom window, and climbed in. As he turned away, you crawled in behind him—his gaze slowly meeting yours as you gave a “Fuck it” sort of nod.

The actions were fast—rushed even. He needed a distraction to quiet his never-ending mind—and like always—you were the solution. His fingers draped over your waist as he pulled you in, your lips meeting his in feverish delight.

His temperature as a Viltrumite ran hot—your bodies already producing a light sheen of sweat. The quiet sounds of moans mingled between hot breaths. Tilting his head further—his lips parted as his tongue jutted out in search of yours. It was a gentle yet mutually needy kiss; your bodies were pressed so firmly together you could feel the tent forming against his slacks.

He was an excited one—but gentle. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you tugged the strands to earn a strangled groan. His lips latched onto yours like a suction cup; only when he was satisfied with your moans did his puffy lips shift down your neck. His tongue tickled the skin—not leaving marks as to get caught, but covering you in his taste. Your fingers delved under the fabric of his shirt as you relished the attention.

The indentation of his abs was the sweetest treat—your fingers shifted upwards—exposing his abdomen to the night's chill as you both groaned. His feet shuffled forward clumsily as you two fell against his bed.

Sitting you up, his fingers nimbly worked you out of your shirt and pants. Your hands fumbled to get his pants down, but eventually, they pooled around his ankles. Just as he assisted you in removing his shirt, you took in his appearance with such admiration and lust while he stared at you reverently.

You two—while being incredibly impatient—nearly skipped foreplay entirely. His fingers unclasped your bra and removed the matching colored panties down the flesh of your thighs. The wet patch forming in his boxers was becoming evident—his arousal at an all-time high, and his stamina was mounting for the night ahead.

Pressing you back against the bed, your bodies pressed together—his heart pounding—you devoured each other's mouths. His tongue was like a tender caress that made your stomach tie in knots; the anticipation was killing you. “Ha… I needed this,” his words muffled between kisses as you hummed in agreement.

He pulled away—his thumb dragging down the corner of his boxer as his cock slowly sprung from beneath the fabric. In all its glory, it stood with neatly trimmed pubes and visibly throbbed with restraint. Once his last article of clothing hit the ground, he took a moment to nervously chuckle as he admired you, splayed beneath him. His expression was giddy as it traced down the supple curves of your figure, the fat of your breasts and the arousal coating the outside of your folds—catching his attention more than anything. You looked gorgeous.

Time was up. You had enough and needed a little more. Reaching up to give him a gentle peck, you flipped him onto his back as you straddled him. He looked surprised but welcomed the authority as he melted beneath you. His lips sought yours, and your fingers began to caress your clit as you continued.

The quiet sound of your arousal pooled into his ears, his eyes fluttering open as he stared at you with your eyes screwed shut in bliss. He could feel himself nearly cum from the sight alone. His dick was beginning to hurt—and to soothe the ache—his fingers wrapped around his cock and pumped in tandem with your fingers.

Slightly annoyed—your fingers swatted his away and brought it to your clenching hole—ready to milk him dry. As his first digit entered your warmth, he shivered. He could feel every ridge and contraction as your abs squeezed from the pleasure. His fingers formed a V, and once spread enough, you took your seat with pleasure. It would normally hurt, but thanks to your sadistic mind imagining his crying for the last few hours, you’d been leaking like a faucet.

The stretch was delicious, but nothing was better than his blissed expression and immediate groan. Deep. Long. Exhilarating strokes. He was reactive—the perfect man for your little kink. Never mind not having a condom; he was never the most responsible in that manner.

The slow, deliberate movement of your hips was like a tantalizing dance—teasing him with every rotation. His fingers dug into your thighs, urging you on as you began riding him with an unhurried intensity. His eyes locked onto yours, his eyes occasionally fluttering shut in pleasure as he fought the urge to slam you down against him. While he would love to, he felt helpless and abandoned to your will, a willing captive, lost in the maelstrom of desire.

His chest rose and fell as quiet whines slowly filled his throat—the sight of his eyes rolling back before fluttering finally broke the final restraints of your self-perseverance. Digging your fingernails into his chest—your hips rose slowly before suddenly dropping with a renewed conviction. “Oh… F-Fuck… yes,” he sighed, like this was the medicine he’d been craving.

As much of a gentleman as he was for his girlfriends, he was lascivious when he intended.

Shifting his fingers to your ass, he assisted in the fluidity of your movements—his strength allowing you to glide along his cock with ease. Moans began to filter from your lips. “That’s… perfect, don’t you stop,” you demanded it with every bit of grit you could muster.

Your fingers clasped around the width of his chin so he could focus on you—his body bouncing against the mattress as the air was knocked from him. He wasn’t the most talkative, but he was vocal. “I’m not… I’m not going to stop. Feels so perfect in here, I can’t—I,” he stammered wearily as his body moved on autopilot.

You watched as he practically fucked himself dumb, the sound of skin colliding filling your ears as your teeth gnawed at your lip. One particularly deep thrust seemed to have sent him into overdrive—his tip could feel your insides contracting as if to suck him in more.

He wanted to be buried in you—he could imagine you two fucking like rabbits. He smiled weakly at the thought.

His toes curled into the mattress as your back arched, and harsh gasps erupted from his throat as his body trembled. A groan—a measly groan of his resilience, echoed in the room. Lost in your own sounds of pleasure, you had yet to notice the man nearly convulsing beneath you.

His hand left your hips and rose to the fingers that gripped his chin. Suddenly, your impending orgasm was ruined.

“Sorry, I’m s—sorry, I’m so sorry,” he babbled before pressing a firm hand against your stomach and resting your back against the bed.

Before you could react, he sheathed himself within your pussy once more and fucked you with vigor to make up for lost time.

He attempted to speak—only his jaw clenched in response. Your head fell back against the edge of the bed—the legs of the bed frame wobbled as it rocked sideways; the thumps against the wall filled the room. Pleasured grunts and profanities fell from your pouted lips as you ground back against him. A high-pitched whine fell from him as his head fell.

“Oh—Jesus, what—what the fuck? You feel so, so, so, so,” he slurred slightly—you chuckled in response.

“Fuck… mm, seems like you’ve wanted this for a while?” you questioned through moans—your fingers cupping your bouncing breasts from his gaze as he grew distracted.

“You… have noooo idea,” he admitted—too in bliss to care much about embarrassment.

Your core slowly began to tighten and so did your chest as his body pressed forward with nearly all his weight. His fingers curled into the blankets as his tongue ran dry with ruined sobs. His pelvis rubbing deliciously against your clit made your legs stiffen behind him. He moved to pull away—but before you could—one of your legs hooked around the width of his neck.

The position elevated your hips slightly—his dick punctuating with each thrust unintentionally.

He was losing his mind. Such raw and unfiltered love swelled his chest. Your fingers wrapped around the width of his lower back to spur him on—your orgasm quickly doubling back. “P-Please, can’t cum inside… fuck,” he muttered wearily as tears began to fall.

His body trembling with pleasure, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. The sensation was too much, the pressure building in his chest like a dam about to burst. He tried to hold it back—to grit his teeth and bear it, but it was no use. The pleasure mounting had his body wracking in ways he had yet to feel so intensely.

With a satisfied grin, you watched his pretty lashes become coated with warm tears. The salty taste stained your lips as he moaned in delight. Your sounds mingled with one another until they became indistinguishable. His fingers found the fat of your ass and he bullied himself into you, the strength behind it made you dizzy.

Wiping his tears away, you peppered gentle kisses against his face. “I've always loved you,” he muttered suddenly—you brightened in response. “Love you too,” you replied gingerly before a high-pitched whine ripped from your throat. The tip of his tongue pawed at your nipple desperately—the bud hardening beneath his cold saliva.

Your orgasm hit you like a train as your back arched, your fingers clasped at him—legs trembling. Harsh gasps left you in your failed attempt to remain silent. Hedonistic praises left you, but Mark could barely respond. The throbbing sensation of your pussy was practically trying to suck the cum from his cock. “Please, oh fuck, please, baby, I’m gonna cum. Holy shit,” his words were hurried as he let out a chuckle of disbelief.

At his words, your leg freed him—as he pulled out just last minute, his sperm barely making it to your abdomen. His body hunched over as he gasped—his jaw slacking as his muscles visibly strained. Slow whines spilled from his lips as he came down from his high.

His recovery time was fast, though his body still trembled with an aftershock. With bated breaths, you both stared at one another, his eyes barely focused as he sat in awe.

You both chuckled at one another before his rasped voice called out to you. “You think we should date?” he asked before correcting himself. “I mean, do you want to date me? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I would like—"

A pillow slammed into his face as you rolled your eyes. “Sure, Mark. I’d love to go out with you.”

Had to be dramatic like the show lmfao.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[gf2bellamy]

lipgloss — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you leave a lipgloss mark on spencer's cheek content warnings: nothing a/n: i malfunction when i see glasses spencer

You let out an exaggerated sigh, slumping forward as you rested your chin on your hand. Across from you, Spencer sat at his desk, completely engrossed in his work, the soft scratch of his pencil against paper filling the otherwise quiet bullpen. His brows furrowed in concentration as he made notes in the margins of his case files. 

“Spencer,” you whined, drawing out his name. “Do you think Hotch would say anything if I just went home?” 

Spencer glanced up at you, his honey-brown eyes softening the way they always did whenever he looked at you.

“I think he might,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But you could always say you weren’t feeling well. Technically, boredom is a form of mental fatigue.” 

You let out another sigh, this one even more dramatic. “I’m just so bored,” you groaned, dragging out the last word. 

Spencer’s lips twitched in amusement before he returned to his notes. You stared at him for a moment, then perked up as an idea struck you. 

“I’m gonna make myself a coffee,” you announced, standing up and stretching. “Do you want one?” 

Spencer shook his head with a small smile. “No, that’s okay. But thanks.” 

He picked up his pen, going right back to his work. You lingered for a second before stepping closer to his desk, your lips curling into a small, mischievous smile. With no one else in the bullpen, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

Spencer froze. His pencil slipped from his fingers, rolling across the desk. His head snapped up, his face already turning an unmistakable shade of pink. 

Your smile widened. “What?” you teased, tilting your head. 

“You—” He blinked rapidly, his blush deepening. “We’re at work.” 

“And?” You arched a brow, feigning innocence. 

Spencer opened his mouth, then shut it, clearly searching for a response. Finally, he huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head before picking up his pencil again. 

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away. 

You grinned. Mission accomplished. 

You made your way to the break room, yawning as you prepared yourself a much-needed cup of coffee. The scent of freshly brewed caffeine filled the air, and just as you reached for a mug, you heard loud voices echoing from down the hall. 

Garcia and Derek. 

As you poured your coffee, you caught snippets of their conversation—mostly Derek chuckling about something Garcia had said, followed by her dramatic gasp. They had obviously just come back from their little break.

By “little break,” they meant sneaking off to grab food somewhere without telling anyone. Classic. 

Once your cup was full, you wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, only to immediately flinch and mutter a curse under your breath. Too hot. You blew on it a few times before deciding to just endure the heat, making your way back to the bullpen. 

The second you stepped inside, you were met with two pairs of wide, mischievous eyes locked onto you. 

“Oh my god, it is hers,” Garcia said, practically vibrating with excitement. 

You froze mid-step, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… what?” 

Your gaze flickered between them and Spencer, who was now sitting at his desk, very clearly avoiding eye contact. His ears were turning a suspicious shade of pink. 

Slowly, you walked over to your desk, setting your coffee down as you eyed them warily. Garcia and Derek were standing on either side of Spencer’s desk, arms crossed, looking like they had just cracked some kind of case. 

“Okay,” you said cautiously, dragging the word out. “Why are you all looking at me like that?” 

Silence. 

Spencer, still blushing, pretended to be very, very interested in his paperwork. Garcia and Derek, on the other hand, exchanged a knowing glance before Derek let out a low chuckle. 

“You sneaky little thing,” he teased, shaking his head. 

“What are you talking about?” You sat down slowly, still staring at them like they’d lost their minds. 

Garcia gasped dramatically. “Don’t play innocent! We know what you did.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “What—?” 

Derek smirked, arms crossed over his chest like he’d just won the lottery. “Your lip gloss.” 

You blinked. “What about my lip gloss?” 

As if on cue, your lips instinctively pressed together, feeling the slight tackiness of the gloss you’d applied earlier. Garcia let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. 

“You left a mark,” she said dramatically. “A very clear mark, right on Dr. Reid’s cheek.” 

Panic surged through you. 

Your eyes darted to Spencer, then to Garcia and Derek, then back to Spencer again. He was already looking at you, and now it all made sense—the blushing, the way he had been avoiding your gaze, and the way Garcia and Derek were practically bouncing with glee. 

Oh. Oh god. 

You leaned in slightly, taking a closer look. And there it was. A faint but unmistakable pink smudge on his cheek. 

Spencer huffed, finally speaking up. “She’s not letting me wipe it off,” he accused, nodding toward Garcia. 

Garcia gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. “Excuse you, Doctor! It’s called preserving evidence.” 

Derek chuckled. “Yeah, man. We gotta document this. It’s not every day you get physical proof that you two are—” 

“Shh!” you hissed, eyes widening as you quickly glanced around the bullpen. 

Your relationship with Spencer was still a secret, and the last thing you needed was someone overhearing this conversation. You shot both Garcia and Derek a glare, but they were absolutely thriving off of your reaction. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Derek teased. “It’s just us.” 

You turned back to Spencer, who was looking at you expectantly, silently pleading for help. With a sigh, you grabbed a napkin from your desk, stepping closer to him. His eyes flickered to yours as you hesitated for just a second before reaching out, gently swiping at the mark on his cheek. 

His skin was warm beneath your touch. 

You tried to focus, but you could feel Garcia and Derek’s eyes burning into you. 

“There,” you murmured, inspecting his face. The lip gloss was gone, but his blush? Very much still there. 

Garcia clapped her hands together. “Awww, that was adorable.” 

Derek grinned. “Man, if y’all think you’re still fooling anyone—” 

Spencer groaned, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Can we please move on?” 

Garcia waved him off. “Fine, fine. But just know—this isn’t over.” 

She and Derek finally turned away, giggling to themselves as they walked off, no doubt already plotting their next round of teasing. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples before glancing at Spencer. He still looked flustered, but there was a small, barely-there smile on his lips. 

“You okay, genius?” you asked softly. 

He nodded, exhaling as he glanced at you. “You know they’re never gonna let this go, right?” 

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Yeah. We’re doomed.” 

Spencer chuckled, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile too. 

Even if Garcia and Derek were onto you, at least work wasn’t boring anymore. 

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CRUMBLE COMPLETELY WHEN YOU CRY ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, trail down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt — a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and all you manage is a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path. little petals, glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes are ruined, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite all those dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking much at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between; that fact only adds to the sting of his cold voice, still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated, undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, feeling this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are, when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, and your eyes were already turning glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone is enough to make you feel like you’ve done nothing right all your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

[ssahotchnerr]

can i request - aaron and reader are just married and on a case where they are sharing a room? i feel like morgan would have a field day with the teasing!

honeymoon phase

YESSS LOL I ADORE THAT cw; fem bau!reader, established relationship, suggestive teasing remarks, brief mentions of sex, playful team banter 🤭

"Alright," Aaron approached, his impending footsteps breaking the soft conversation that had been unfolding amongst the team.

"Due to the winter storm that's rolling in, the hotel's almost at full vacancy. We'll have to double up." He handed Dave, Spencer, JJ a key card, keeping one for himself. "You all can decide who you'll share a room with. Sweetheart, you're with me. Let's meet here in the morning at eight, and head to the precinct together." Aaron finished, opting to grab his bag from your grasp, relieving you the need to hold it.

Everyone nodded in quiet understanding, heads moving in unison as they too collected their things. The discussions resumed - quick laughs, pairing up, the usual.

You yawned as you all trudged towards the elevator, eager for the warmth of bed. Additionally, the warmth of your husband's body beside yours.

However Derek stayed put, in such an obvious, idea-brewing sort of way. The gears in his head were turning; an undeniable, mischievous flicker in his eyes. His gaze followed the two of you, the newly wedded couple as of a month ago.

"Oh no," You mumbled jokingly under your breath, smushing your lower face into Aaron's shoulder.

"Hm?" Aaron hummed gently as his gaze shot down to you in question, his finger stopping short of the up button.

"Now remember you two, this isn't your honeymoon." Derek lectured as his index finger traveled between you and Aaron, doing an awfully bad job at keeping a straight face. "These walls," He moved to the side to tap his knuckle against the surface for dramatic effect, the sound produced sharp and reverberating. "are thin. We don't need y'all keeping us up to all hours. I would prefer to get some sleep tonight."

"You brought your headphones, didn't you?" Emily joined his banter, teasingly shoving her go-bag into his.

"You already know it. Now that these love birds have death till us parted, I'll never leave home without them. Can't be too careful." He tossed you a playful wink, daring you to quip back.

"You're funny." Aaron beat you to it, his eyebrows lifting in an eased, amused manner across his forehead.

Morgan flashed his dazzling smile, in awareness that yes, he was.

"But no." Aaron denied, with a small shake of his head. "Not on cases."

"Liar." Emily concealed in a cough, fist in front of her mouth.

But it was true. Moments of intimacy, out in the field, were few and far between. You were on the job, for one. And adequate rest was needed - for energy, focus, and the ability to stay sharp in high pressure situations. Without it, the smallest of missteps could cost lives.

It was achingly tempting at times; there had been countless times where you just wanted to jump Aaron and make him yours - you were still very much in the honeymoon phase. But you owed it to the victims, their grieving families, and any potential, future victims.

In addition, it only worked better in your shared favor when the time for sex did come. The build-up, the waiting, the restraint too much to bear and everything falling into place with a sense of release. It only added to the satisfaction.

If a case concluded, and the jet was grounded until morning - technically you were off the job. Anything could happen then.

"It's a good thing, for you that is. Wouldn't want to hurt your ego, Morgan." You flashed him a smirk. "With these 'thin walls', you'll be thinking you've been doing something wrong all this time."

Morgan's face instantly turned from amusement to slight dismay, his nose wrinkling up in disbelief. "I don't think so."

"She's right." Aaron confirmed, a knowing glint behind his eyes as he swiftly looked you up and down. A smile grew on your face, some heat rushing through your body. "Bed, sweetheart?"

[spatialwave]

...is it possible to love you both?

➸ ask: "Haii! I love your writing, could I request JayvikxReader please? Maybe something fluffy, like a cozy winter morning with them? Or something smutty, like Reader and Jayce making Viktor feel good? Maybe add some angst, he feels like he is not as attractive or is a third wheel so you two make sure he knows you both love him? 🙈 Thank you!" – ➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ word count: 2.1k ➸ tags: mdni! mild-nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, polyamory, canon-divergent a.k.a. nothing bad ever happens lol. ➸ notes: i tried to combine all the ideas together! not as smutty because i really got invested in the angst… i’m sorry 😭 tysm for sending an ask! <3

The smell of freshly brewed black tea, the scent strong enough to flutter your eyes open as your body stretched across the bed. A mess of blankets, one body beside you, and the winter sun filtering through the half-shut curtains. The daylight on your skin warmed your body, a feeling that you had missed during the past few weeks of dreary weather that left most Piltover citizens huddled away indoors.

“Good morning,” a tired voice rumbled next to you, muscled arms wrapping around your body and tugging you close. You were nestled into Jayce’s chest, face pressed against his skin, and wanting nothing more than to fall right back into sleep and forget about the day and any responsibilities you may have.

“Mmh,” you grunted in response, inhaling a deep breath as you peered up through sleep-riddled eyes. Your eyes locked with Jayce’s, a beautiful colour mixed of golden hues that put the evening sun to shame, “I like this new look,” you hummed quietly, fingers tracing along the edge of the beard he had yet to shave. Even his hair had begun to curl over his ears.

“Yeah?” He grinned, revealing that stupid tooth gap between his two front teeth you loved so much, “I don’t know. I’m starting to feel a bit shaggy.”

The blanket slipped from your body as you sat up in the bed next to him, yawning as your arms outstretched above you and a familiar hand smoothed over your hip, “it looks good, Jayce,” you said through a soft smile, “it’s not like you have anyone to impress these days.”

“Ouch,” he smirked, shifting to sit up against the pillows, hand moving over your thigh as you sat next to him, “suppose you’re right.”

Life had been quiet since Jayce stepped down from the council, focusing full-time on hextech with Viktor, exploring the possibilities and understanding the hexcore. It was meticulous work, but it was work that needed to be done. They both vowed their lives to it.

“Where’s Viktor?” You looked toward the open bedroom door, the smell of tea still wafting through the air. He couldn’t have been gone from bed for too long, likely set up somewhere with scatterings of research papers. Or a good book if he was taking a break.

Jayce sat forward, removing his hand from you so he could push the blankets off and swing his legs off of the bed. His movements slow as his body slowly woke up, “Is it just me, or has he been distant lately?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, shuffling off of the bed and sliding into your slippers, the floorboards cool from the deep drops in temperature outside, “I tried asking him about it yesterday, and he brushed me off.”

“Mhm,” Jayce mumbled passively, stepping beside you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders to tug you against his chest, rousing a giggle from you. 

“Stop,” you laughed loudly as he kissed at your neck and ear, the thick hair on his face tickling you.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled lowly into your ear, you could feel his smile on your skin, “we better go say good morning.”

“Already ahead of you,” you rolled your eyes, peeling away from his arms and stepping out into the hallway that lead you right to him. There he sat in the office they’d set up for home, hunched over the desk with a cup of steaming tea and eyes glued to one of the hundreds of research notebooks they’d collected.

“Good morning, love,” you hummed, stepping into the mess of a room and smiling brightly as Viktor glanced over his shoulder at you. His eyes were tired, cheeks rather sunken in – ill. Over the course of the past few months he’d been struggling more, but stubborn when you and Jayce offered help.

“Morning,” he murmured, running a hand over his tired eyes, “thought you weren’t going to wake up.”

“I bet you would’ve really liked that, wouldn’t you?” You asked, shaking your head as you stepped toward him and against the back of his chair, eyes scouring over the pages, “Getting work done?” Your hand absently rested on his shoulder, the other brushing through his hair that flipped out at the ends.

Viktor’s body relaxed in your hands, eyes closing, “Not really,” he sighed, and you could feel the defeat that had sunken in him. 

You only then had realized Jayce didn’t follow you in, the distant sound of the shower starting.

“Hey,” you murmured, inhaling a deep breath as you moved to sit up on the desk, your line of sight above Viktor as you looked down at him, “what’s wrong?”

His eyebrows furrowed together, a quick shake of his head following as he adjusted himself on his seat, “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Viktor,” you tilted your head, hand stealing the book away from his hands. His eyes snapped open immediately, trying to reach for the notes, but you pulled it away and set it on the other side of yourself, “I’m not leaving you alone unless you talk with me. Properly this time.”

A heavy sigh came from his lips, looking up at you with the faintest of pouts on his lips, “are you going to ask me why I’ve been distant again? Or is it something else to bother me about this time?”

The words were sharp, but they hadn’t stung. You didn’t take it personally.

“You’re smart enough to know,” you frowned, clenching your jaw, “it’s not fair to Jayce and me.”

“What isn’t fair? That I’m feeling unwell?” Viktor has been angrier than you realized, but you didn’t flinch at his outburst. He grabbed his crutch, using it to pull himself out of his chair as the metal of his leg brace creaked, and you tried to help, but he swatted your hand away, “That I have to stay home everyday working on hextech, while Jayce gets to go to the lab? While you two get to spend all your time together while I stay here?”

“Oh,” your eyes widened, pulling your hands back and staring at him. You didn’t know what to say, and you noticed the embarrassed look in his eyes – shame.

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered.

“Viktor, is that what this is about?” Your heart ached as you slid off of the desk, stepping up to him and resting your hands along the sharp lines of his jaw.

He tried turning his head away, but you had the advantage now and kept him still, looking up at him with those big doe-eyes that worked too well on him and made his stomach twist in the best way possible. He did his best to avoid your gaze, feeling nothing short of pathetic.

“Can we leave it be?” He eventually croaked, “pretend I didn’t say anything, please?”

“I ran a shower for you, Viktor,” Jayce stepped into the room, towel in his hand as he looked between you two. There was a tension in the room that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, “uh, bad time?”

“Thanks,” Viktor mumbled, pulling away from you and limping against his crutch as he took the towel and marched his way out of the office, slowly.

“Do you need a han–”

“No.”

Silence filled the office as Viktor left, leaving the two of you stunned in silence. Jayce turned toward you, a puzzled expression on his face as he tried to put the pieces together.

“We haven’t been good partners,” you groaned, turning to press your face against him, mind reeling for ways to remedy Viktor’s heartache. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt, having far too much privilege in this situation.

“Is he mad I’ve been spending too much time away?” He asked, ripping you from your thoughts, “I could bring some of the lab stuff home, or… or I could take some time off! Right?”

“No,” you let out a breathy laugh at his eagerness, one of the many traits of Jayce Talis that made you fall so madly in love with him, “well, maybe.”

“I can go right now,” he moved to turn.

“Jayce,” you laughed, holding him back from turning your home into the newest hextech laboratory and spending countless hours trudging through the snow with heavy equipment, “Baby steps. He’s been quite tired, lately. Maybe we should get him to bed and see if we can help him someway,” you wore a sly smile on your lips, attempting to push Jayce’s thoughts in the same direction as yours. 

He huffed out a laugh, “Sounds like you’re the worked up one trying to get what you want.”

You playfully hit his arm, “Oh, shut up. Like you aren’t, it’s been weeks. If we’re feeling it, then he is too,” you put your hands on his back, pushing him toward the door, “let me take care of it.”

You found yourself in the bathroom with Viktor, him sitting on a chair you’d slid in so you could help him. Help that he was appreciative of after taking time to de-stress.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes closed as you ran the towel through his hair, “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

Anger wasn’t a feeling that Viktor was so familiar with, it often fleeted right by him. He had always been so ambitious, ready to take on the world with a cup half-full mentality. These past few years had taken its toll on him, leaving him uncertain. 

Worried. 

“It’s okay, love,” you cooed, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead as he tilted his head back on the chair, looking up at you, “you should come rest with us. It’s cold out, we deserve a day in bed.”

You could see a spark flicker in his eyes, the first in days. That’s all you wanted, was to see that spark more often, to show Viktor that he wasn’t being left behind – that you and Jayce couldn’t even imagine a life without loving him like you do. That, itself, would be an injustice.

Once refreshed, you helped him to the bedroom with nothing more than a gentle hand on his back. Mindful about your actions, knowing now that as much as he hid it well, he had pride. A need to just feel normal, once in a while. Like he wasn’t just the sick man people saw him as – the sick man he knew he was.

Jayce was sitting up in bed, legs sprawled over the mess of blankets and a book in his hand. Eyes flickered up from the bed, a small smile on his lips as he sat up.

“There he is. The love of my life,” he beamed, snapping the book shut.

“Eh, that’s too much, Jayce,” Viktor sighed, cringing at the display of affection, and you snorted out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, sitting up as he watched Viktor move into the bed and lay against the pillows, admiring him, “I can’t appreciate you?”

“You heard him, it’s too much,” you teased, closing the blinds so you could all hide away from the snowy surroundings. Take the time to focus on only each other.

Viktor looked up at Jayce, long lashes fluttering as a pink shade tinted his cheeks. One of his calloused hands gently rubbed along his slender waist where his ribs were visible, tilting down and wasting no time in closing the distance between their lips.

You crawled onto the other side of the bed, sliding against Viktor with ease, lips on his shoulders and hands exploring his body. You hoped you hadn’t been too eager.

“You don’t have to do this,” Viktor’s voice muffled against Jayce’s lips, frail hands pressing to his hardened chest, “I get it.”

“I want to,” Jayce answered earnestly, pulling back from their kiss, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“... I do.”

There was nothing else in the world that you and Jayce wanted more than to make sure that Viktor was loved and cared for, that his heart could be full when his mind and body felt weak. To know that you both unequivocally and unconditionally loved him, more than one should bear.

Viktor’s body was sensitive as you and Jayce ravaged him – tired and weak, but craving everything you two offered him. Eating up the desire like a starved man.

You straddled his hips, rocking atop of him lazily while Jayce pressed heady kisses along his neck, licking at the marks he left behind. Everyone was tired, paces slowing down and bodies spent, but you didn’t have the need to stop. You all made up for lost time, and you and Jayce showed Viktor just how much love you had for him.

“Thank you,” Viktor whimpered.

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - A simple day turns into something much more. Tension brews, words are exchanged, and things begin to shift between old friends.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild language, romantic tension, use of a gun, emotional vulnerability, slight suggestiveness.

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - Part 1 of this is series is the very first time a post of mine has gotten that many likes. I’m mind blown, excited, thrilled and juts so grateful that you guys are liking this idea i literally just threw together. I’ll have to make a special chapter to express my gratitude but i hope you guys truly enjoy this, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! Sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes!!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 13,018+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The girls had barely gotten the bags set down when a knock sounded at the door. Sinclair, baby Ryan perched on her hip, answered it with a small smile. Standing there was Smoke, Stack hanging back in the car. Smoke was looking stoic as ever, and Stack waved and offered a sheepish grin as he looked at the baby in her arms.

“Uh, left my wallet.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I dropped it in one of the bags.”

Sinclair didn’t miss a beat. “Perfect. Y’all can help me real quick too.” She said, shifting Tyson to her other hip. Before Smoke could protest, she nodded toward the driveway. “Car won’t start. I was gon’ get Juicy to call Keith to take care of it, but since y’all are here…”

Juicy groaned softly behind her sister as she came from putting some of the things away in the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was to owe these two anything — they had just gotten back into town, and she wasn’t tryna look helpless. But Sinclair had already ushered them inside, thanking them sweetly before disappearing down the hall with the baby.

“I can call a tow or something.” Juicy tried weakly, crossing her arms as she followed Smoke outside. “Ain’t no need to trouble y’all—”

Stack waved her off, already heading for the hood of the car. “Ain’t no trouble. We bored anyway.” He said, flashing her a wink as he popped the latch.

Smoke was quieter, surveying the car with narrowed eyes. He glanced at Juicy once, reading her reluctance, but didn’t say anything. Just lifted the hood and started working with the tool bag so close placed on the porch before running back into to Tyson. Mary flopped down onto the porch swing beside Juicy, nudging her shoulder into her leg with a grin.

Juicy exhaled loudly and joined her, watching as the twins tinkered with the car. Occasionally, Sinclair peeked out from the doorway, shouting little updates or asking if they needed anything.

After a while, Stack called over his shoulder, “Y’all just gon’ sit there and stare?”

Juicy, ever the quick one, shrugged, trying to mask her real reason for watching. “The view ain’t so bad.” She quipped, flashing a cute, closed-lip smile.

Both men chuckled. Stack shook his head while Smoke smirked under his breath, glancing back at her with an amused, almost… intrigued look. Juicy could feel her cheeks heat up, but she played it cool, sitting back and licking at her slowly melting strawberry ice cream.

“Girl.” Mary leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper only Juicy could hear. “I’m sorry, but if that was me? I’d hop on that so fast.”

Juicy frowned, glancing sideways at her. “Huh?”

Mary gave her a look like it was obvious. “Come on, Ju. You see how they lookin’ at you. Both of ’em. Like they tryna figure out who’s gon’ get the first move. You or one of them.”

Juicy shook her head, lips pressed tight to hide a smile. “You trippin’.”She mumbled, though her heart picked up in her chest.

“Nah, you just blind.” Mary laughed, licking her own ice cream cone. “I’m just sayin’ — if you don’t do something about it, I might.” She said suggestively, nudging in the arm. Juicy just rolled her eyes, pretending she wasn’t affected, but her eyes wandered back to the driveway, watching the way Smoke leaned over the hood with his sleeves pushed up, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each turn of a wrench. Stack was no better, lounging against the side of the car, wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, flashing a glimpse of his abs.

Damn. She thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Mary wasn’t crazy.

After a while, since Juicy wasn’t about to let the twins work themselves to death, she brought the men out something to drink. Slipping back inside the house, she returned with a small tray balanced in her hands, setting down a cold pitcher of lemonade and a stack of bottled waters on the porch railing. She also dragged out an old, battered radio, plopping it near the steps and fiddling with the dial until it landed on a station spinning smooth R&B tracks.

Stack caught the change in atmosphere first, glancing over his shoulder and giving a low chuckle when he saw Juicy setting everything up like a little hostess. Or a nice housewife. Smoke didn’t say anything — just wiped his hands on a rag and nodded his thanks before ducking back under the hood of gray ‘96 Buick LeSabre.

Juicy and Mary settled on the porch again, bare legs swinging lightly above the ground, chatting and laughing while the twins worked. Every so often, Stack would pop his head up, teasing them about being lazy, and Juicy would shoot something back just as quick, the easy back-and-forth slipping into something more familiar. Something warmer.

“You gon’ sit there and watch all day?” Stack called out as he tightened a bolt.

Juicy rolled her eyes as she sipped at her lemonade through a straw, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a smile. “I’m minding my business, which just so happens to be that car, and making sure y’all don’t make it worse. Now get back to work, handsome.” She tossed back sweetly, flashing him a playful grin.

Both twins barked a laugh at that — Smoke shaking his head with a smirk while Stack grinned wider, flashing those gold fronts that caught the sunlight.

They were almost finished when a group of girls strutted up the sidewalk, all lip gloss and cut-off shorts, waving excitedly at Juicy and Mary.

“Y’all coming to the rink tonight?” One called, Sharee, bouncing on her toes. “It’s ladies night — free entry. And DJ Sammie’s on the music so you know it’s gon’ be poppin’!”

Juicy hesitated, letting out a questioning him and glancing sideways at Mary, who immediately nodded like a bobblehead. Juicy couldn’t help but laugh as she stood up from the wing and moved over to the porch railing.

Sensing the pause, another girl chimed in, grinning mischievously. “Keith’s gonna be there…”

That name got both Stack and Smoke’s attention. Stack looked up from under the car, wiping his hands on his jeans, while Smoke just leaned an elbow against the hood, eyes narrowed slightly as he listened.

Juicy groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out. “We ain’t goin’ for Keith.” She said firmly, crossing her arms. “We goin’ for the music. And the skating.” The group of girls just giggled, but the twins kept their reactions to themselves, although the way Stack shook his head and muttered something under his breath wasn’t lost on anyone paying attention.

Just then, Smoke stepped out from under the car, grabbing the hem of his white muscle shirt and dragging it up to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. The move revealed a long stretch of carved abs and broad chest, glistening slightly under the sun.

The girls on the sidewalk went still, staring, barely trying to hide it. Mary leaned over to Juicy and whispered something that made her snort.

Smoke’s arms, chest, and abs were cut and gleaming, every muscle shifting as he moved. His expression was calm, like he didn’t even notice the sudden heavy air. But the girls noticed.

They tried — tried — to stay cool, fake texting on their phones, fiddling with their hair, pretending to stretch like they weren’t sneaking glances at every inch of him. One girl tilted her head, lips parting slightly before she caught herself and quickly turned to whisper something to her friend, who was already elbowing her back.

The whole group looked like they wanted to fan themselves but knew better than to make it obvious.

Smoke ignored the attention entirely as she turned and waked towards the porch. His focus stayed locked on Juicy as he strolled up to the porch, a confident stride. Without a word, he picked up one of the glasses she had set out and drained it in a few long gulps.

When he finished, he lowered the glass, standing close enough that Juicy had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. The other girls might as well have disappeared.

“Can I get some more ice, please?” Smoke asked, his voice deep and steady. Juicy blinked, a little caught off guard by the way he said it — by the slow, deliberate way he spoke, like every word was dipped in syrup.

“Of course.” She said, a little softer than before, reaching out to take the empty glass from his hand.

“Thanks, ma.” He added, flashing a rare, almost boyish grin that somehow made him even more dangerous.

Juicy barely managed a nod before spinning on her heel quickly and disappearing into the house with the glass, feeling the heat creep up her neck.

Smoke watched her go for a second longer than necessary before heading back to the car without a word, his expression unreadable. Stack only laughed lowly, shaking his head as he tightened another bolt. “You got her flustered, boy.”

Smoke just smirked under his breath and leaned back under the hood. “Shut up and fix the damn car.” He muttered, but even then, there was a certain lightness to him that hadn’t been there before.

Meanwhile, on the sidewalk, the group of girls tried desperately to collect themselves, sneaking peeks at each other like who the hell are they and why haven’t we seen them before? Their excitement was bubbling under the surface, barely contained, especially knowing there was still another fine man half-hidden under the car.

Juicy came back out seconds later, filling the ice cup with water and said it down, waiting for the man to come get whenever he wanted. She saw the looks on the girls faces, and before the girls could even chime in about the fine men fixing the car, Juicy suddenly rethought what Mary had just said, realizing she didn’t like the way the newcomers were looking at Smoke and Stack. She blinked, glancing between the ogling group.

The girls were too busy stealing glances to notice Juicy’s mood shift, or even her arrival, especially as Stack slid out from under the car, sweat dripping down his bronze skin. Without a second thought, he tugged his white muscle shirt off completely, exposing his toned body to the beaming sun. He used the shirt to wipe his face, running a hand down his cornrows before slipping right back under the car like he hadn’t just stopped half the sidewalk.

Juicy felt something twist in her chest. She didn’t like this one bit. Straightening up, she forced a polite smile, her arms folding over her chest tightly.

“Okay, I’ll see y’all at the rink.” She said, voice tight but sweet.

The girls, slow to pull their attention away from the men, nodded distractedly. One of them even started to raise a finger, angled towards the men and probably about to ask something Juicy had no patience for. Before she could get a word out, Juicy was already coming down the porch steps, keeping her arms folded as she approached.

“I have to go help Mary pick out an outfit. We’ll see y’all there.”She said firmly, her tone leaving no room for further conversation.

Her smile stayed taut and polite, but her eyes sharpened a bit as she looked at the girl who’d been about to speak. The girl simply blinked and nodded. Maybe they caught on to the shift in attitude, maybe they didn’t. Either way, Juicy didn’t care.

She waved them off, watching with a hard stare until they turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

When she turned back toward the house, Mary was sitting on the porch, one brow raised knowingly. Juicy rolled her eyes at her friend’s silent teasing.

“Come on.” She huffed. “We gotta find you something to wear.”She stayed planted on the sidewalk, not bothering to head back inside since they were about to walk to Mary’s house anyway.

Mary scoffed as she stood up, amusement all over her face as she made her way down the porch. “Don’t be mad at me ’cause you’re conflicted.”

“I’m not conflicted.” Juicy snapped, arms still crossed over her chest, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. It was a look Stack, still under the car, caught from the corner of his eye — a look that he and Smoke both secretly adored.

Stack rolled out from under the car and looked between the girls. “Where y’all going?” He asked, already pretty sure he knew from the bits of conversation he’d heard. “To Mary’s.” Juicy replied quickly, still sounding a little ticked off without even knowing why.

Stack stood up, stretching his arms over his head lazily before wiping his sweat away with the shirt still in his hand. “Okay, well, you’re not gonna walk. I’ll take you.”

Juicy frowned, confused. “Why? What about the car?”

Stack looked down at her, his gold skin glinting in the sun, cool and unaffected. “Smoke got it.” He said, simple and sure. Juicy opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Stack cut her off, stepping closer and towering over her just slightly.

“And he don’t care. He’ll be a’ight. Now walk on over to that car so we can get you girls ready for the rink tonight.” He said, more a command than a suggestion.

Juicy bit the inside of her cheek, arms pressing tighter against her stomach, trying to ignore the way her body responded to the authority in his voice. When she didn’t move, too caught up in her spiraling thoughts, Stack quirked a brow at her, waiting.

That little flick of his eyebrow snapped her out of it. She blinked, glancing away quickly, then shoved her hand out toward him. “I need the key.” She said sassily, shifting her weight onto one leg, her chin tilted up in challenge.

Stack smirked slightly and pulled the key from his low-hanging pants, dropping it into her palm. Their fingers brushed, and Juicy had to bite back a shiver at the sudden spark that zipped up her arm.

“Go.” Stack said again, his voice low, almost amused.

Juicy scoffed, even though she was already moving toward the parked car across the street. Mary fell into step beside her, grinning devilishly. “Girl, if he talked to me like that, you don’t even wanna know the things I’d be calling him. Shit you only hear in pornos.” She said, her voice loud enough to make Juicy’s face heat up.

Juicy scoffed softly but said nothing, sliding into the back seat with Mary right behind her.

“Girl, you say things you hear in pornos in regular conversation.” Juicy shot back once they were both buckled in.

Mary laughed so hard she snorted. “Exactly! That’s why I said you don’t even know what I could pull out. I got a Rolodex of words that would taint the whole Hall household if I even thought of ’em.”

Juicy scrunched up her nose playfully, a look of exaggerated disgust crossing her face. “Yo freaky ass.” She muttered. The girls’ laughter echoed in the car as Stack disappeared inside briefly, grabbing one of Martin’s spare shirts to tug on and fixing himself a glass of lemonade before joining them.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The drive to Mary’s house didn’t take long—it never did. Just a few blocks through the old neighborhood, past houses that still had their porch swings and clotheslines, windows cracked open to let the breeze in. Stack drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. Mary sat up from the back seat, chatting about outfit options for the rink while Juicy stayed quiet in the back seat, arms still folded, her mind split between Stack’s voice in her ear and the way her body still buzzed from it.

When Stack pulled up in front of Mary’s house, he barely shifted the car into park before he popped open his door. Juicy blinked, confused, leaning forward from the back seat. “Where are you going?” She asked, watching as Stack stepped out, the driver’s side still wide open. Her brows were drawn together, confused by his quick exit.

He paused, glancing back at her with that same half-annoyed, half-amused look that always made her want to slap him—and maybe kiss him, too, if she’d ever admit it.

“You thought I was about to sit in this hot ass car while you girls take forever to find one outfit?” He asked, brows raised like she was the one being unreasonable. “Hell no.” Before Juicy could reply, he added with a shrug, “Plus, I gotta speak to Ms. Boothe.”

That caused Juicy to scoff a little and roll her eyes, the corner of her lip twitching into a pout even she didn’t realize was there. “My bad.” She muttered, opening her door. “I was just asking.”

As she began to step out, hand on the car door, he hit her again with that low, level voice.

“Don’t slam my door.”

Juicy paused, one foot on the curb, one hand still gripping the door. She stared at him over the top of the car, unblinking. No sass. Just that locked-in eye contact that always made the air thick between them. He knew her too well. Without a word, she eased the door shut—not too soft, not too rough—just enough pressure to make sure it caught and locked, but nothing close to a slam.

Stack smiled up at her as he got out and rounded the car, locking it behind him. “And I know you’re sorry, baby.” He dded, eyes playful. “I wasn’t yelling at you.”

That smug little smirk made Juicy roll her eyes again, but there was no heat behind it now—just a flutter in her chest that she refused to acknowledge. She turned without another word and made her way up to Mary’s porch, Stack only a few paces behind her.

Mary was already up the steps and in the home, letting herself into the house as if she lived alone as she waked to her on after a quick greeting to her mother. Juicy followed suit, opening the screen door and stepping into the familiar scent of lemon oil and hot grease.

“Hi, Missy.” She called out automatically, slipping off her shoes by the door like she always did.

Missy Boothe, Mary’s mother, was in the kitchen as usual, standing over a simmering skillet and humming something old-school under her breath. At the sound of Juicy’s voice, she turned from the stove with a warm smile.

“Hey, baby.” She said, her voice honeyed and sweet.

But her eyes immediately shifted past Juicy, going wide as she spotted the tall figure behind her.

“Oh, Elias!” She practically sung, her arms already opening as she came toward him. Stack grinned and stepped into the hug with ease, like he’d done it a hundred times before—because he had.

“Hey, Ms. Missy.” He said, wrapping his arms around the petite Southern woman, careful not to smother her with his size.

She pulled back just far enough to look up at him with adoration. “Just look at you.” She fussed, eyes shining. “You’ve grown your hair out again! And that skin is just glowing, boy. You look so handsome. So grown.”

Stack chuckled low in his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve just been outside, Ms. Missy. That’s all the glow you’re seeing, sweat.”

“Oh, hush that modesty.” She waved him off. “You and Elijah must be doing something right. Still keeping up with your cousin?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s good.” Stack nodded, his voice softening with respect.

“That’s good. Well, you have got to come sit with me for a spell and tell me what you boys have been up to. Come on in here, let me fix you something.” She was already turning back to the kitchen, hand still gently latched around his wrist like she didn’t want him slipping away.

As she led him deeper into the house, Stack glanced back over his shoulder at Juicy. She hadn’t followed yet. She stood near the front room, watching the exchange with a small, unreadable smile on her lips. One that held warmth… and maybe just a hint of something else. A tenderness that surprised even her.

Missy Boothe was one of those women who made everyone feel like home. She’d known them since they were small children, always feeding them, always welcoming them in like they were her own. But Stack had a particular place in her heart. She’d always doted on him a little extra, claiming it was because he was so well-mannered, but Juicy suspected it was something else. Like the way his father treated him. He’d always been around. Showing up for more than just meals. Fixing things around the house. Walking Mary to the store when Missy couldn’t. Making sure her trash was taken out without even asking. That kind of presence made a mark.

She watched as Stack settled onto one of the barstools at the counter as Missy poured him a glass of sweet tea. She was talking a mile a minute now, and Stack was answering with polite hums and the occasional laugh that made his shoulders shake. Juicy watched them from the kitchen doorway, a soft smile on her face before she walked further into the house, leaving the man with the woman that adored him most.

Upstairs, Mary’s room was still the same explosion of color and chaos it had always been—posters of Dru Hill and B2K on the walls, an old Destiny’s Child CD case cracked open on the nightstand, and a tangled mess of clothes spilling from an overworked dresser. The window was cracked to let in the breeze, the lace curtains fluttering gently as the soft hum of a fan blew from the corner. It was just past noon, and the air smelled faintly of coconut oil and flat iron heat.

Juicy flopped onto Mary’s bed, laying on her stomach as she watched her friend rummage through her closet. Mary, dressed in a pink camisole and cutoff shorts, was talking to herself more than anyone, throwing tops over her shoulder and groaning dramatically.

“I swear I don’t have nothing to wear!” She exclaimed, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips.

“You have too much to wear.”Juicy countered, grabbing a red Baby Phat halter top off the bed beside her and holding it up. “You could pull this with your denim mini.” She suggested.

Mary turned and wrinkled her nose. “Girl, I wore that the last time I went out.”

“And nobody remembers but you.”

“I remember, and that’s what matters.” Mary said, then spun around with a grin. “But I know you’re not talking. You know you gon’ pull out that same lil’ rhinestone tee you always wear when you tryna be cute. The one that say ‘Spoiled’ on it.” She snickered.

Juicy narrowed her eyes, flipping her off playfully before burying her face in the comforter. “The shirts nice. Can’t help it if it makes my boobs look good.” She shrugged. Mary laughed and flopped down beside her. “Yeah, you’re tryna be cute. And make them look good for somebody.”

Juicy raised her head slowly. “What you mean?”

“I mean…” Mary’s grin grew wide and mischievous. “Keith gon’ be there tonight.”

Juicy’s face twitched—but only just. “I don’t care if Keith there.” She muttered.

“Mmmhmm.” Mary sing-songed. “You was all shy when he asked for your number last week. Actin’ like you ain’t like him back.”

“I didn’t give him my number.” Juicy mumbled, face buried in the pillow now.

“Yeah, ‘cause I was standing right there.” Mary laughed. “But I know you wanted to.”

Before Juicy could respond, the floorboards outside the room creaked. They both glanced up at the same time.

Stack leaned against the doorframe, shoulder pressed to the wood, arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t bothered knocking—he never did when it came to Mary’s house. He let his eyes trail lazily across the room until they landed on Juicy still lying on the bed, then flicked toward Mary with a lopsided grin.

“Keith, huh?” He questioned.

Juicy sat up fast, like she’d been caught red-handed. “Were you eavesdropping?” She asked.

“I just walked in.” He said, pushing off the doorframe. “Y’all was talkin’ like I wasn’t even here.”

Mary, unfazed, gave him a look. “Yeah, because you wasn’t here a second ago.”

Stack turned to Juicy, narrowing his eyes a little. “So who this Keith dude?” He asked, going back to the subject.

Juicy avoided his gaze. “Ain’t nobody important.” She shrugged.

“Seem like somebody.” His tone was light, teasing even, but there was a sharpness just beneath the surface. His eyes didn’t leave hers, though she didn’t look at him, Mary, still oblivious, perked up as she sorted through more clothes. “He’s the boy that helped us bring the sodas to some function last week, he went and picked them up for the free. Real polite. And cute too—Juicy even said it.”

“Mary…” Juicy warned, her voice low.

“What?” Mary said with a shrug. “He’s nice. You blushed when he said you smelled good.”

“You know that my favorite compliment.” The darker skinned girl mumbled, crossing her arms. Stack looked at Juicy, face unreadable and jaw ticking ever so slightly. “You like him?” He asked.

Juicy met his eyes but only for a second before glancing away, her voice suddenly clipped. “No.”

Mary snorted. “You do. You just don’t wanna admit it ‘cause he quiet and not all hard like—”

“I don’t like him.” Juicy cut her off sharply, more forcefully this time, her eyes flicking to Stack’s.

He studied her closely now, catching the shift in her tone, the way her shoulders stiffened a bit and how she wouldn’t look at him. Something about her denial felt too practiced, too deliberate. Like she wanted him to hear it, believe it—need him to.

Mary didn’t seem to notice. She was still talking, still pulling tops and jeans and accessories. But Stack… he was locked in on Juicy. And the longer she avoided his gaze, the more his protectiveness stirred.

“Just curious.” He said finally, voice dropping a notch. “I don’t know the dude. If he weird or got a rep, I need to know.”

Juicy shook her head. “He’s not weird. And he don’t got a rep.”

“So he just a regular dude… interested in you.” Stack said, stepping further into the room.

Juicy sat up straighter, furrowing her brows at him. “Yeah?” She said. “Why does that sound like a problem?”

“It doesn’t.” He said simply, but his eyes told a different story. “Just don’t like niggas coming around who ain’t got good intentions.”

“And who’s to say he don’t?”

Stack smirked a little but didn’t answer. His silence said enough.

Mary finally caught the shift in energy, turning from her closet with a raised brow. “Okay, why does it feel like y’all are arguing over a boy that neither of y’all dating?”

“I’m not arguing,” Juicy muttered, sliding off the bed. “Ain’t nobody checking for Keith.”

“Exactly.” Stack said, but softer now. His voice didn’t carry the same edge. He watched her brush past him toward the door, like she needed some air. And when she left, Mary gave Stack a look that held just the slightest suspicion.

“You ain’t never asked me about no other boy before.” She said.

Stack’s jaw flexed. “Cause you can take care of yourself. I taught you that.” He said. “She’s…I have to look out for her.” He said, but even he didn’t believe it. Not all the way.

Because when it came to Juicy, looking out always felt a little too close to holding on.

Mary finally ended up settling on a teal crop top with rhinestone straps and a pair of low-rise jeans that hugged her hips just right. After a playful back-and-forth, Juicy finally came back and Stack was back in the kitchen. Juicy claimed a vintage red mesh top with long sleeves and a white tank underneath that gave just the right ‘03 attitude. The girls had spent the last hour laughing, poking fun, dancing to 106 & Park reruns in the background, and throwing clothes across the room like it was a sport.

Mary’s room looked like a dressing tornado had touched down—tops and skirts strewn across the bed, sneakers tossed into corners, and hangers hooked on anything that could hold them. Juicy stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands down the borrowed crop top, a snug baby pink number she’d snagged from Mary’s drawer the moment she saw it.

“You sure you don’t want this one back?” She asked, turning with a sly smile.

Mary grinned from where she knelt on the floor, digging through a pile of shorts. “Nah, it looks better on you anyway. Plus, I’m tryna go a little tomboy cute tonight. Let folks know I got range.”

Juicy laughed and adjusted the hem of the top. “I still can’t believe you keep clothes like this tucked away. What else you got hiding in this closet, Mary Poppins?”

Mary tossed a pair of high-waisted denim shorts at her and stood. “Years of thrift and heartbreak, that’s what. You look cute, girl.” Mary said, admiring Juicy’s reflection in the mirror as she tucked one side of her shirt behind her belt loop.

“You think?” Juicy asked, checking herself out with a slight turn.

“I know. Keith might choke on his words if he see you like that.” Mary teased, bumping her with her hip.

“Don’t start.” Juicy warned, grabbing her flip phone and slipping it into her back pocket. “I’m tryna skate, not entertain.”

By the time they made it downstairs, dusk was slipping through the windows, casting the living room in a warm honey-glow. They laughed all the way down the hall, the sound of their sneakers and flip-flops echoing against the hardwood. The smell of baked chicken and cornbread drifted from the kitchen where Missy was pulling something from the oven. She was a sharp woman, always dressed even when she was home, with earrings in her ears and her hair pinned up with care.

“Where y’all headed?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder. “To the rink.”Mary answered, swinging into the kitchen to grab a bottled water. “Me and Juicy. It’s ladies’ night so we get in for free.”

Missy arched a brow, her lips already curling with suspicion. “Who all gonna be there?”

“Just us.” Mary said with a shrug. Missy turned to look directly at Juicy, a woman-to-woman kind of look, as if she knew her daughter could get a little wild sometimes, but Juicy? She trusted Juicy. Still…

Juicy stepped forward. “We’re not doing anything crazy, Missy. Just skating, maybe a slice of pizza and back before midnight.”

Missy’s eyes narrowed just slightly, still unconvinced.

That’s when Stack’s voice cut in from behind. “Me and Smoke gon’ be there too, Miss Miss.” He said smoothly. “Ain’t nothin’ gone happen to them with us around.” He was lounging against the archway, arms folded and keys twirling on one finger, decided to chime in.

Missy turned to look at him, eyes softening a bit. “You and Elijah?”He nodded, stepping into view and flashing her that easy, boyish smile. “Yes, ma’am. Promise they’ll be good.”

“Well…”She said, resting a hand on her hip and looking from Juicy to Mary and back. “As long as y’all got some backup, I don’t see no problem with it. I know Juicy’s a good girl.”

Mary rolled her eyes dramatically. “Here we go…”

Missy leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “Juicy, baby, what you been up to now that school’s out?”She asked. Juicy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just… enjoying the break while I can. Taking it easy, having fun, you know?”

“Well, I hope not too much fun.” Missy said with a teasing tilt in her voice. Juicy groaned, throwing her head back while Mary cackled. “Missy…”

“Oh come on.” Mary waved her hand. “You know she’s not that kind of girl.”

“I know, I know.” Missy said with a nod. “But I also know how these boys around here get. They see a sweet girl like you and think they can play you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Juicy said, her tone reassuring but calm.

Missy hummed, then tilted her head. “Speaking of, how’s it goin’ with that Powers boy? What’s his name—Kevin?”

“Keith.” Juicy and Mary corrected at the same time.

Stack raised an eyebrow, cutting a look toward Juicy, as well as Mary, who avoided their eyes. “Mm.” Stack muttered under his breath, eyes sliding over Juicy’s figure.

Missy chuckled. “Right, Keith! How’s he doin’? I know he’s sweet on you. I’ve seen the way that boy look at you when he mowin’ that lawn. Almost broke his neck tryin’ to catch a glimpse.”

Juicy sighed, her smile bashful and soft as she avoided Stack’s gaze. “I think he’s doing fine.”

“You think?” Missy prodded.

Juicy shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, we’re not together. We barely even talk. He’s just… around. I don’t know why everyone’s so pressed about who I’m supposedly dating.”

“Because you’re a nice girl.” Missy said plainly, “And nice girls should have nice young men in their corner.”

“Well, I’m not interested in none of that right now,” Juicy replied gently. “I’m going to school and getting my degree. That’s the goal.”

Missy nodded thoughtfully, her tone softening. “I hear you. But don’t work so hard you forget to enjoy yourself. Everybody needs somebody in their corner. Even the strong girls.”

“I am enjoying myself.” Juicy said, her voice just as gentle.

Their eyes met for a moment, the quiet between them holding weight. Missy smiled then, a glint of pride flashing in her eyes, just before something else crossed then as she looked at the girl.

“Have you talked to your parents?” She asked after a pause.

“Mama.” Mary hissed, shooting her mom a warning look as Juicy stiffened slightly. Stack eyed the women, wondering why was going on.

“What?” Missy said, raising her hands. “I’m just asking. I talked to Serena this morning—”

“It’s okay,” Juicy cut in smoothly. “Uh, no, I haven’t spoken to them in a bit, but it’s just been… you know, school. Finals. Everything’s been a blur. I’ll reach out soon, though.” She reassured, but wanting nothing more than that part of the conversation to be over. Stack eyes the girl, seeing the way she had stiffened at the mention of her parents.

Missy hummed again, slow and understanding. “Alright. Long as you do.”She then clapped her hands once and pointed toward the door. “Now go on. Get dressed, go skate, and have some clean fun. Y’all hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Both girls said at the same time, heading for the door.

Missy turned to Stack on their way out. “And you better come visit me again soon. Bring Elijah with you. I got questions for that boy.”

Stack grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

As the screen door creaked open and the sun spilled across the porch, Juicy caught herself thinking—still feeling the heat of Missy’s words, of Stack’s lingering gaze, and the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

By the time the sun had started its lazy descent behind the neighborhood rooftops, the girls were back at Juicy’s house with Stack pulling into her driveway like he belonged there. He cut the engine, and hopped out of the car, just as Smoke came out of the Hall home, watching as Juicy and Mary dashed past him.

“We taking them to the rink now.” Stack said, watching the girls disappear into the house. He watched as Smoke’s face morphed into one of annoyance, but he continued before his brother could express his discontent verbally. “I promised Missy I’d keep an eye on them. You in? Cause I know you ain’t got none better to do.”

Smoke shot him a look. “Yeah, whatever nigga.” He said.

They crossed the street to their place, casual and unbothered, stepping into the familiar scent of cologne and laundry detergent. The music thumping faintly from Stack’s room gave the air a soft pulse while the boys got changed—nothing fancy, just fresh fits and cologne. They weren’t skating, but they weren’t about to show up looking like they didn’t belong either.

By the time they were back outside, posted in the car and waiting, the sky had shifted to blue, the street lights casting long shadows across the pavement. The car windows were rolled down halfway, the breeze just enough to cool the sweat off their necks. They didn’t say much—just let the music play and kept an eye on the house.

An hour passed before the front door opened again.

Juicy stepped out first, her curves hugged by denim jeans and a tight off-the-shoulder top the color of blush wine. Her skin caught the soft shimmer of the porch light, collarbones on display and hair done up in that effortless way that still looked like it took forever. Mary trailed after her in a cute, more sporty outfit—a cropped tee Juicy had let her borrow and a skirt with built-in shorts underneath.

Smoke leaned forward. “That’s them?” He asked, since he couldn’t quite see the door from the page her seat,

“That’s them.” Stack said with a little smile, unlocking the doors. “Hop in.” He called out to them.

The girls jogged up to the car, Juicy opening the back door on Smoke’s side with a teasing smirk. “Y’all wasn’t gon’ leave without us, right?”

“You know I wouldn’t dream of it.” Smoke said, sliding his phone into his pocket.

The ride to the rink was filled with soft music and low chatter, the windows cracked to let in the cooling night air. The city was still humming—streetlights flickering, kids biking down sidewalks, couples walking hand in hand, and the occasional honk from a car passing through a yellow light. It was summer energy—slow but charged, with laughter always somewhere in the background.

By the time they reached the rink, the parking lot was alive with it. Cars lined up like a pop-up car show—hoods open, music blasting, boys leaned back on their trunks with drinks in hand and girls circling like butterflies. The smell of hot food, cherry slushies, and lit blunts hung thick in the air. Laughter mixed with the low thrum of bass-heavy music and the metallic clang of skates hitting pavement.

Martin and the crew were already there, posted on the hoods of their cars, chopping it up like they ran the block.

“There go our people.” Smoke nodded, gesturing toward them.

“You go on.” Stack said, looking back at the girls. “We’ll meet y’all inside.”

“Say less.”Mary said, hand in hand with Juicy as she led them to the building while the men were already veering toward Martin and the crew.

Juicy and Mary stepped into the rink like they’d done it a thousand times before—confident, cute, and catching attention. Inside, the air was cooler, tinged with sweat and slushie syrup, the wooden floors gleaming under the multicolored lights that spun in slow circles above. The DJ booth was lit up, music flowing loud but smooth, classic 2000s R&B remixes with just enough bass to keep the rhythm.

Near the tables by the rink, Sharee and the girls from earlier were lounging, drinks in hand and skates already laced up, legs stretched across benches. The moment they spotted Mary and Juicy, they perked up.

“Heeyy!” Sharee waved, sliding out from behind the table with practiced ease. “Look who finally showed up.”

“You know we had to get cute first.” Juicy teased, laughing.

“You didn’t have to try that hard.” One of the other girls said, eyes sweeping Juicy’s figure. “Damn, girl.”

Mary bumped her shoulder, grinning. “Told you this top was gon’ cause a problem.”

“Let’s get you laced up.” Sharee said, already pulling them toward the counter. “The floor’s live tonight.”

Back outside, Stack and Smoke dapped up Martin and the others. They leaned against hoods slick with the day’s heat, cooling drinks in hand and shoes crisp as new, now matter the scuffs they faced from the street. A few of the guys had new cuts, fresh white tees, gold glinting under the glow of streetlamps. They talked hoops, girls, and music—nothing deep, just that loud, layered kind of conversation that could only happen between boys who’d grown up together.

“You came out with Juicy?” One of Martin’s homeboys asked them, flicking ash off his blunt. They glanced at Martin, who was too busy rubbing up on some shock to even pay attention to their conversation.

Stack shrugged. “Yeah, she’s with Mary. Promised her mama I’d keep an eye out. Plus, it ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lil rink night.”

Smoke grinned. “Girls look too good to let ‘em come alone anyway.”

Everyone laughed, the night stretching wide in front of them like a scene from a coming-of-age movie, the kind where nothing big had to happen for it to feel unforgettable.

Inside, Juicy stepped onto the rink, her body finding the rhythm easily, hips swaying as she slid across the polished wood. The girls flanked her and Mary, all of them catching the music like they were made for it. Lights danced across their skin, and for a moment, the world outside the rink—the boys, the pressure, the expectations—melted away.

And it felt good.

The rink was buzzing, the air thick with the sugary scent of concession stand snacks and body spray. Colored lights flickered overhead in lazy circles, casting moving shadows over the skating bodies below. Music thumped with a throwback beat, and the floor pulsed under the weight of roller wheels. Girls glided in tight curves, boys tried to show off, and somewhere in the chaos, Mary and Juicy were exactly where they were supposed to be—together, laughing, skating fast and carefree.

But even in the haze of fun, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show

They’d met up with Sharee and the girls by the tables again, and as soon as Juicy and Mary sat down to catch their breath, the gossip started flowing like soda from the fountain machine.

“You see what Jaleesa got on?” One girl leaned over, dragging a French-tipped nail through her hair. “I know she saw that little muffin top when she looked in the mirror.”

“Girl, don’t play.” Another snickered. “She wore that on purpose, swear she thick now ‘cause she got some new jeans.”

Juicy raised her brows, sipping from her slushie with furrowed brows. Mary met her eyes with the same familiar look—Here we go.

They listened, half-engaged, nodding here and there, but it was the same old routine. The moment one of the girls left to go say hey to someone else, she became the next topic.

“Did y’all peep how Destiny keeps skating past Keith like she don’t seem him?”

“Mmhm, and acting like she didn’t cry when he stopped messing with her.”

“She was real loud last week talking about how she ‘don’t care about no boy’—now look.”

Juicy and Mary both leaned back a little. It wasn’t like they were innocent—hell, they had sharp tongues too, but something about the girls’ energy was just off. And it’s something they peered everyone they were asking the girls they considered acquaintances. It was loud and fake and dipped in desperation. The kind of thing you could only stomach in small doses.

Mary leaned over and whispered, “They so fake. And boy-crazy. Like, get a grip.”

“Girl.” Juicy said, voice dry. “You one to talk.”

Mary laughed. “I like men. That don’t mean I’m dumb about it.”

“No,” Juicy agreed, “You just use ‘em.”

“And they love it.” Mary flipped her hair and looked over the rink like a queen surveying her kingdom. “These chicks only keep us around ‘cause dudes still be thinkin’ I’m exotic or whatever.” She said in disgust. “Only white girl they ever seen with a little edge and ass.”

Juicy smirked. “And me?”

“Please. You know why, Miss Juicy. All them boys lookin’ at you like you a prize they ain’t won yet. You know every boy in here waitin’ for you to slip up and let one of ‘em get a taste.

Juicy rolled her eyes. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t let none of ‘em hit.”

“Exactly,” Mary said with a wink. “Mystery makes ‘em drool.” She smirked, taking a sip of her drink before starting again. “And they don’t even like each other for real.”

Juicy laughed low. “Tell me about it.”

“They just keep us around for clout. Me ‘cause dudes still think I’m exotic or some shit.” Mary said, her voice only for Juicy as she scoffed in disgust.

Juicy rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She knew how they looked at her—especially now. She’d grown into herself, thick in the right places, cute with a touch of mystery, and still untouched. That part made them more curious. She hated it sometimes.

“You the main one they scared of.” Mary added, nudging her. “They’re trynna peep who you want and act accordingly for themselves.”

“Too bad none of ‘em will get anything from me.” Juicy said sweetly, standing up. “I need me something sweet.”

She rolled off on the carpet, coasting across the floor toward the concession stand. Her body moved with practiced grace, her skates soft against the rhythm of the music. The line was short, just two people in front of her, and soon she was at the counter, fingers tapping lightly as she placed her order.

“One strawberry cotton candy, please.” She said, already fishing out her few crumpled dollars.

And then, rolling up beside her on silent wheels, came Keith.

“Didn’t expect to see you off the floor.” He said with that easy, boyish smile that always lingered too long. Juicy looked over at him, trying not to grin but failing. “Didn’t expect to be stalked at the snack bar either.”

He laughed. “Stalked? I’m offended. This here’s just coincidence.”

“Mhm. Coincidence got you skating all the way over here, huh?” She questioned, waiting for the man to come back with her sweet treat. “I call that audacity.”

Before he could answer, the concession guy came back, handing Juicy her fluffy, pink cotton candy wrapped around a paper cone. Juicy reached into her pocket, but Keith slid his hand in first, already paying.

“Come on, Keith.” Juicy frowned, smacking his shoulder lightly. “I had that.”

“Nah, let me.” He said with a grin. “Sweet stuff for a sweet girl, ain’t that what they say?” He smirked, causing Juicy to side eye him, though the blush was undeniable. “Oh, you are so corny.”

“But you smiled, didn’t you?”

She tried not to, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “Barely.”

“So not funny, but corny and generous.” He said he said with a shrug, plucking a piece of her cotton candy before she could stop him.

“Boy, get your sticky hands out my—!” She laughed, trying to shield the candy, but he grinned through it, teasing her as they shared space there by the counter. “Oh, no sir. You didn’t even ask.”

He popped the bite in his mouth anyway, laughing. “Mmm. Tastes better when it’s yours.”

“You are triflin’.”Juicy muttered, spinning away, but she was grinning. And then, right on cue, Sammie’s voice came over the speakers, smooth as syrup and twice as slick:

“Alright, alright, alright. Y’all know what time it is—it’s 10 o’clock and that means love jams, baby. If you got you a lil somethin’ somethin’ or wanna get you a lil somethin’ somethin’—this is the part where you skate up close. We playin’ them slow ones now. Lovers only.”

The lights dimmed slightly, shifting to a warm red-and-purple glow, and the first slow song came on—“So Into You” by Tamia sliding in soft and sensual.

Keith looked over at Juicy, cotton candy still in hand, his smile tilting into something more. “You wanna skate with me?” He asked.

Juicy blinked, caught off guard. “What, like now?” She asked as she put a piece of cotton in her mouth.

He glanced at her lips as she sat and nodded. “What about my candy?” Juicy said. “I just got it. And I can’t have it in the rink.” She said, giving him a flat look, only for him to grin wider and say. “I’ll buy you another one. Maybe even two more.”

“You makin’ some big promises.” She said, eyes narrowed playfully.

“I’m good for it.” He smirked. And something about the way he said it—smooth, sure, not cocky but real—made her believe it.

She sucked her teeth, laughing. “You are somethin’ else.”

“You like it.” He said simply, holding out his hand.

“Please.” Juicy scoffed. The them look down at his hand, and she hesitated just a beat—long enough to feel that nervous flutter in her chest—but then she set her cotton candy down and took his hand, warm and sure in hers.

“Come on, Miss Hall.” He said, tugging her gently toward the rink as the beat throbbed and couples began pairing off under the dim, romantic glow.

And just like that, they rolled out together, hands locked, the world around them fading for a little while as Tamia sang softly overhead and the air spun slow with sweet summer magic.

Juicy and Keith were giggling like two kids sharing secrets, fingers laced as they rolled in unison across the floor, their skates moving in an easy rhythm.

Juicy’s cheeks were still a little pink, but it wasn’t from skating—it was from Keith leaning in too close, whispering nonsense in her ear that had her biting her lip to keep from smiling too wide. Every now and then, he tugged her hand to spin her, and though she wobbled, she laughed and let him pull her back, their fingers never losing contact.

They ignored the eyes, because there were eyes. Girls posted up by the benches, whispering and frowning behind manicured hands. Boys paused mid-glide to try and piece together who Keith was, and why Juicy—the thicker, glowing, and untouchably pretty girl—was giggling with that square. The looks were hot, heavy, and nosy, but neither of them paid it much mind. Not tonight.

Across the way, Mary had peeled off from the rink, gliding smoothly toward the concession stand with her usual sway, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she was walking a runway. Her eyes scanned the crowd lazily, but they sharpened the second she noticed a familiar figure at the entrance.

Smoke.

He walked in slow, scanning the place like he owned it, his eyes low but alert. He didn’t come to skate, not really. He’d told himself he was just checking in, that maybe Mary or Juicy needed a ride or an excuse to leave if things got too messy. But the truth was more complicated—more annoying to admit. He just wanted to see her. Juicy.

He clocked Mary first, her red lips curved into a knowing smile as she spotted him. She raised her hand and waved, but he barely gave a nod before his gaze drifted past her—to the rink.

And then he saw them.

Juicy.

And some dude.

Holding hands.

Skating like they were in a damn music video.

Smoke’s jaw tightened, not all the way, but enough that Mary caught it when she walked up beside him, sipping from Juicy’s forgotten cotton candy. “Didn’t know you were coming in tonight.” She said casually, leaning one hip against the wall.

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on the couple on the rink that guy with his laid-back smile and cocky posture, Juicy with her radiant laugh and those soft brown thighs thick in her jeans as she spun around, smiling over her shoulder.

He didn’t recognize the boy. And he didn’t like that he didn’t recognize the boy.

“Who’s that?” He asked, still watching.

Mary licked a bit of cotton candy from her thumb, eyes twinkling. “Keith. We went to school with him, but he and Juicy’s dint started talking until a few months back. He been sniffin’ around since.”

“Yeah?” Smoke muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.

“She ain’t locked down with him or anything.” Mary said, a little too pleased. “Girls gotta skate with somebody.”

Smoke didn’t laugh. He crossed his arms, watching the way Keith spun Juicy one more time, then pulled her close so they glided side by side, nearly shoulder to shoulder, laughing about something only they could hear.

He wasn’t mad. Not really. But something settled low in his gut. Tight. Irritating.

He’d seen Juicy laugh before—she always had a laugh that felt like honey, thick and warm and sweet—but he hadn’t seen her laugh like that for another dude.

That was his girl.

Except she wasn’t.

He had only just gotten back and now he seemed to want this new version of Juicy he was seeing before him. He was just like every other guy, but they had history. He knew her better than she knew herself, and he wanted her before any other guy could come along and ruin the beautiful woman she was becoming.

But since he’s been back, he’s never made a move. Never said anything. Just hovered in her space like a shadow, being there when she needed him, listening when she talked, watching when she wasn’t looking. And now, someone else had slipped into the light.

Smoke’s fingers twitched at his sides.

Mary, sensing the tension, leaned in a bit. “Stack’s been askin’ about her too.“ Smoke’s head turned slowly toward her, a frown tugging at his lip. “Stack?”

She shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? She’s a catch.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared back at the rink where Juicy and Keith moved in sync, the lights reflecting off her skin like she was glowing from the inside out.

Mary nudged him. “You wait too long, Smoke, someone else gon’ scoop her up. That girl is gold. Every boy in this building got their eye on her.”

Smoke didn’t look at Mary, but his voice dropped low, quiet.

“She don’t belong to nobody.”

Mary’s smirk grew. “Not yet.” She said.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the two on the floor finish the song, Juicy still giggling as Keith led her to the edge of the rink. He said something that made her shake her head and laugh harder, brushing his hand off her shoulder in mock annoyance.

Smoke’s fingers curled loosely into fists at his sides. The lights dimmed again, a new slow jam beginning to play. He watched Keith lean down, whisper something in her ear, and watched her smile, wide and unguarded.

Smoke didn’t move. Didn’t storm over. He wasn’t up for a show like that at the moment. But his jaw locked, and his gaze darkened, his stance quiet and unreadable. Mary tilted her head, watching him. “She ain’t picked yet, y’know.” She said, and Smoke finally glanced her way, catching the grin she was giving him. “But they sure tryna make her.”

And with that, she stepped away, cotton candy in hand, hips swaying back toward the crowd, leaving Smoke alone at the entrance, still watching Juicy like she was his favorite secret.

The music began to fade, the rink’s lights lifting into a lazy spin overhead, casting a golden shimmer across the floor. Juicy and Keith slowed to a halt, still holding hands, breathless from skating and laughing. She gave him a soft smile, her hand slipping from his fingers as they made their way off the rink, shoes tapping back onto solid ground.

Just before they could grab their seats or even decide what came next—maybe snacks, maybe a few more laps—Smoke appeared.

Before Keith could speak, before Juicy could even brace herself, Smoke’s hand wrapped gently but firmly around her wrist. He didn’t say a word, didn’t spare Keith a glance, and pulled her away as if he’d been looking for her all night.

“Hey—” Keith started, but stopped when Juicy gave him a small smile over her shoulder, eyes soft, waving her fingers as if to say, It’s okay. I know him.

She did.

Even if she didn’t always know what to do with him.

“Who is that?” Smoke asked, low and rough, not even glancing back at her as they moved. Juicy stumbled slightly on her wheels, nearly losing her balance.

She huffed. “Smoke—”

But instead of shaking him off, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin just barely against his shoulder. He didn’t let go right away, but her warmth did something to him—made his grip shift, his hands finding a resting place on her hands that were placed on his abdomen as she coasted behind him. She wasn’t walking. Wasn’t skating. Just letting him pull her along like he was gravity and she was the moon.

“Why is that any of your business?” She asked, voice drowsy with irritation.

Smoke slowed a little but didn’t stop. “Because you are my business.” He said, tone flat but firm. “And I asked politely.”

Juicy sighed, eyes rolling so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall right out her head. These twins—always in her damn orbit.

“That’s Keith.” She muttered.

Smoke veered toward one of the booths near the edge of the rink, dragging her the last few feet before sliding in without asking. She didn’t sit across from him. Not yet. She stood there, leaning her weight on the table, hovering like some storm he couldn’t ignore. Her brown skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and her denim jeans gripped her thick thighs in a way that made Smoke’s gaze flick there—just for a second—before dragging itself back to her face.

“And who’s Keith?” He asked, tone deceptively neutral. Juicy blinked, arms crossed. “What do you mean, who is he?”

Smoke tilted his head, voice a little sharper now. “Who are his folks? What’s he do? How you know him?”

Juicy raised a brow. “Is he my boyfriend now?”

“That too.” He said, calm, but unblinking.

Juicy took a breath and finally plopped into the booth across from him, sliding in slow, arms still crossed beneath her chest. Her legs stretched out under the table, brushing against his.

“He’s from Clinton. The Powers people.” She began, tone clipped. “His daddy owns that car wash off Main and his mama runs the beauty shop next door. I sweep floors there on Saturdays. He’s got other folks—one granddaddy’s a preacher, the other’s a retried principle, I think. Keith’s a sophomore at Morehouse. Same year as me, but he came back for the summer.”

Smoke listened, his face unreadable, only the slow tightening of his jaw betraying how closely he was taking it all in.

Juicy kept going. “We went to Provine together. Barely talked. He played basketball. His sister was prom queen. But when he came back about a month ago, we started talking a little. Nothin’ serious. He brought his boys down to see what Mississippi life is like.”

Smoke raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And what?”

“He your boyfriend?”

Juicy gave a dry little chuckle. “No. And I don’t think I’m interested either.”

He leaned back a little, arms stretching over the back of the booth. “What do you mean, you think?”

“I mean what I said.” Juicy’s gaze dipped for a second, her voice losing some of its edge. “He’s cool. Sweet, even. But I don’t know. Something about him feels more… friend-like.”

Smoke nodded slowly, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but didn’t. He looked up at her fully now, meeting her gaze as she halfway sat up on the table, the curve of her body framed by the light above.

Juicy tilted her head, eyeing him.

“Why are you and Stack so interested in who I’m dating, huh?” She asked, a teasing edge returning to her voice. “What? Y’all interested or something?”

Smoke didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“In you?” Be asked, voice low. “Yeah.”

Juicy froze.

For a beat, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. Her lips parted, brows knitting together just slightly. “Huh?” She asked, breath quieter than before.

Smoke licked his lips, never taking his eyes off her. “You heard me.”

The air between them thickened, her heart skipping a beat even though she didn’t want it to. He was sitting there, arms stretched like he wasn’t affected, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes—were watching her like she was the only thing he saw in the whole damn rink.

She stared at him, mouth still slightly open, heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted to leap out and slap her.

And then, softly—so softly—she smiled. Not wide. Not flirty. Just… soft.

Like maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting for him to say it. “Smoke—” Juicy began, but Mary interrupted, her voice sharp as she rushed over to them.

“Sharee’s fighting some girl outside over Jarod.”

Juicy gasped, her eyes widening. “What?”

Mary grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the large windows overlooking the parking lot. They skated over, their wheels clacking against the floor, and pressed against the glass, trying to get a clear view, Smoke right behind them.

Outside, under the harsh glow of the parking lot lights, a crowd had gathered. Sharee was in the center, her hair wild, arms flailing as she shouted at another girl. The other girl, equally animated, was yelling back, her friends trying to hold her back. The tension was palpable, the crowd’s energy feeding the chaos.

Suddenly, fists flew. Sharee lunged, grabbing the other girl’s hair, pulling her down. The crowd erupted, some cheering, others trying to intervene. Men began to get involved, pushing and shoving, the fight escalating beyond control.

Juicy’s eyes scanned the crowd, her heart pounding. She spotted one of Donavan’s boys throwing a punch at one of Martin’s homeboys. Her stomach dropped. She knew what was coming.

She gasped, stepping back from the glass. Smoke stood behind her, his eyes fixed on the scene outside.

“Where you going?” He asked, his voice low.

“Martin’s out there.” She replied, trying to remove her skates. Smoke grabbed her arm, his grip firm. “You’re not going out into that bullshit.”

“My brother’s out there; something could pop off.”She scoffed, struggling against his hold.

“And he’s a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions.” Smoke hissed, tightening his grip. “What the hell are you gonna do, huh? Stop the fight? Yell?” His voice was as fine as he stare as she looked down at her.

Juicy paused, her eyes meeting his, fire blazing within them. Before she could respond, the sharp crack of gunshots rang out. Three shots, each one louder than the last.

She gasped, turning toward the window, but Smoke pulled her down, shielding her with his body. Mary dropped beside them, her hands over her head.

The rink fell silent, the music cutting off abruptly. Screams echoed from outside and inside as people scrambled for cover. Security rushed toward the exits, trying to restore order.

Amid the chaos, a familiar voice boomed over the commotion.

“Get yo ghetto asses on with this bullshit! Get the fuck outta here before I bust every last one of you!” Stack hollered, his voice cutting through the noise.

Smoke muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. Mary peeked over the window sill, her eyes wide with fear and curiosity.

The night had taken a dark turn, the once vibrant energy now replaced with tension and fear. Juicy clung to Smoke, her heart racing, unsure of what would come next.

The parking lot quieted in slow, tense waves, the smoke of chaos still lingering in the air like the fading scent of gunpowder. Tires squealed in the distance as the last of the scattered crowd peeled off, leaving only a few clusters behind—faces tense, adrenaline high.

Stack stepped through the roller rink doors, his presence commanding even without a word. He adjusted his oversized tee, slipping his piece back into the waistband of his jeans. The music hadn’t resumed. The rink was silent now, a thick hush of unease draped over everyone still inside.

His eyes scanned the crowd until they found Juicy crouched behind one of the snack counters, her curls wild, jaw clenched. Just as he opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, she pushed past him—skates gone, socks damp on the rink floor—and made a beeline for the exit.

Smoke was leaning against the wall nearby, arms folded. He met Stack’s glance and simply shrugged.

Mary, quick to catch on, stumbled after Juicy. “Ju!” she called out, struggling to keep up with her determined pace.

But Juicy had her eyes locked on someone else.

Her feet hit the pavement outside like a warning shot. “Are you fucking crazy?!” She snapped the moment her gaze landed on Martin, who was leaning against a car, arms crossed like he hadn’t just helped set the whole block on fire, cloths a little disheveled from the brief scrap he’d gotten into.

Martin sucked his teeth, clearly over it already. “Not now, Ju.”

“Not now?” She echoed, her voice rising. Her fists were balled at her sides, brows knitted in fury. “Not now?! Nigga, it obviously is now since you and these other dumbass niggas out here startin’ shit!”

Before Martin could even respond, Smoke and Stack jogged up from behind her, Smoke with her shoes in his hands, the gravel crunching beneath their sneakers. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the night felt heavier than ever.

“What the fuck is your problem, Martin?” Juicy went on, unrelenting. “Out here fighting—for fucking what? That shit didn’t even have anything to do with you!”

Martin’s jaw twitched. His hands dropped from his chest as he stepped forward, the tension between them flaring like fire to oil. “And it definitely ain’t got shit to do with you! So just shut the fuck up!” He pulled as she walked up on her.

Juicy reeled her head back, stunned at his tone and the way he was approaching her. The insult didn’t sting so much as the threat behind it did.

“Oh, so what, nigga?” She barked. “You were gonna hit me?!”

Smoke was already stepping between them, one firm hand on Martin’s chest. “Chill, Mar.” He said evenly, nudging him back just enough to plant a line in the dirt.

Martin’s nostrils flared. “All you fucking do is butt into shit that ain’t got shit to do with you! I’m handling my shit like a grown-ass man!”

“Handling it?!” Juicy yelled, the two of them shouting over each other now. “You tryna act hard in front of these broke-ass bitches with no fucking life, huh?! These fucking bums! You gonna put your fucking hands on me, huh?! That’s what you’re doing now?!”

“Juicy,” Mary whispered, catching up and tugging on her arm. “It’s okay.” Her voice was soft, but her grip was steel. She was trying to hold the girl back, to reel her in before it really got out of hand.

But it was already too late.

“Yeah, get your bitch before she gets her ass whooped.” A voice piped up from the sidelines.

Everyone turned.

A light-skinned girl stood next to Martin, arms folded, lip gloss gleaming under the streetlight. No one remembered her name—just that she was Martin’s latest. The flavor of the month. The disrespect in her voice was enough to turn the air toxic.

Juicy’s eyes snapped to her like a trigger being pulled. “Girl, shut the fuck up. Wasn’t nobody talking to you, bitch.” She spat.

The girl straightened. “Who you calling a bitch?”

“You, bitch!”Juicy and Mary said in perfect unison.

“Martin, you better get your sister and her lil’ friend.” The girl sneered. Martin looked at her like she had just spat on his momma’s grave. “Louie, shut the fuck up and mind your damn business.”

The air cracked with tension. The vibe was off, and everyone felt it.

That one sentence set everything off again. A whole new layer of commotion buzzed to life—heated glares, muttered curses, the tension between family and outsiders now reaching a boiling point. The looks from Stack, Smoke, even Mary—all shot straight toward Louie with collective disdain.

Juicy stepped forward again, but this time Smoke grabbed her from the side, lifting her by the waist with practiced ease. “Nah, baby. That ain’t worth it.” He murmured, his voice low and soothing in her ear even as his eyes stayed locked on Martin. He was handling it—but only barely.

“Let me go!” Juicy shouted, still swinging as he hauled her backward toward the car.

Mary wasn’t far behind, shouting over her shoulder, “Nah, you better watch your fucking mouth, you tired-ass hoe!”

“Bitch, who even are you?” Juicy spat over Smoke’s shoulder.

Louie opened her mouth again, but this time Stack got involved, stepping between the girls and throwing up his hands.

“Enough!” He barked, his tone sharp, slicing through the mess. “Y’all out here lookin’ real fucking dumb right now.”

Finally, after enough huffing and yelling and near blows, Smoke and Stack wrangled the two angry girls back into the car they came in. Mary got in first, pulling Juicy in behind her while still shooting death glares at Louie.

Martin, left to handle the foolish woman he was still stupidly sleeping with, didn’t say much else. Just shook his head, muttering something under his breath while Louie scoffed and rolled her eyes, clearly still not getting it.

The parking lot fell back into uneasy silence. Whatever heat had ignited earlier had burned itself down to embers—but the damage had been done. Lines had been drawn. And Juicy, still seething as the car door shut beside her.

The ride to Mary’s place was quiet, tired but quiet, the kind that settled in after long nights full of heat and mess and words better left unsaid. Smoke sat in the backseat, gazing out of the window as he smoked while Stack drove, hands loose on the wheel. Mary leaned forward between the seats from the passenger side, breaking the silence with a soft voice.

“I’m not staying over tonight.” She said. “Gotta be up early to help my mama shop.”

Juicy, nestled in the corner behind Stack, turned her head and smiled. “Call me. I’ll come with. Ain’t got shit better to do tomorrow.”

Mary grinned. “You sure?”

“I mean, I ain’t say I was reliable. But I’ll show up.”

They both laughed, their shared chuckles easing the final moments of the evening. Mary grinned. “Bet. I’ll call you after breakfast.”

When the car pulled up in front of her place, Mary opened the door, but before she stepped out, she and Juicy leaned toward each other, pressing cheek to cheek in their usual goodbye. A sweet ritual. One kiss each side, soft like sisters.

“Be safe.” Juicy murmured.

“You too.” Mary said, her eyes flickering toward Smoke for a second before hopping out. She offered a lazy wave, then disappeared behind her gate.

The silence returned as Stack finished the drive, turning down their block, the tires crunching soft under the gravel. They pulled up in front of their house, and the car shifted into park. Juicy reached for the door handle before Stack even turned off the engine.

“I’m out.” She said, already stepping out.

“I’m gonna walk her.” Smoke told Stack, nodding toward her as he slid across the backseat and stepped out himself. Stack gave a simple nod, already leaning back in the driver’s seat, half-asleep.

It was silent as the pair walked, and it wasn’t until Juicy was halfway up the porch steps when she looked over at him. “You know you didn’t have to walk me. I’m literally right across the street.” She said. The air was cooler than before, the night settling into its stillest hour.

“I know.” Smoke said, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “But I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need that. I’m fine.” She replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

He glanced at her, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Based on today? I’m sure you can handle yourself, but I don’t know if you should.” He quipped. And Juicy let out a short laugh, her breath fogging up in the night air. “You’re a mess.”

Silence hung between them again, thicker this time. He looked at her, really looked at her—like he could see beneath the tough exterior and find the girl who once used to braid ribbons into her curls and laugh with her whole chest.

“You got a key?” Smoke asked, breaking the quiet.

She blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Uh, yeah.” She patted down her jean pockets, checking front, then back. ”…Somewhere.”

“If you don’t, you can always crash with us.” He offered casually. “There’s more than enough room, and I don’t want you waking Sinclair trying to get someone to open up.”

She laughed again, patting her back pocket now. “It’s okay. Here it is.”

Smoke watched her pull the key ring free, his mind drifting for a second when she turned around, her figure bending just slightly to line the key up with the locc since she couldn’t see that well in the dark without her glasses.

Couldn’t feel the key with all that ass back there, he thought, mouth twitching before he quickly checked himself, eyes raising the second she turned back to him. She looked soft again. The fire from earlier was gone, her stress dimmed like the rest of the night. Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight, lashes long and glossy lips catching what little light was left. Her voice broke the moment.

“Goodnight.” She said gently.

“Goodnight.” He replied, his voice low and a little rough.

Juicy started to push the door open but hesitated, turning to look back. Smoke was already descending the steps, his shoulders broad, head ducked, like he’d made peace with leaving.

“Smoke.” She called, stopping him.

He paused on about the third step, glancing back. “Yeah?”

Juicy lingered in the doorway. Her lips parted like she had something to say, but nothing came out. Her fingers played with the edge of her jacket sleeve. He noticed her nerves instantly.

“What is it, Ju?” He asked, brow narrowing in concern and stepping one foot up.

She swallowed. “Did you mean what you said?”

Smoke blinked. “What I said?” He questioned.

“Earlier.” She began softly. “At the rink. Did you mean it?”

There was a long pause—pregnant, heavy, something sitting thick between them that neither wanted to name just yet. The kind of silence that tugged on heartstrings and made the air feel full of something tender.

“I did.” He said simply. His voice was honest. Steady.

Juicy’s eyes fluttered once. Then something cracked open inside her, soft and trembling. She stepped forward without thinking, crossing the space between them in two strides and threw her arms around his neck, her lips landing on his in a kiss that felt like a storm giving way to calm. Her feet stayed on the porch while he stood a step below her, but he reached up for her like he’d been waiting.

His hands landed on her waist, a bit of warm skin meeting his fingers where her shirt had lifted. The contact was electric, but the kiss was affectionate—slow, meaningful. Her hand curled behind his head, thumb brushing over the waves at the nape of his neck.

The kiss was tentative. It was full of the quiet ache of wanting someone for a long time but never knowing if you could say it out loud. Her lips pressed against his like they belonged there, her body warm against his as she stood a step above him. His hands found her waist instantly, skin meeting skin where her shirt had ridden up, and he breathed her in.

Juicy’s hand found the back of his head, fingers threading into his waves. The kiss deepened, languid and tender, a slow dance of mouths and want and words they couldn’t say.

When they broke apart, the need for air becoming undeniable, Smoke didn’t move—just stared into her eyes, dazed. Her gloss left a faint trace on his lips, and she looked at it before meeting his gaze again.

“I feel the same.” She whispered, rubbing her nose against his.

He blinked, stunned for a beat. Smoke didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. catching her lips again in a kiss that was heavier, needier. His hands slid lower, resting just above the swell of her ass as her own hand tugged him closer. Juicy hummed into the kiss, and he swallowed the sound like a promise.

When they broke apart again, they couldn’t stop pecking each other’s lips—one, two, three soft kisses shared like a secret. Soft, delayed kisses, forehead to forehead, breath to breath, her eyes closed, and his stayed on her. She looked peaceful, and for a second, it felt like the world had gone quiet just for them.

Finally, Juicy leaned back, her palms resting lightly on his shoulders. “Have a good night, okay?”

Smoke nodded, and so did she. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, then turned and opened her door. Before disappearing, she looked back over her shoulder.

He was still watching her, eyes tender.

She smiled bashfully, locking the door behind her. Smoke lingered on the steps for a moment, heart still racing, lips still tingling. He exhaled through his nose, smiled to himself, and made his way back home across the street.

Everything felt different now. Everything felt like something had finally begun.

They would’ve stayed like that all night if the world would’ve let them.

But Juicy slowly pulled back, hands drifting to his shoulders. She looked into his face, eyes half-lidded and warm. “Have a good night, okay?”

Smoke nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. You too.”

She leaned in one last time, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He didn’t move until she slipped inside, the door closing softly behind her. She paused just before locking it, her bashful smile the last thing he saw before the bolt slid home.

Smoke stood there for a moment longer, staring at the closed door. Then he exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and made his way across the street in silence.

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[rafeandonlyrafe]

5 acts

words: 2k

warnings: soft!rafe, very fluffy, insecurity from rafe, reader is described as having curly hair, established relationship, brief nudity but very sfw (reader is topless while getting a massage but no descriptions)

5 acts of service to spark romance between you and your partner

make their morning easier: make them breakfast, or their coffee just as they like it

take care of their vehicle: get it washed, filled, and oil changed if needed. it'll feel like a weight off their shoulders

organize something meaningful for them: go through an old photo album or set up a space in the home that caters to them

pamper them after a long day: draw a bath, brush their hair, give them a massage 

set up their favorite movie night: get their favorite snacks, light some candles, and turn a simple movie night into a romantic evening

rafe frowns as he reads over the list again.

“baby!” your voice rings out, and he's quick to jump to his feet and rush down the stairs.

“oh!” you stop as he lands on the hardwood in front of you. “you came down so quickly.” you giggle. “i was just going to tell you dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

“ill get the table set up.” rafe leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you to look at him in confusion as he walks away, a certain amount of pep in his step you're not used to seeing.

you get even more suspicious when you bring the dish into the dining room and see that rafe has a candle lit.

“is there a special occasion i forgot about?” you question as rafe pulls your chair out for you.

“nope, just treating my girl.” rafe swallows thickly, surprised and disappointed in himself that you're already noticing his change in behavior.

it all started last weekend when rafe overheard you talking to your girlfriends about love languages. he didn't mean to eavesdrop, truly, but he found himself quickly locked in when you said yours was acts of service and quality time, but that you couldn't think of any acts of service rafe has done recently.

you didn't sound that upset about it, and even immediately clarified that rafe makes up for it in other ways and you weren't even sure what he could do for you, but rafe was determined to change the tides of your relationship.

act 1

rafe shuts his alarm off quickly before looking over at you, making sure the beeping didn't wake you up as well.

he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees your eyes are still closed before carefully sliding out of bed and tiptoeing out of the room.

rafe makes it to the kitchen keeping his steps quiet as he looks around at the various cabinets. he's not sure where to start, so he begins with unloading the dishwasher and putting everything away, when he opens up a cabinet to see the waffle maker and an idea sparks.

rafe opens up the pantry, stepping in to find the mix as well as anything else he might need for the breakfast, and just like that, rafes plan sets into motion.

he makes a stack of waffles, but not before turning on the coffee machine so you can wake up to a fresh brew. he makes a good portion of eggs for you to split before checking the clock, figuring it's about time to check to see if you're awake.

rafe pours your coffee in your favorite tumbler before adding ice and syrup, smiling at himself for remembering just how you like it.

rafe is about to head out of the kitchen when he hears your footsteps coming down the stairs.

“good morning ba-”

“oh my god, im so late for my nail appointment, why didn't you wake me up?” you squeal, grabbing your purse and adjusting the outfit you threw on quickly.

“i didn-”

“i got to leave, like right now, sorry babe.” you run up to rafe and press a quick kiss to his lips, about to rush away when you realize the two plates of breakfast.

“it's okay.” rafe shakes his head. “i'll make you breakfast a different day. forgot you had a nail appointment. but here-” rafe grabs the tumbler and thrusts it into your hand. “at least take the coffee i made you.”

rafe can see the conflicting emotions going on inside your head.

“hey.” he says softly. “it's okay. go. you and i both know how ridiculous those late fees are.”

“okay.” you nod, pouting and looking back at the plates as you leave.

act 2

“do you have any plans today?” rafe asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

“nope. just hanging with you.” you smile up at him, snuggling closer to his side, not yet ready to leave the bed when rafe is keeping you so warm, occasionally pressing kisses to your face.

“im gonna go take your car to get it serviced.” rafe says. “since you don't have anything going on.”

“oh.” you hum. “okay.” you were secretly hoping you could just have a lazy day in bed with rafe, maybe even force him to watch some trashy reality tv, knowing it'll only take a couple minutes for him to get fully invested in whatever drama starts up between the couples.

“you stay in bed though.” rafe smiles at you, sliding out from under the covers, leaving you to pull the blanket tighter around yourself and inhale his fleeting scent.

rafe heads down the stairs, a pep in his step at getting this task done for you. he grabs your keys before heading out the door, taking it to the service center first for an oil change. it's not very dirty on the inside, but rafe decides he'll still vacuum the inside after taking it through the wash.

you really only use your car when rafe is gone or you have an appointment, so it doesn't get used often.

rafe finishes everything he wants to get done for you, filling up your tank before driving back home.

rafe is whistling and happy as he returns home and heads back up the stairs, and just like he expects, you're still in bed, but sat up, watching the television.

“hey baby.” your smile widens as you see him. “i missed you so much.”

“sorry, doll.” rafe changes quickly before climbing into the bed. “but i got everything done on your car.”

“thanks.” you hum. “really appreciate it.” you press your face into his chest, throwing one leg over his hips as you return to a lying position, no longer caring about what's on the tv now that you've got your boyfriend back.

“you don't have anything else you wanna get done today, do you?” you ask. “i thought we'd have all day together.”

rafe sighs as he looks at the clock, realizing just how long it took him to service your vehicle. “well, we have the rest of the day at least.”

act 3

“um, rafe?” you call out as you open up a drawer in your closet, expecting to see the tangled mess of necklaces and earrings just as you left it.

“honey?” rafe walks into your bedroom before realizing you’re in the closet.

“where’d all my jewelry go?” you ask confused.

“oh, i organized it for you.” rafe moves to the drawers, sliding open the two underneath to reveal jewelry displays and every piece neatly put away. “i also got you a display for your favorite necklaces but i wanted you to choose what ones go up there.”

“where at?” you ask, noticing the necklace rafe got you for your first anniversary in missing from the drawer.

rafe doesn’t respond with his words, taking your hand and guiding you out of the closet and into the main bedroom, where you notice the necklace stand shaped like a tree with two chains already hanging from them.

“oh my gosh, whats this?” you squeal, pulling the new necklace off the stand, admiring the diamonds that glitter back at you in the shape of an r.

“for you, baby.” rafe kisses your cheek.

“what has gotten into you?” you ask, but before rafe can worry too much about you figuring out he’s following a guide on how to treat you better, you turn and pull your hair off your neck for him to slot the necklace on.

act 4 

“oh right there!” you moan out as rafe rubs at your back, hands smoothing up and down against your skin, gently kneading into your muscles as he does.

“love pampering you baby.” rafe leans down to press a kiss against your shoulder blade.

“you’re so sweet.” you smile and turn your head. “i’m gonna have to make it up to you.”

“you already treat me better than i deserve.”

you frown and turn over onto your stomach, bringing the blanket with you to keep your chest covered. “not true. you’re an amazing boyfriend.”

“thanks, doll.” rafe doesn’t want you to worry about his insecurities in this moment, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “stay there.”

you get comfortable on your back, eyes sliding shut as rafe starts some gentle music. it flows from the speakers as rafe hums along to the instrumental version of a popular song, grabbing your hairbrush from off the dresser.

you are only vaguely aware of rafes movements, when suddenly a hand is placed on the top of your head, massaging against your scalp that has you moaning out again.

you hear rafe chuckle at your reaction, the sides of your lips also quirking up, when you suddenly feel a hairbrush running through your strands.

you scrunch your face up and give it a moment, hoping rafe would stop when he suddenly brushes through a tangle, making you cry out.

“shit.” rafe drops the brush with a clatter onto the hardwood. “im sorry.”

you can hear the defeat in rafes voice and you turn over onto your stomach to face him, frowning. “baby? whats wrong?”

“i just can’t do anything right. i try to make you breakfast, you have to leave. i take your car to be serviced, and i miss out and spending time with you. i can’t even brush your hair all romantically like the guide said.”

“guide?” you question, grabbing your shirt and putting it back on as you pull rafe up to sit on the bed next to you.

“i… i read something online. about acts of service you can do for your partner. i just want to be a good boyfriend.”

you don’t mean to, but a laugh falls from your lips. “rafe, that’s ridiculous. you’re already the best boyfriend without even trying. did i say or do something to make you feel like you needed to try harder?”

“no-” rafe sighs, knowing he has to admit it. “i just heard you talking with your friend about love languages. i’m trying to make it up to you.”

“and the guide told you to brush my hair?” you scoff. “im guessing whoever wrote that did not have curls.”

“you're probably right.” rafe lets a smile come to his face.

“i love you for you, not because of the things you do for me. besides, you do enough without even trying or following some guide. you take out the trash, you stock up on my favorite treats, you get me anything i want whenever i feel the slightest bit ill.”

“so… you don’t want me to do the last thing on the guide?”

“depends what it is.” you shrug. “if it involves you leaving and doing something for me, then absolutely not. or at least you can take me with you.”

“i set up a romantic movie night in the living room.”

“that sounds much better for both of us than you brushing my hair.” you giggle.

act 5

you tuck yourself further into rafes side, smiling as your favorite scene finishes, turning your attention to rafe.

“thank you for doing all this for me.” you whisper, keeping your voice soft. “i love you so much.”

“i love you.” rafe says earnestly, ducking his head to press a kiss against the top of your head, but you’re quick to reposition so your lips can meet.

“now we have to figure out your love language so i can do things for you.” you tell rafe.

“my love language is you.” rafe says, squeezing you tightly. “my everything is you.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0