#*inhale*..................................... anyways!

[deliwrites]

𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕆𝕦𝕣𝕤 // Saja Boys & Huntr/x

// DATE // 5th of July 2025 → 7th of July 2025 // PAIRING // Huntr/x x Fem!Reader x Saja Boys // WARNING // Suggestive, Jaewon is a b*tch, lots of pet names, mention of assault(not sexual just to make that clear), morally gray behavior, possessiveness, Reader is still oblivious, fluff // WORDS // 2.3k+ // SUMMARY // Y/n finds unexpected warmth in the group's care, but struggles with feeling like a burden. Their quiet reassurances offer comfort, yet her past still haunts her. A late-night moment with Rumi cracks something open - and while she doesn’t know it yet, they’ll do anything to keep her safe.

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five //

a/n: I added one sentence in the last bit of Part three cause reader was wearing a hoodie but in part four she took off her shirt… so now she took off her hoodie in part three. It’s a minor detail but thought I would mention it anyway. Cause it does play a bit of a role in this part I guess.

It was weird yet cozy to spend time with all of them again. Abby, Romance and Jinu were actually great cooks. I’ll admit I moaned out loud at the taste, missing the way the guys shifted in their seats when that little twitch ran through them, and how the girls squished their thighs together. I blushed when I realized they were all looking at me. Their eyes filled with a mix of amusement and desire.

“Sorry,” I whispered, a bit embarrassed by my own reaction, “it’s just really delicious.”

Alright, Abby thought to himself. Guess I’ll be cooking for her more often if it means I get to hear that sound again.

They stayed for a while longer after dinner. They all talked about their schedules for a while. Trying to make sure at least one of them would be home. At all times. For me. I told them it wouldn’t be necessary. They just gave me a look. The kind that said you’re not changing our minds, before going right back to planning.

“Okay, so I’ll be home tomorrow,” Rumi says, one hand pressed to her chest as she stares at her phone. Their - now - shared calendar pulled up. “Baby and Jinu have Wednesday,” pointing at them. “Thursday… Romance, Friday Mira and Zoey,” Zoey makes a soft squealing sound, immediately wrapping her arms around me from behind. Pulling me into her embrace, her chin resting on my shoulder. The two of us were sat next to each other on the couch again, just like before. “Saturday we have a concert,” Rumi continues. “And won’t be home until late, but Mystery and Abby will be home. And you can eat with all of them.”

“I-” I hesitate slightly. “I feel… uhm,” their gazes shift toward me. At first unreadable. A little stern. But then they soften, one by one, letting me continue. “…like a bother,” I murmur, my voice quite. I hadn’t moved from Zoey’s embrace. Still in her arms, my back leaning against her chest. My eyes land on my fingers which remove nonexistent dirt from under my nails. “You’re… changing your schedules,” I point out. “… just to accommodate me,” Zoey squeezes my waist gently, Baby’s hand lands on my leg soft and Mira takes my hands to stop me from fidgeting. “I mean, I’m really grateful, don’t get me wrong,” I rush on, nervously. “It’s just… this is your job. Your life. I don’t want to get in the way of that. Or mess anything up. You all have careers and fans and-” I inhale shakily. “…I’m just… I’m not worth changing everything for.”

Silence. It’s heavy, pressing on like my thoughts are being confirmed.

“Yeobo,” Rumi’s voice is low. “Don’t say that,” my heart seems to stutter at the devotion in her voice. I glance up, her eyes already locked on mine, unwavering.

“You’re not a bother,” Zoey murmurs into my shoulder.

“You’re the reason we want to be home more,” Jinu says from his place next to Rumi, sincerity in his eyes.

“But… you barely know me…”

“We know enough to care,” Baby’s deep voice is steady. The truth in his words undeniable.

“You’re not some stranger,” Mira says gently, still holding my hands like she doesn’t plan to let go. “You matter to us. That’s all there is to it.”

“Making sure you have someone to go to,” Abby starts gently. “It’s a choice. Our choice.”

I blink slowly, my eyes landing on the rug like it will spell out the right words to say. But all I feel is heat rising to my cheeks, again.

“I just…” I breath out. “Don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Mystery says simply, instantly, no hesitation.

“You never could be,” Romance adds, sweet smile on his face that just makes my heart melt. And I physically do, sinking further into Zoey’s hold. And still… some small, stubborn part of me thinks. They’re just being kind. That’s all this is. Nodding, I let them continue. Rumi ends up saying that on Sunday, everyone will be home. Abby suggests a movie night at their place, to which they all agree and I do too when they look at me.

“I’m sorry, do you mind if I go to bed?” I pipe up a little while later. My eyes half lidded. Tired from the emotional day I had.

“You don’t have to ask, Gwiyomi,” Zoey giggles gently, squeezing me softly.

“It is getting quite late. We should probably go too,” Jinu says faking a yawn. I stand up with them and walk in the direction of the stair. But I get stopped by a hand on my wrist.

Turning I find, Baby. Before I can say anything, his lips meet my cheek. A gentle peck which makes my eyes widen in surprise.

“Goodnight, yeobo,” he says softly before walking in the direction of the door. I don’t even have time to recover when another peck gets placed on my cheek.

“Sweet dreams, cheonsaya,” Romance says with a sweet smile, following Baby. Wha-

“Sleep well, gongjunim,” Jinu’s voice is soft, his eyes meeting mine before he too pecks my cheek. Abby is quick to follow, pecking my cheek before he speaks.

“Night, tokkiya.”

“Get some rest, okay, ippeuni?” Mystery asks, making me nod with a confirming noise. A smile grows on his lips and he pecks my cheek too. I feel frozen in time. Heat rushing to my face at the fact they all kissed me goodbye.

“Goodnight,” Mira, Rumi and Zoey say in unison to the boys. Zoey and Rumi wrapping their arms around my waist, while Mira wraps hers around my shoulders from behind. The boys wave before stepping into the elevator.

“Sleep well, Gwiyomi,” Zoey murmurs against my cheek as she presses a gentle kiss there. Rumi does the same on my other cheek, squished between the two. Mira takes Zoeys place and places a peck just below my eye.

“You know where our rooms are,” she says, her smile soft but serious. “If you need anything… just come find us.”

“Okay, thank you,” my voice barely a whisper as I walk up the stairs in a daze.

Seconds later the five return. Teleporting to their original seats like they never left in the first place. The girls joining them again. Handing their phones to Baby without having to communicate. The boys open their phones and follow Y/n on the camera’s.

They see her walk into her room, the lights on her nightstands already on. Closing the door with her back. Leaning against the door for a moment. Even in the dim light of the light the blush is visible on her cheeks.

Her hands find her cheeks, pressing against the warm skin like it betrayed her.

“They are only being friendly, Y/n,” she says to herself. “Stop blushing over their actions,” she continues to scold herself. With a sigh she moves away from the door. Walking into the closet she takes off her sweater, gaze falling to her arm.

“What?” Jinu notices first, drawing the attention of the others. Mira was watching with Abby, Rumi with Jinu and Zoey with Mystery. Baby had the girls phones, installing the same app so they too could keep an eye on her. Peeking every few seconds at Romance’s phone.

“Is that… bruising?” Rumi asked, watching the screen as Y/n’s gaze landed on her upper arm.

“How did I not notice that before,” Zoey scolds herself.

“Because you were too focused on ogling the rest of her body,” Baby smirks at her, which leaves her pouting. Though she doesn’t deny the accusation.

“One last mark…” she mumbles to herself. Sighing she drops her sweater in the hamper, located in the corner of the walk in closet. Taking off her bra, she drops it in there too.

It seems almost instinctive, all five of them turn the screen face down the moment they saw her reach behind her. Sure they wanted to see her like this. But they hadn’t installed the camera’s to watch her undress. It wasn’t about that. Not really. Watching her change felt wrong… and yet they all wanted to. Craved to.

“Jaewon has to pay,” Mira says, voice stern, eyes glowing golden. Abby agrees with a huff.

“Agreed, but not today,” Juni and Rumi say at the same time. The others looking almost offended that they can’t just go and take Jaewon’s soul. It wasn’t hard to find him with him always sharing his whereabouts on his social media.

“Y/n is our first priority,” Jinu adds and everyone somewhat reluctantly agrees. Mira’s eyes returning to her human ones. Zoey peeks at Mystery’s phone again, only turning it back the right way fully when she notices Y/n is dressed in a tank top and a pair of pajama shorts. Exiting the closet she heads for the bathroom. There she brushes her hair, brushes her teeth and does a little bit of skin care, before crawling into the big bed.

She looks so small, their little maknae. The watch for a little while longer, making sure she falls asleep. Until her breathing slows and deepens. Only then do they close the app. For now.

Baby hands the girls their phones back, and this time when they say goodnight, they actually leave the apartment and go to their own. Reluctantly so.

Startled awake, I sit straight in the bed, catching my breath. Staring around the room. I scramble to turn the light on. When I do a sigh of relief leaves my lips. With a hand on my chest I try to calm my heart down.

“He’s not here,” I murmur to myself. “He doesn’t know where you are,” closing my eyes I take a deep breath before laying back down.

I try to go back to sleep, but I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, his just stare back at me. I toss and turn for a while before I give up.

“They said you could find them,” I tell myself. Pulling the covers off of me I tip toe out of bed. Softly opening my door. I have no idea what time it is. The small frosted windows the bedrooms have are dark. At least the one across from my bedroom, and the one two doors down. The middle one being the bathroom.

From the corner of my eye, I notice soft lighting from the room next to mine. With soft steps I walk to the door. Lifting my fist, I hesitate. Biting my bottom lip, gaze going to the floor. They gave you permission, Y/n, come on. Looking back up I knock on the door softly. Not wanting to startle whoever was inside.

I don’t hear anything, but I stay for a bit longer. The hope that blossomed in my chest at the light, slowly simmers.

I’m about to walk away when the door opens. Rumi stands there in a white tank top and pajama pants covered in teddy bears and choo choo trains. I wanna giggle at the sight of them but hold it in.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Sorry to bother you,” I start but she just shakes her head as if to tell me stop apologizing for something I’m not being. “…I had a nightmare… and can’t get back to sleep…” I tell her honestly, standing stiff with my hands clasped together in front of me in embarrassment.

“Oh, nae byeol,” her voice tender and soft. Opening the door further she tugs on my hand and pulls me inside. Closing the door behind us. Tugging me to her bed she pulls back the covers and practically shoves me into her bed. I can’t stop the smile from gracing my lips at the action. She practically tucks me in before joining me on the other side. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, quickly turning off the light before she faces me again. Her hands find my waist, tugging me closer to her.

“It’s just,” I sigh, trying to find the words.

“It’s okay,” pulling my pillow closer to hers, then tugging me even closer. Tangling her legs with mine, her thigh resting against my heat. My cheeks heat up at the feeling and I couldn't be more happy that she turned off the light. “Do you have nightmares often?”

“Yeah,” my answer is breathless, which I hope she doesn’t look further into. “… Jaewon… he…”

“Take your time,” she murmurs, her forehead leaning gently against mine.

“When we broke up, a year ago… he still had a key to my dorm,” I close my eyes letting her closeness be my comfort. “He said he had dropped off the key in the box, you know, the one I had to drop mine in?” I feel Rumi nod against my head. “But… he hadn’t. He uhm-” I take a shaky breath. “There were nights that he would randomly show up.”

“He what?” there is anger in her voice. When I open my eyes I swear I see her eyes flash golden, but I play if off as my eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“… I would wake up with bruises,” I whisper. “All over,” Rumi stiffens. “I… I never remembered how I got them. Not fully,” my hand fists the cover in the small space between us. “But I always remembered his eyes,” I swallow as they flash in my mind. “They glowed. Not like a reflection of the light,” I shake my head, eyes unfocused. His eyes clouding my vision. “They… actually glowed. Bright with anger.”

There’s a long pause. I feel Rumi’s breath, shallow now, fanning against my cheek.

“He said I was imagining things.” I let out a humorless laugh. “That I was just dreaming. But—” My chest tightens. “But the bruises were real. And I always felt… wrong. Like something had happened and I wasn’t allowed to remember it,” her hands tighten at my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my tank top.

“He can’t reach you here,” she states like a promise. The hand under my body moves around my neck, tugging my head to her chest. “We will make sure of it,” the tone has a darkness to it that I can’t place. “We will protect you.”

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five //

Is there anything you would like to see in any of the next parts? Let me know in the replies or by reblogging! I can't guarantee it will be in it, but your input might give me more ideas!!

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[boyfhee]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ DEVOTION

爱,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀───⠀⠀⠀𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝖾 , 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗈.

𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟬─────drunk! jake x fem! reader ， quiet fluff ✶ mentions of crying, kissing, skinship ꕀ 𝑉𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ｡

your eyes settle on the bathroom door when the sound of the flush stops, followed by a few shuffling movements. a sigh and you shift your weight to the left leg, counting down the minutes.

and then your boyfriend walks out— hair tousled, his sweatshirt half tucked in. he gives you a look, something between an apology and a plea, and he already looks sadder than he was.

“you’re still mad at me,” he whispers quietly, taking a seat at the edge of the bed and you grab a towel, moving to stand between his legs and dry his hair.

you don’t know why he thought getting drenched in the rain would make you pity him more.

a sigh. “i am not—”

“yes, you are,” but he barely lets you speak, cutting you off with a desolate whine. “you’ve been quiet for—” a pause as he counts on his fingers. “—five whole minutes,”

it’s making you want to scoff.

this is a grown man in front of you, giving you looks full of desperation, and you shake your head, a faint smile on your lips as you continue to dry his hair with gentle rubs.

your boyfriend is still sulking, more so, in fact.

jake is trying to let a look at you through your devoted movements with his lips morphed in a frown. he is visibly deflated as if his world crashed down on his shoulders— he would argue it’s true.

“how torturous,” you scoff, feeling him lean into your touch with eyes closed and hands on his lap.

“very,” his tone is quiet yet firm. “i’d rather—” he hiccups, hand clutching over his chest. “—die—”

and you slap his shoulder, eyes squinting disapprovingly at his words. “don’t say that!”

a pause.

he looks at you in disbelief, mortified, as if you had stabbed a dagger through his heart. you can swear you see him tearing up, slurring over a few incoherent mumbles before his shiny eyes land onto your face again.

“ouch,” he whimpers and you have to hold yourself from rolling your eyes. “you hate me, you despise me. my life is over,”

despite his words, his hands are settled firm on your hips as if you’re going to disappear if he lets go even for a second.

he buries his face in your stomach, caressing soft and tender patterns on your waist. he pulls you closer when he feels you shiver from the touch of his cold fingertips against the warmth of your skin.

you run your hand on his back, feeling his muscles relax. “don’t be dramatic. and stop crying,”

“you didn’t even kiss me,” he’s looking up at you now, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. you swear you can see a tear or two sitting on his eyelashes.

you run your fingers through his messy hair, letting out a soft sigh at the exaggerated frown on his lips. “i did,”

“on the forehead,” he frowns even more, heartbreakingly so. “i want to kiss your lips. they’re so pretty,”

you halt in your actions and he is making kissy lips at you, which can also pass as a desperate pout, and your heart skips a beat at how cute he looks, despite the fact that he is looking like a wet puppy lost in the wild.

“you reek of alcohol,” you try to reason with him— or pull his leg, you’re not so sure. his flushed face, half from alcohol and half from crying, is an aching sight to see.

“excuses. you’re breaking up with me,” his lips are jutted out even more now as he awaits your response. a second passes, then another, and he huffs in shock. “you’re not even denying. i’m right, aren’t i? c’mon, you can say it. drop the bomb, i can handle—” another hiccup, or perhaps he is choking on a sob as he inhales sharply. “—i’m a man—”

and then it’s your lips on his.

tender, soft yet firm, like a warm reassurance amidst his hysteria. it’s impossible not to kiss him, you know you were going to give in anyway. you feel his fingers fist over the hem of your top and he lets out a breathy whine against your lips, leaning more into the kiss as if to chase the feeling.

he lets you lead— unlike always, where he is losing himself into you, his lips moving against yours in a messy dance as he loses every sense of control.

you feel the sting of alcohol on your tongue mixed with his airy gasps and needy whines. his hands are shaking as he holds your hips a little tighter, and you can only hold his damp cheeks with tenderness to ground him to reality.

you tug onto his lower lip, drawing another sound from him— you can’t help it, he sounds so pretty. and then you pull back with a last peck, biting back a chuckle at the pout that once again finds its way to his lips.

“i am not breaking up with you,” you see the way his eyes soften at your words, the way he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“okay,” he whispers, slow and soft, finding solace in your words. “i love you,”

and he buries his face in your stomach again, refusing to let go. you can swear he mumbles ‘marry me’ against your top— maybe if he asks when he’s sober, you’ll say yes to that too.

[suunani]

orgasm.exe [ choi soobin ]

who knew that soobin had a big brain and an even bigger surprise?

❛ content 3.8k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, power bottom! male reader, big dick virgin! soobin, nerdy dirty talk, pathetic nerd! soobin, unprotected sex (p in a), praise kink, size kink, soobin talks a looot during it, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, riding, creampie, aftercare, requested here!

you didn’t expect the campus library’s most reclusive, awkward math genius to have a voice that soft.

“i brought the notes,” he mumbled, holding up a neat binder like a peace offering. his long fingers gripped it too tightly, knuckles pale. “sorry i’m late. i—i was recalculating the sample sizes in the… ah, anyway. hi.”

choi soobin.

the guy who never made eye contact with anyone unless forced. always sitting in the back row, muttering answers under his breath that were always annoyingly right. you’d caught him staring at you in lectures a few times — like full on, wide eyed, glasses slipping down his nose, inhaling your soul kind of staring — but he always looked away like he’d been caught watching porn in public.

and now, here he was. standing in the doorway of your dorm room, two textbooks under one arm, a thick bulge in his jeans he clearly didn’t know how to hide, and that same look on his face.

like his body couldn’t decide if it was devotion or panic making his stomach flip.

you stepped aside to let him in.

“make yourself comfortable.”

soobin hesitated.

his eyes did a full scan of your room — bookshelf, unmade bed, pair of briefs on the floor — and his ears immediately flushed pink. still, he nodded, set his things on your desk, and sat in the desk chair like it was a job interview. posture rigid. shoulders hunched to make himself smaller. legs spread too wide because… well. because he was too tall to sit normally in anything.

you couldn’t help it — you smiled.

“you ever been in someone else’s dorm before?” you teased lightly.

he blinked behind his glasses. “no.”

“no?”

he shook his head. “never got invited.”

you leaned against the edge of the desk, close enough that your thigh nearly brushed his knee.

“so i’m your first?”

soobin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“in… in a way, yes.”

that look was back again — staring up at you like you were made of fire. like he couldn’t decide whether to run or reach out and touch.

god, he was so awkward. and sweet. and kind of unbelievably hot in that tall, twitchy, no social skills kind of way. you let the silence stretch for a moment. watched how his eyes kept flicking to your mouth, then down, then back up like he was doing mental calculations.

you decided to cut the tension. “you really been staring at me all semester just to help me pass stats?”

soobin looked mortified.

“i—what?! i wasn’t—i mean, i was, but not like—it’s not just that, i just—”

you raised a brow, smirking. “relax, genius. i’m flattered.”

“…you are?”

“mmh,” you leaned in, voice dropping just a little. “you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

his breath hitched. visibly. like his brain short-circuited.

“i—you’re extremely—i mean statistically—wait no, i meant subjectively—” he stopped himself, cheeks going pink. “sorry. i talk too much when i’m… you know.”

“turned on?”

soobin looked like his bones had given up and the chair was the only thing keeping him upright.

“i think i like when you talk too much.”

he didn’t move. just watched, pupils dilated, chest rising and falling shallowly beneath his sweater vest. he had no idea what to do with his hands, which made you grin as you stepped between his knees.

he froze when your hand touched his thigh.

“wait—” he breathed.

“you okay?” you asked, instantly softening. “i can stop. i want you to tell me if anything feels off.”

“no! i mean—no, don’t stop,” soobin said quickly, voice high and cracking. “i’ve just… i’ve never… i haven’t—ever done anything.”

you nodded. “i figured.”

“is that—bad?”

you tilted your head, brushing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. “why would that be bad?”

“i don’t know,” he said quietly. “you’re… you seem like you know what you’re doing. and i—i don’t. not even a little bit. i’m probably gonna be terrible and come in like thirty seconds and say something stupid about newton’s laws of motion and ruin the whole thing.”

you huffed a laugh. “well, now i kind of want you to say something about newton’s laws of motion while you’re inside me.”

soobin’s whole soul left his body.

you stepped closer, gently guiding his hand to your waist. “you’re not going to ruin anything. you’re adorable. you’re hot. and i want you.”

he blinked up at you like he couldn’t believe this was real. like any moment, he was going to wake up alone in his bed with a hard-on and the smell of his own hand lotion.

but it was real. you were straddling his lap now, and you could feel it — so thick, so hot, so big under his jeans, pressing between your legs like a damn secret weapon. you gasped a little as it shifted under you.

“…god,” you whispered.

“i’m—sorry?”

you leaned in close, lips just at his ear. “why didn’t you tell me you were big?”

“i—what?” he squeaked.

you rolled your hips slowly against it. “that’s not normal big. that’s fuck-me-up big.”

soobin whimpered. whimpered.

“i read online that size doesn’t correlate with pleasure,” he blurted, voice desperate. “but i—i can do angles! i’ve read about—about pressure points! i know about the anterior wall, and—and—”

you kissed him.

not just to shut him up. though that was part of it.

you kissed him because his lips were full and trembling and begging for it. because he deserved to feel something other than nerves buzzing through him. because no one had ever kissed him like he was worth losing control over, and fuck, he was.

soobin gasped against your mouth like it shorted his circuits. like he’d only ever imagined this behind closed doors, in the quiet dark, with his hand on his cock and your name on his tongue.

his hands finally settled on your hips. gentle. awkward. like he was afraid of squeezing too hard, like you’d shatter. you deepened the kiss, rocking into him a little more, grinding deliberately on that massive bulge straining against his jeans.

he groaned into your mouth.

“i—” soobin gasped, breaking the kiss, his lips already flushed and wet. “i need to—oh my god—i think i’m gonna come—”

you smiled, panting softly against his mouth. “not yet. you’re gonna come inside me.”

his head dropped back against the chair like he’d been electrocuted. just that. just the promise of being inside you. his hips twitched involuntarily and the moan that left him was so guttural it made your stomach clench.

you leaned in close, whispering right against his throat.

“i’m gonna ride you until your brain falls out of your ears, soobin.”

he whimpered again. actually whimpered. arms limp at his sides like he couldn’t figure out how to move his own body. you kissed his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, slow and sweet.

“but you need to give me a second. gotta get myself ready for this.”

“r-ready?”

you moved off his lap, grabbing your lube from the drawer like it was just another night. but it wasn’t.

soobin was still panting, hard as fuck in his jeans, eyes locked to you like you were pulling the sun out of the sky. you climbed up onto your bed, knees spread as you pushed down your sweats and underwear in one single movement, letting your bare skin meet the cold sheets.

you met his gaze as you slicked your fingers.

he made a broken sound in his chest.

you smirked. “watch.”

and fuck, he did.

he watched like he’d never seen anything before. wide eyes, mouth open, fists clenched on his thighs.

you brought your fingers to your entrance, slow, teasing the rim with gentle pressure. a soft sigh slipped from you as you eased in the first knuckle. the burn was familiar, the stretch routine — but the way soobin was staring like you’d just parted the gates of heaven?

that was new.

“s-should i be helping?” he whispered, breathless.

“just sit there,” you breathed, adding more lube. “and think about how lucky you are.”

soobin made a sound like a gasped prayer. “i’m the luckiest man alive.”

you snorted, pressing the second finger in.

“holy—fuck, that’s so—beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “you’re stretching yourself open for me—me—”

you moaned, rolling your hips just slightly against your fingers, and his breath hitched like he’d been punched.

“i don’t—i don’t think i can—” soobin choked, grabbing at himself over his jeans with an urgency that was almost painful. “i’m gonna—oh god, fuck, i’m gonna come—”

you looked over just in time to see him jerk violently in the chair, hips snapping once, jaw going slack as he came untouched in his pants — loud, like something sacred had been ripped out of him. he moaned your name like he needed it to stay alive, biting down on his fist to muffle it, his thighs trembling under him.

you couldn’t stop the slow smirk that curled on your lips.

“wow.”

“i—” he gasped, face flushed, hair a mess, glasses skewed on his nose. “i’m—i’m so sorry—i didn’t mean to, i just—”

“you came just from watching me prep?” you tilted your head, biting your lip. “that’s hot.”

he looked like he was suffering. “but i—i wanted to—inside—i didn’t mean to—”

“relax, baby,” you murmured, reaching for him again. “you’ve got more in you. right?”

soobin moaned just from the nickname. moaned. and when you knelt between his knees again and started undoing his jeans, he looked like he was about to cry from gratitude.

you tugged them down, and your breath caught.

“…holy shit.”

soobin’s cock flopped free, half-soft and already twitching to get hard again.

it was big. way too big. heavy and flushed and thick even while soft. thick enough that you weren’t sure how the hell you were going to take all of it, even after prepping.

“no way you were walking around campus with this monster between your legs,” you muttered, almost reverently. “no wonder you’re so awkward. you’ve been hiding a weapon.”

soobin flushed all the way down to his collarbones. “i—it’s not— is it bad?”

“bad? soobin, it’s a miracle i’m not on my knees worshipping it right now.”

“i—i wouldn’t mind— i mean—”

you shot him a look, and he let out a tiny squeak, abruptly silencing himself.

“lay down,” you said, voice low, eyes never leaving his cock. “on the bed. i need to ride this thing before i lose my mind.”

he moved like his limbs didn’t belong to him, clambering up onto your bed with shaky hands and eyes wide, like he didn’t believe any of this was real.

his cock bobbed up fully hard again, heavy against his stomach. your mouth actually watered.

you climbed over him, settling with your knees on either side of his hips, and reached between you to guide the tip to your entrance. just resting it there was enough to make you gasp. soobin was shaking.

“w-wait,” he stammered. “what if i hurt you?”

you leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. “you won’t. i want this. i want you.”

he moaned into the kiss, hands already grasping your hips like he couldn’t stop himself. you braced yourself, breathed deep, and started to sink down.

the stretch was unreal.

your mouth fell open, a strangled sound coming out as the blunt head of his cock pushed past your rim. the burn was immediate, intense. your body strained, trembling, trying to take him.

soobin was already gasping under you. “oh—fuck—you’re—you’re so—tight—are you okay?”

you nodded through gritted teeth. “y-yeah—just give me—fuck, soobin, you’re huge—”

“i’m sorry!”

“no—don’t you dare apologize.”

you forced yourself to breathe through it, relaxing bit by bit as you slid down inch by inch. his cock felt like it was punching up into your guts, thick and hot and impossible. you swore you could feel every vein, every twitch of his nerves through your walls.

soobin was losing his mind.

“y-you’re—taking me so well—how are you—god, you’re so perfect—you’re squeezing me so tight—i can’t—i can’t think—”

“you’re in so deep already—fuck, you’re ruining me—” you gasped, dropping lower with each word. “no one’s ever filled me like this—”

that set something off in him.

his grip on your hips tightened as he moaned, desperate and overwhelmed. “no one? no one’s ever—been this deep? you—you’re mine—mine—i’m the first to touch you like this?”

you were fully seated now, chest heaving, your walls fluttering around him, clenching hard as your body adjusted to the pressure. you leaned forward, palms flat on his chest, eyes fluttering.

“you’re fucking perfect,” you whispered. “so big, soobin, you’re stretching me open, you’re in my stomach—”

soobin let out a raw, high-pitched sound.

“i’m gonna die,” he whimpered. “i’m gonna die, and this is how i want to go—inside you—buried in you—”

you laughed breathlessly, rolling your hips experimentally. he arched off the bed, cock hitting something inside you that made your whole body spasm.

“oh—fuck—do that again,” you gasped.

“i—what did i do?—i need to do it again—i want to make you feel good—so good—”

you started to move, grinding slow and deep, dragging yourself up his length and then dropping down again, watching his jaw fall open, watching his whole face twist in pleasure.

“f-fuck—you’re so sensitive,” you moaned, bouncing slowly. “every little squeeze makes you whimper like a fucking virgin—”

“i am—” he gasped. “you’re my first—only— i never wanted anyone else—only you—”

god. his voice. the way he talked during sex — fast and nerdy and desperate, like he was rattling off theorems while losing his mind.

“i’m gonna make you feel so good,” he panted. “i know the angles—oh my god— i studied. watched videos—i read so many—so many forums. i wanted to be good for you—just for you—”

you moaned out loud, hips snapping faster, your cock bobbing untouched between you. the rhythm was too perfect. every time you came down, he bottomed out inside you, hitting so deep it felt like you were going to see stars.

“soobin,” you gasped. “you’re—fucking me so good—this is insane—you’re a goddamn natural—”

soobin whimpered so loud, like he’d just been told he won a nobel prize.

“i—i am?” he breathed.

“you’re splitting me open with this monster cock—fucking me so deep—you’re so good, soobin, fuck, you’re so good at this—”

“i love you,” he blurted.

you froze, breath caught in your throat, your thighs trembling around his hips, still so full of his cock you could feel it in your chest.

soobin’s face went pale like he’d just told a calculus joke in the wrong room. “i—i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to say it—i mean i did—but i wasn’t trying to pressure you or ruin this or make it weird, it just—came out—”

you grabbed his jaw with both hands, kissed him hard, and whispered against his lips :

“say it again while i come on your cock.”

he gasped like he couldn’t breathe. “i love you.”

you started to ride him again — so hard, so fast, now reckless — and the noise he made was somewhere between a sob and a scream.

“i love you,” he choked. “i love you, you’re so perfect, you’re—god, you feel so good—i wanna live in you—”

you moaned, grinding deep, his cock hitting your prostate so perfectly that your vision blurred.

“i’ve never—fuck—never felt this before,” you whimpered, bracing your hands on his chest. “you’re fucking ruining me, soobin—your cock is splitting me open—i can’t—”

soobin looked like he was about to cry. “y-you’re gonna make me cum again—please—please let me cum inside, i need to, i need to—”

you slammed down hard, clenching tight around him.

“do it—fill me up, soobin—wanna feel you spill inside me—wanna feel your cum drip out while you keep me full—”

he lost it.

with a sound like his entire soul ripped free of his body, soobin thrust up into you — so hard — hands locking around your waist, finally taking the rhythm for himself. and just like that, he was fucking you.

messy. desperate. and so, so deep.

“oh my god—” you cried out, body jolting with every sharp thrust. “soobin—fuck—what are you—”

“i’m sorry—i have to—i have to—” he gasped, voice breaking. “you feel so good—i can’t hold back—you’re letting me inside—i can’t stop—”

the dorm room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting — slick, obscene, overwhelming — the wet slap of skin on skin as he drove into you with trembling strength. he wasn’t graceful, wasn’t practiced either, but somehow it didn’t matter. he hit every spot. every time. like he’d mapped your body in his dreams.

his eyes were locked on your face, glasses still somehow halfway on, slipping down his nose with every thrust. you couldn’t look away. he looked like something primal had taken over — lips parted, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide with need.

and the things he was saying—

“you’re so tight, i can feel you everywhere, every inch—i want to memorize this—i want to study you—i want to write theses about how perfect your body feels—”

you were shaking. open and gone.

your legs were jelly around him now, your arms shaking too much to hold you up. soobin noticed, and with a sudden strength you didn’t expect, he grabbed you around the waist and flipped you, pressing you down to the mattress and staying buried inside you with one deep, dizzying thrust.

you gasped, arching under him.

“soobin—!”

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, hovering above you, looking destroyed. “i—i need to stay inside. just for a little—just a little longer—i can’t let go yet—”

“then don’t,” you begged. “stay inside. fuck me, soobin—fuck me harder—”

and damn, he did.

he snapped his hips into you, relentless now, cock stretching you to the limit, his voice unraveling right in your ear as he chased the edge.

“i love you—i love you so much—i’ve loved you since the first lecture—i used to touch myself thinking about this—you—i didn’t even know what to do with my hands, i just knew i wanted you—”

your hand slid between your legs, desperate, stroking your own cock as he pounded you, your body singing from the inside out.

“don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—soobin, i’m gonna—fuck, i’m gonna—”

“come,” he gasped. “please, please come—want you to cum on my cock, want you to milk it—make me fill you—make me stay inside forever—”

and you did.

your whole body convulsed, cock pulsing in your hand, white-hot release spilling across your stomach and chest as your walls clenched down tight around him. you sobbed his name, legs shaking violently as you came harder than you had in years.

that was all it took.

soobin’s hands gripped your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise later. he slammed in once, twice, and then he was spilling inside you with a loud scream, cock throbbing so deep, filling you with so much cum you could feel it leaking already.

“i’m cumming—i’m cumming—i’m inside you—fuck, i love you—i love you i love you—”

soobin didn’t pull out.

he didn’t even move. he collapsed on top of you, trembling, still buried to the hilt, still moaning under his breath like he didn’t want it to end.

you lay there together — shaking, sweaty, breathless — and felt him press one soft, desperate kiss to your throat.

“can we…” he mumbled, voice small. “can we stay like this? just for a little while?”

you smiled, completely fucked out, one hand sliding into his damp hair.

“baby,” you whispered. “you can stay inside me as long as you want.”

soobin made a small, crushed noise against your throat. something between a whimper and a sigh of absolute, stupid bliss.

you could feel his cock twitch one last time inside you, still half-hard, still locked so deep it made your legs twitch again just from the memory. he didn’t move — he wouldn’t move. you’d melted into the mattress beneath him, boneless, body sticky with sweat and cum and love.

“…you okay?” you asked softly, fingers brushing through the damp hair at the back of his neck.

he nodded against your skin, barely moving. then a soft, muffled : “i can’t believe that happened.”

you laughed, shaky and hoarse. “you mean the part where you absolutely destroyed me?”

soobin groaned in embarrassment, shifting just slightly. his cock moved inside you and both of you gasped at the hypersensitivity. he stopped immediately, whimpering.

“i’m sorry—i don’t want to hurt you, i just— i don’t know what to do now. i—uh—do we need to clean up? should i get you water? or—wait, should i get a towel? are you cramping? oh my god, i think i’m still hard—”

“soobin,” you whispered, smile tugging at your lips until it almost hurt. “breathe.”

he paused, blinking down at you like a deer caught in your bedroom lamp.

you cupped his flushed cheek. “you did so good. i’m not dying. i’m just… full. of you. in every way.”

soobin’s eyes got glassy again.

“i made you feel good?”

“baby,” you whispered, pulling him down so your foreheads touched. “that was the best fuck of my life.”

he made a broken, overwhelmed sound and kissed you. messy, still desperate, but sweet. the kind of kiss that tasted like someone who couldn’t believe they were allowed to love you like this.

eventually, he softened inside you with a small whine and pulled out carefully. you hissed from the sensitivity, but he was so gentle — like you were glass.

he tried to get up to clean you, but you yanked him back by the wrist.

“later. just lie down with me.”

he slid in beside you, glasses crooked and slipping down his nose, wrapping those long arms around you like he didn’t ever want to let go. you curled against his chest, still sticky and sweaty, and neither of you cared.

soobin was quiet for a while. then :

“i didn’t even know it could feel like that,” he whispered. “i thought—i was scared i wouldn’t be good at it. that i’d mess it up. but you just…”

you kissed the center of his chest.

“i felt safe. and wanted. and i wanted you,” he said, voice cracking at the edges. “i’ve wanted you since forever. i just never thought i’d get to have this. to have you.”

you pressed your face into his collarbone, eyes fluttering closed.

“you have me now,” you murmured. “all of me, soobin.”

he held you tighter.

“…are you okay? like, physically?” he added in a panicked whisper after a beat. “i came a lot. like, a lot—”

you laughed so hard you wheezed. “soobin.”

“sorry! i just—i don’t want to give you, like, some weird cum-induced stomach cramp—”

“i am gloriously ruined,” you said, shifting closer. “and if you apologize for doing too good of a job one more time, i’m gonna make you fuck me again.”

soobin blushed deep red.

“…noted.”

[darkmatilda]

the executioner

a little insight into the creative process, some encouragement, and a way to apologize for not posting anything <33

glasses s 2!spencer reid x podcast host female! reader

“We’ve worked cases where the murders were carried out execution-style before,” Hotch pointed out. “In those situations, the offender believes the victims are somehow guilty morally or socially and that's his duty to deliver justice. The use of electricity as a murder weapon is what sets this one apart. We need to go there and—”

“JJ, JJ, JJ my sweet girl, did you mention the podcast like I asked?” Penelope’s voice suddenly came from the laptop, usually silent or absent when it came to discussing the gruesome details of a case. The woman inhaled sharply, realizing she had interrupted Hotch’s sentence. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Garcia, I’m not sure—” JJ began.

“What podcast?” Spencer asked.

That question seemed to seal something, caused silence to fall over the room, and focused everyone’s attention on the two of them, the ones who knew something the rest didn’t. And something JJ didn’t seem particularly eager to share.

“Wonderful that you ask,” Garcia replied enthusiastically, her tone taking on that same excited note as when she talked about her favorite game. She caught herself slightly, just enough to underline that she was now speaking with seriousness and conviction. “So, my favorite true crime podcast…”

“Wait, wait,” Morgan cut in with a slow, halting motion of his hand. “Sorry to interrupt you, but tell me, babygirl, since when do you listen to true crime podcasts?”

“Oh, you’d have to listen to this one to understand! It’s not that typical i’m a man with a deep voice and I’ll lower it even more while adding door creaking sounds in the background so you’ll pee your pants listening to it at night kind of podcast,” Penelope, of course, demonstrated exactly what she meant.

Spencer glanced at Gideon’s face when she did that. He noticed Elle did the same.

“It’s called Rotten Cherry.This girl is so fun and she adds tons of her own commentary while still being respectful toward the victims and, well, significantly less toward the murderers but that’s not the point, I’m not giving her free promotion right now…actually, no, I am! Because guys, she lives in the town where this is happening, so she’s there, reporting on everything, talking to the locals…”

“Garcia, you’re seriously suggesting we use some amateur podcast as our source of information?” Spencer asked skeptically, absolutely not believing it could be useful to them in any way. No matter how fun that girl was.

“She’s not recording some kind of bullshit, she actually takes this seriously and professionally! And not as a main source of information, just something worth checking out. You know how small communities work. Nobody wants to talk, especially not to outsiders. But she actually managed to talk to one of the victim’s sisters, she’s working hard to gather information about them and, you know, honor them in some way and that really could be helpful. I mean, you always look into the victims’ histories and families anyway, trying to get to the unsub,” Penelope explained in a defensive tone.

A moment of silence fell, during which Spencer’s eyebrows remained doubtfully raised.

Until he felt Hotch’s sharp gaze fixed on him from across the table.

He understood what it meant almost instantly, and was already opening his mouth to protest — but got cut off.

“Reid, you’ll listen to it and let us know if there’s anything useful for the investigation. In the meantime, we’ll meet on the jet in fifteen minutes. That’s all.”

As everyone got up to leave the room, Spencer stayed behind for a brief moment, sighing with his eyes closed. He could go through hundreds of pages of case files four times faster than the rest of the team, and it wasn’t nearly as exhausting for him — but listening? And not even dry facts, but information gathered by someone else, presented in a humorous way on top of that?

Hell no.

With that approach, Spencer set about what he considered a sisyphean task, already on board the jet. Because he couldn’t refuse just because he had a feeling it wouldn’t lead them anywhere. He hoped someone would offer to take on the task instead of him, but after they saw his reluctance, their sadistic tendencies toward him kicked in and no one made him such an offer.

Away from the rest, without enthusiasm, he put the headphones on. Garcia had sent him a link to episodes related to the case they had just started working on; unlike others discussing, for example, killers like Jeffrey Dahmer, these focused on local murders and were short, somewhat like brief news updates. Apparently, the host girl posted many of her thoughts on the matter on a blog closely tied to the podcast, but he decided to check that out later.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, guys,” the podcast began in a clear, pure female voice. Spencer immediately liked her flawless diction but was a bit surprised by how she started the episode with no introduction or greeting.

“But in today’s episode, we’re heading to a picturesque place in northern Vermont where the church is right across from McDonald’s, in case the guilt after your seventh burger this week pushes you all the way to the confessional and the most exciting event of the summer season is a festival with a contest for the best apple pie. Let’s not forget that everyone here knows not only you, your family up to five generations back, and your kindergarten friend, but also knows what you’re going to do even before you think about it yourself. And don’t even get me started on how fast rumors spread. Welcome to Fairview, the town I had the pleasure—or not—to be born in and suffer in, I mean, be raised in for over twenty years. And where a murder happened. Oh, I feel guilty now for all those times I prayed for something interesting to happen here, obviously, I didn’t mean that…”

[winterblues]

Reviving this because this man loses his aging wife in Fool’s Assassin, and what is his first thought? That when she is gone, he’ll be left alone. If I didn’t spend 6 books in his head, it probably would’ve read as selfish. Fitz’s trauma-induced fear of abandonment strikes again, and it’s so intense it overpowers his love.

fitz loves molly but it’s more out of a childhood infatuation that he clings to. his relationship with molly is familiarity, a relic from a time he wishes he could return to, and hinges more on his need for physical attachment than emotional intimacy. but love is nuanced, and what he feels for the fool has never been as easy to categorize as romantic love, so it’s always “i love him as a friend” or as a man loves his fellow or what-have-you. it’s sad but i genuinely think any attraction fitz might feel for the fool is filtered through several layers of denial and avoidance

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

BUT NEVER AGAIN

PAIRING : beau arlen x younger fem!reader

SUMMARY : beau sees reader for the first time since he disowned her, on their anniversary of all days, and she isn’t alone.

WARNINGS : age gap. strong language. angst. fluff. smut. unprotected p in v. rough sex. pregnancy sex. makeup sex. semi-pubic sex. creampie. cockwarming. dom!beau. sub!reader. pregnant!reader. daddy!kink (if you squint). size kink. maiesiophilia. physical altercation. jealous!beau. slightly corrupt!sheriff.

A/N : just wanna start off with i’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to take as long as it did. i have plenty of valid reasons as to why but the cutest one was each time i opened my laptop to write, my cat would hear and wander over to lay on the keyboard and my lap, refusing to get up. and if i dared try moving him, he’d bite me then go back to cuddling. anyways, i hope y’all enjoy the final part of this mini-series! (kind) thoughts are always appreciated.

You couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be happening. It had to have been a mistake. Why would God ever play such a cruel joke on you? After everything you’ve gone through with Beau, this was the last thing you needed. The irony was evident: You wanted nothing to do with your ex, and now you were pregnant with his child.

Fucking shit. You were filled with a mix of emotions: happy, sad, panic, excitement, to name a few. You dreamt of having Beau’s children. Who wouldn’t? He was a great man and, as far as you could tell, a great father. With everything going on, you weren’t sure what to do, but if one thing was certain, you were keeping it.

The problem wasn’t questioning what you’d do with your offspring’s life. No, the issue was your indecisiveness about whether to tell Beau or not. After all, he made his choice. He was ashamed and disowned you, so why would he want a pregnant you? Would you really give him a chance to disown your baby too?

But would he? Would he really want nothing to do with you or the product of love that was growing inside you? Or what if you told him and he only wanted you because of the baby? Too many thoughts were running through your head, making you dizzy. You gripped the bathroom countertop and closed your eyes, inhaling a deep breath.

I just need a sign, you thought. Any sign that tells me if I should tell Beau. Suddenly, your phone rang, causing you to jump in surprise. You looked at the device and your heart quickened with rage. It was your ex-cowboy—your sign. Fuck that!

You had hit the end call button, refusing to speak with him. Really, God? So not funny! You weren’t amused at the sign He sent you, and you weren’t going to listen either. Maybe that was your sign. Knowing how you truly felt when the opportunity to tell the sheriff arose.

After throwing the test in the trash, you walked to your bedroom. This can’t be happening. You climbed into bed and wrapped your body with your duvet, wishing, deep down, it was Beau’s warm embrace. The room was pitch black, the perfect setting to fall into a peaceful slumber, but you couldn’t sleep. No, the news of your unborn baby kept you up. You just wanted to talk to someone, and you hated that that someone happened to be Beau.

A week had passed, but not a moment when Beau didn’t try to win you back, and you certainly didn’t make it easy. You refused to answer his calls or texts, not that he blamed you. So, every morning since his conversation with Emily, he stopped by your work, hoping to get a chance to see you. When he didn’t, which was no surprise, he’d leave your favorite meal, and the most gorgeous roses the florist had to offer with one of your coworkers, instructing that they pass them along. Each bouquet came with a handwritten note, and despite your many warnings, you couldn’t resist reading each and every one.

I’m so sorry, princess. I was stupid and an idiot—a stupid idiot. Please forgive me.

Sweetheart, please call me.

I’m not giving you up, darlin’.

I’ll make it up to you. I’m gonna make this right. For us. I promise.

There’ll never be a moment when you’re not on my mind, sweetpea. I need you more and more.

I love & miss you more than you know, angel.

I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on you. Happy Anniversary, beautiful.

If he hadn’t disowned you, his attempts would’ve worked. Your heart wanted to let him in, but you knew better since he broke the very thing you told him not to. It was hard getting over a man like Beau, though you had no choice but to. For weeks, you were a complete wreck over him. However, as time passed, you began to heal. That was until the shock of your pregnancy.

Every reminder of him made your decision harder and harder. You so desperately wanted to tell Beau the truth. There were signs everywhere but you were too damn stubborn to listen. You knew you had to face him sooner or later, and you prayed it was the latter. But as your luck would have it, it was the former.

It was your anniversary, or what would’ve been if you were still together. Your heart was heavy and your body was weak, but you couldn’t call in to work again, especially when you had to train the new hire. So, on the rarest of warm days in early Spring, you put on your favorite summer dress, one you won’t admit was also Beau’s favorite. It was long & flowy, hugging you in just the right places while showing a tasteful amount of cleavage. If you were going to move on from the sheriff, you needed to enjoy the day instead of wallowing in it, and if putting on a nice dress helped, then so be it.

It was almost half past noon meaning your lunch break was coming up; Beau knew it like clockwork. Deciding to get out of the office, you asked Wren, the new associate, if he wanted to accompany you. He was new to town and didn’t know any good spots so you thought you’d be nice. He happily agreed, so you drove to your favorite brunch spot. The only downside was that it was down the street from Dewell & Hoyt Private Investigations, a place your ex-cowboy frequently visited.

Sure, it was risky but you had to rise above. And what were the chances that he happened to be on that side of town as you were? Being the Sheriff, he had more important things going on than keeping his eyes peeled for you everywhere he went...or so you thought. Beau jogs out of their office the second he catches a glimpse of your vehicle. His heart skips a beat as you and Wren exit your vehicle, and he can’t tell if it’s because it’s the first time he’s seen you in three weeks, or if it’s because some man, closer in age, is with you.

He knew this day might come but not this soon. Not when he hasn’t shown you that he’s changed. Not when your last memory of him is heartbreaking. Not while his heart still beat for you. You walk toward the diner and the cowboy’s feet move faster than they ever have before. As if it were slow motion, Wren begins to pull the door open just as Beau’s large hand wraps around your arm.

Instinctively, you pull out of the grasp before you even turn to see that it’s him. And when you do, your eyes widen in surprise. The very possibility of bumping into him materialized before you, and yet, here he stands—unexpected and undeniable. The father of your child. Fuck!

You take a few steps back, baffled that he had the nerve to touch you. “Sweetheart—”

“No. We’re not doing this.”

“Please, darlin’, I need to talk to you.”

His hand goes for yours but you move it away. “Damn it, Beau. No! I don’t want to hear it. Just go on somewhere.”

“But, Y/N, I—” He moves closer, eyes filled with so much emotion you could melt.

Wren steps in between you, unfamiliar with the situation yet brave enough to do so. Intrepidly, he reminds your ex, “Hey, man. She said she doesn’t want to talk.”

Beau’s attention shifts to the man before him, brows drawn together and eyes darker. “Excuse me?”

“You heard her: Leave her alone.”

The cowboy scoffs, amused by the pair the stranger seemed to have. Who the fuck does he think he is? He thought. “Listen, buddy, it’s best you just stay the hell out of our business.”

“I will when you walk away.”

Your ex takes a step closer, a daring look in his eyes. You know that look, and it’s dangerous. As your heart increases rapidly, you move around Wren and try adding distance between the two, but neither man moves.

“Hey, it’s alright. Let’s just go inside.” You encourage your associate.

Beau’s forehead wrinkles. He’s determined to tell you that he came clean to Emily. “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

His hand reaches toward your waist but Wren stops the Sheriff before he can make contact. The younger man shoves Johnny Law, warning him not to touch you. Beau stumbles back, completely caught off guard. An audible gasp leaves your lips; You hadn’t expected the escalation.

Your ex’s once chartreuse eyes turn to a forest green. He steps forward and Wren shoves him again, telling him something neither of you hears. His nostrils flare with rage and you can see the logic and law slip from his mind. Oh, shit... Before you can say a word, you witness Beau’s fist collide with his opponent’s jaw.

The impact makes an audible sound, one you feel in your bones. Wren’s body twists in the direction he was punched, nearly falling from the hard blow. With his balance compromised, he teeters back and forth, surely fighting unconsciousness and you’re shocked it wasn’t a swift knockout. He was a tall and lean male, just taller than your child’s father with a similar build. If you weren’t so hung up on your cowboy you would see how handsome Wren really was.

“You fucker,” The young man spits, swaying slightly.

He lunges forward and tackles the sheriff, nearly taking you down with them. You leap out of the way, fear coursing through your body at the possibility of your baby getting hurt. They wrestle on the ground while you stand back, watching with panicked eyes. Wren delivers a sucker punch to your ex’s cheek and though he deserves it—Lord knows as much—you can’t bear to see Beau hurt.

“Stop it!” You frantically cry.

The cowboy grabs the civilian and flips them over so he’s on top. He’s quick to strike the guy’s pretty face, again and again. Wren grunts in pain and it shatters your heart. You can tell he’s surprised at Beau’s strength as he struggles to break free of his hold. Though you’re terrified to get hit, you refuse to let the fight continue.

“Beau!” You run over and see your associate’s swollen and bloody face. “Beau, stop!” It’s risky but you try catching his flailing arm. “Get off of him!”

Whether it’s the growing crowd or your helpless tugs, maybe even both, Beau ceases the abuse. He rises from the beaten man, panting heavily. He reaches for his cuffs, shouting at Wren to turn over. The sun shines on the brass clipped to the sheriff’s belt and reflects into Wren’s eyes. He sees the badge and immediately curses to himself, knowing he was fucked.

“Now!”

“Okay, okay.” He lifts his hands in surrender and does as he’s told.

Beau immediately wraps Wren’s wrists and with ease, yanks him up from the ground. This isn’t right, you thought. He didn’t know. He was just trying to help me. Your ex escorts the new worker to his vehicle and you follow closely behind.

“Let him go!” You demand. “He didn’t know any better.”

“Sweetheart, stay outta this,” Beau warns sternly.

“No, this is my business, too!”

“We’ll talk later.”

“The hell we are—let him go!”

He opens the rear passenger door and damn near shoves the ‘criminal’ in. The cowboy walks around the front of his Defender and hops into the driver’s seat. You pound on his door, loudly insisting that he free your coworker. Instead, he starts his vehicle and tries his hardest to pay you no mind. He’s almost convinced to let the guy go on your behalf, but he just can’t. So, he speeds off.

You rush to your car, and as soon as you get in, you scream. You scream because of his fight with Wren. You scream because luck was never on your side. You scream because of all the days to see your ex, it had to be on your anniversary. You scream because you’re pregnant with his child. You scream because you realize how much you aren’t over him. You scream because you know if you don’t, you’ll cry.

With a deep breath, you race to the station. By the time you get there Wren’s in lockup, and Beau’s in his office. You aren’t sure if it’s your natural rage or the added hormones but your body was on fire and everyone you passed could see it too. The workers within the station come to a halt, seeing you beeline straight to the Sheriff to unleash some much-deserved wrath. However, one individual makes the mistake of stepping out in front of you.

“He’s busy right now. You’ll have to come back another time,” says Sargent Crowders.

“Fuck off, Madge.” You order and storm past her.

He heard you as soon as you entered the station, your heels clattering angrily against the tile floor. He knew he was in for it but he was ready. Or at least he thought so. He discarded his jacket on the back of his chair, the heat from his anger causing him to shed it. Too upset to sit at his desk, he stood as he waited for the background check on Wren to come through and for you.

“Let him out now!” You command the moment you enter his office.

“‘Can’t.”

“Like hell, you can’t! You’re the sheriff, or did you forget when you were beating the shit out of that poor man?”

He walks past you and calls from the doorframe, “Everybody, leave.”

“But, boss—” Poppernak begins but Beau interrupts.

“NOW!” His voice makes you flinch unexpectedly. You had never heard his voice reach that octave before. “All of you, get the hell out. And be back in 20.”

Everyone shuffles to the front doors, leaving you two alone. He walks back in and silently closes both doors to his space. He shuts each blind before hitting his mark beside his chair. His eyes are the same darkened color as they were earlier. You wait for him to speak before you counter.

“You know I respect you—”

“Oh, please!”

“But I would never tell you how to do your job so don’t tell me how to do mine.”

He had a fair point but you were too prideful and stubborn to admit it.

“He was just protecting me.”

“From who? Me?” He asks, his voice growing louder. “You know I would never hurt you.”

You scoff and the sound hits him right in the chest. “I’ve heard that lie before.”

“It isn't a lie.”

“Right..so tell me why we aren’t celebrating our eight-month anniversary again.”

He shakes his head in disgust at his regrettable actions. “Because I’m stupid.”

“That’s one word for it,” you murmur.

“I made a horrible mistake. Hell, mistakes, and there will never be enough apologies to reflect how sorry I am but I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

You roll your eyes but it strikes your heart. Damn it, Y/N, get it together.

“Don’t bother. I’m done giving you chances. After you kicked me out then pretended not to know me!” The memories are still fresh and it hits you harder today. “You deserve to have your ass handed to you.”

“You’re right.” He admits. “But you know I can’t let him go. He assaulted a sheriff.”

“You’re the one who threw the first punch! And plenty after. You’re supposed to be the sheriff and you abused your power. You could lose your job!”

He sighs in defeat. You’re right. This hadn’t been the first time he’d roughed someone up but it was the first time he’d had witnesses. He could lose his new permanent position. After he convinced Carla to stay in Montana with Emily, he accepted the offer and then met you.

“That’s…something I’ll have to deal with later but right now, all I want to do is talk to you.”

“We have nothing else to talk about unless it’s regarding Wren walking out of here today.”

He glances at the floor, a sly smirk involuntarily tugging at the corner of his mouth before licking his lips to mask it. His eyes lift from the ground and focus on you. God, she's so stubborn. He pauses, thinking it over. He knows he shouldn’t but he’ll do anything to repair your relationship. So, if that meant bending the rules and releasing the man who attacked him then so be it. Though envy influenced his actions, he knew he was wrong. He shouldn’t have reacted the way he did towards the young man.

“I’ll make you a deal,” He piques your interest, but you remain wary. “I’ll let him go after we talk.”

You hesitate but agree. “Fine. Talk.”

“Do you want to sit?” He offers you his large, comfortable chair, but you decline.

“No, I’m good here.”

“Okay,” He clears his throat, suddenly nervous despite his consistent daydreams about this very moment. “I know it’s probably too late, but I told Emily and Carla about you. About us.”

Your heart dares to jump excitedly, but your brain frowns against it. Did he expect you to applaud? Did he want a medal for doing what every boyfriend should’ve done from the start? For once, he’s right: It’s too late. But was it? Deep down, you don’t want it to be, especially with your growing fetus.

“And?”

“And I was foolish. It was all in my head, and to an extent, you were right. I was ashamed; Not of you, but of our age difference. I was scared I’d risk losing Emily when I should’ve thought of you, too. I know a daughter and an ex-wife wasn’t something you signed up for, and part of that turned into fear, that one day you’d wake up and realize you didn’t want me anymore.

“What if you want things I might not be able to give you? Hell, I don’t even know if I can produce any more kids. And I’m only getting older. What if that’s something that affects our decision to marry? To buy a house and live together. I was scared that if you had met the girls, you’d break Emily’s heart if you chose to leave. Most of all, I was scared I wasn’t good enough for you. And after all I’ve done to hurt you, I realized you’re better off without me. Lord knows I don’t want to lose you, but if moving on is what you need...well, I’ll love you even if you can’t ever love me again.”

You’re left speechless. All the anger, all the words, the hurt, and betrayal, suddenly fly out the window. You should be upset that your fire’s been extinguished by his honest and powerful words. Part of yourself curses your ability to be easily swooned. You stare into his precious green orbs, and a thought occurs: I hope our baby has his eyes. And you realize you’ve found your sign.

With a neutral face, you walk toward your cowboy and he swallows nervously. He isn’t sure what you’re going to do. It’s cute—satisfying even—that you make him so vulnerable. You halt before him, your eyes searching his for any sign of lies. When you can’t find any, you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him toward you.

Your lips gently meet his, moving in a soft yet firm dance. His shock paralyzes him for a moment; He didn’t expect this. Without wasting another beat, he kisses you back. All those weeks apart, all the pain, ignites a familiar spark. With much regret, you break away. He stares into your doe eyes, falling even deeper in love.

“I’ve never stopped.” A smile spreads on his handsome face, and you fear you’ll wipe it off after you come clean. All right, now or never. “About the concern of your reproduction...I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

His brows furrow. I don’t get...Wait. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? Is she..? You see the wheels turn in his beautiful head. So, with a grin upon your pretty face, you confirm his suspicion.

“I’m pregnant.”

The air in his lungs vanishes as if he had been struck hard in the gut. His mind races, and so does his heart. He hadn’t expected this news, maybe ever again but here you were, the love of his life, telling him you’re pregnant with his unborn child. He stands frozen again, making you worry just slightly.

Oh, no. He’s upset. He doesn’t want any more babies, your mind automatically assumes. Suddenly, he breaks free from the block of ice and wraps his arms around you. He sweeps you off the ground, spinning you joyfully in a whirl of laughter, his delight infectious as you both revel in the moment.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s the best news I’ve heard since Carla told me about Emily.” He puts you down, grabs your arms loosely, and looks at your small belly. “How are you feeling? Have you gone to the OB yet? How far along are you?”

“I’m fine. I’ll see them in a few days to find out. Wanna come with?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll be at every appointment.”

His large hand cups your cheek and he stares into your eyes. Oh, how he’s missed you. You lean into his touch, missing him just as much. Now that he has you again, he isn’t letting you go. So, he sets his lips on yours and takes his sweet time, enamored by the way your mouth responds to his.

He pulls you in closer, pressing your body against his. His right hand rests on your lower back, but as your kisses get deeper, he glides it over the curve of your bottom. His left slips into your hair and cradles the back of your neck while his other hand squeezes your plump cheek; A move he often made when he wanted more. You aren’t opposed. Hell, you thought about calling him a few times over your break just so he could fuck you.

He spins you around, shoving his chair away, and backs you into his messy desk, your thighs leaning against the edge. You know he wants you just as much as you want him. The butterflies migrate to your fanny, begging to be set free by the only key you’ll ever allow to enter your keyhole again. He attacks your neck, kissing, licking, and biting just how you like it. You can’t help the moans falling from your swollen lips but they only spur him further.

The Sheriff kisses the top of your breasts, his beard hair tickling your skin. You want to laugh being as ticklish as you are but the moment he pulls down your strap, the support for your chest falling with it, and takes your sensitive nipple into his warm mouth, you melt. His expert tongue swirls around it, and when his teeth sink in, your body shivers. Instinctively, your arms wrap around his head, and your fingers tug on his perfect hair. The hand perched on your ass moves past your hip, down to the back of your knee, and pulls your leg toward his waist. His free arm wraps around your back, holding you steady. He gingerly sucks your growing boobs, and you can feel the bruises forming.

“Fuck, princess, I want you so bad,” His husky voice murmurs against your chest. “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You whimper at his words. The hold he has over you is so unhealthy. What can you say, you were a sucker for that cowboy. The pool between your legs begs to be swum in, and you know from experience that he’s an excellent swimmer. So, who are you to deny the wants and needs of your body?

“Fine,” you cave. “But don’t think I’ve forgiven you just yet.”

“‘Course not. I’ll happily spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

“Your life,” you joke, lifting the mood.

He chuckles, the crow’s feet around his eyes making their dashing appearance. “Yes. My life. Thank you for reminding me how much older I am.”

You gently hold his head, guiding it closer to yours, to place a soft, tender kiss on the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. The warmth of your lips lingers there, evoking a shiver of pleasure that travels through him. He groans, desperate for more. “You’ll feel young again when you’re chasing our kid around our house.”

He smiles widely at the imagery. “‘Can’t wait.”

“But for now, I need you inside my guts.”

His dick twitches at your request and the tug your teeth deliver to his earlob. “Whatever you want, darlin’.”

You unhook your leg from around his hip so he can kneel before you. He lifts your dress and you take the fabric from his hands, keeping it out of his way. His fingers wrap around the waistband of your drenched panties and he slowly peels them down your legs. You bite your lip in anticipation; He knew you hated taking things slow. When you wanted him, you wanted him right away, with no time to waste.

His lecherous eyes linger on your glistening folds, desperately wanting to devour you, but his need to be in you is stronger. The moment you step out of the soaked underwear, his mouth trails wet kisses up your thighs. Your fingers clutch the strands of his long hair as his lips travel over your hip. When they brush over your abdomen you gaze down at your boyfriend. He presses a light peck to your bump before warning the small fetus.

“‘Sorry, kid. Daddy’s gonna love on Mommy for a bit. ‘Better hold on tight.”

You giggle softly, but the sound quickly fades as he stands before you. A single glance into his deep, intense eyes sends a wave of eros throughout your warm body, leaving you utterly captivated. He holds your gaze, drawing you into a hypnotic trance, and without a second thought, you find yourself reaching for his collar, yanking him close to you. The world around you blurs, and the kisses that follow are urgent and passionate, filled with a raw intensity that makes them feel rushed and almost chaotic, but thrilling all the same. You aren’t sure if it’s the hormones or the desperate longing you’ve had since he was last between your legs but you’ve never wanted him more than in this moment.

Your fingers fly to his button-up and you swiftly undo each one before running your hands up and down his smooth and chiseled chest. Oh, how you missed him, all of him. They move to his Longhorn buckle, unfastening it with ease before reaching for his badge. You yank off his heavy belt and blindly toss both on the leather chair. His tongue explores your mouth as you unzip his jeans, your bodies grow hotter by the second, the anticipation nearly overwhelming.

You shove his pants down, liberating his well-endowed cock from its restraints. Beau reaches behind you and pushes the clutter aside, making room for you on his desk. He leans you back, your legs immediately wrapping around his hips. You break the kiss with a pathetic whimper as his hardened member skims along your inner thigh. He slithers his hand between you and grabs hold of his enlarged gourd. He rubs it through your wet folds, lathering his dick in your juice. Before you have a chance to vocalize your impatience, he aligns himself with your pulsing entrance. Your heels dig into the dimples at the bottom of his spine, urging him in.

Beau presses his swollen tip into your small hole and your breath hitches. He moves forward but your body rejects him. It’s been weeks since he last stretched you out, reverting to how it was before him. His brows pinch together, watching as your body refuses his thick limb. He thrusts again, this time sliding in further.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight,” He huffs as he forces himself deeper.

“Mhmmm...”

You couldn’t talk. Not just because it hurt too much to speak but because you felt all the pleasure that also came with it. He tells you to relax and you try your hardest. You can’t help yourself; It hurts so good. With each thrust, you accept him more than you did before.

“Just like that, princess. Open up for Daddy.”

His words nearly make you drool. You hadn’t called him that before, thinking it would be too weird as you were closer in age to his daughter than you were to him. But the way he says it makes you want to call him that more often, sexual or not. You nod, easing up on the vice grip your walls had around him. It didn’t take him long before he bottoms out and you’re squirming underneath him.

His thrusts are relentless. The room fills with the sound of skin slapping skin, as if you’re being punished when really, you’re being rewarded. You don’t have to ask him to go faster or deeper because he already is. Like a madman, he digs his pickaxe further into your cave. He forces your insides to conform around him. Hell, he’d rearrange your guts if your child wasn’t already harbored within.

Beau’s chest brushes against yours as one hand holds onto the edge of his desk while the other wraps around your shoulders. His fingers claim a death grip while yours clutch the fabric of his shirt. You hold on for dear life, your legs trembling around him. The objects around you bounce to the rhythm of your boyfriend’s hips, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re questioning the sturdiness of the mahogany table. Your moans flood his ears, loud and whiny. They grow stronger and more consistent when his abdomen rubs against your sensitive clit.

The pleasure becomes too much to bear. You hadn’t expected to last long but the way your cowboy grinds on you brings you closer to your climax than intended. If he were any other man, you would have felt embarrassed, but given your history with Beau, you feel a sense of satisfaction. Only he can get you there as quickly as you deserve, and after he’s hurt you, it seems to be quicker. Maybe makeup sex is the best kind of sex.

He grunts in your ear, only turning you on further. His breathy moans make you forget what he’d ever done. Beau was never shy about making noise, reminding you you’re responsible for each and every one. His face scrunches, and you know he’s as close as you. Your eyes roll back and so does your head as you near sheer ecstasy.

Struggling to get the words out, you stutter through, “I-I’m g-gon-na, oh, fuck—”

“Me too, baby,” His lips brush against your ear, purring the words that send you over the edge. “Cum for Daddy.”

You let out a ferocious scream, a primal sound that echoed through the room, one you had never unleashed before. It tears from your throat as the knot in your belly finally snaps, releasing a surge of raw emotion that had been building inside you for far too long. The tension that had gripped you so tightly unravels, leaving you breathless and trembling, as wave after wave crashes around Beau’s solid member. Your convulsions summon his release, so with a halt of his hips and a twitch from his cock, he spews his hot load into your spent cunt. A feral shout rips from the depths of his core, a noise that surprises even himself.

The Sheriff resists collapsing on you like he usually did after a round of intercourse, refusing to apply weight to your growing belly. Your chests heave quickly, your lungs desperately gasping for air. The office is so quiet, you swear you can hear the rhythm of your hearts beating as one. He captures your lips in a kiss, commanding the butterflies to flutter once again. The world fades around you leaving only the intensity of the moment.

The kiss lingers on the edge of breathlessness, leaving you wondering why you came here to begin with. He withdraws his luscious lips and you softly whimper, craving more. You dive into the pools of his enchanting eyes the second you open yours, all of your problems drowning the deeper you swim. He tucks his head in the crook of your neck, breaking the spell he held you in only to place you under another when he begins peppering your exposed skin with tiny kisses. You both lay in a comfortable silence, basking in the blissful aftermath of your physical and emotional unity as your nails lightly trace up and down his back.

“That was...wow.” He breathes.

You chuckle, quipping, “You have such a way with words.”

Beau snorts. He raises his head and a lazy smirk forms, his eyes raking over your countenance. “I got in between your legs, didn’t I?”

“For that, you can get out.”

“S’alright. I got what I wanted anyway.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“You, pregnant.”

Those two words went straight to your stuffed pussy.

“That so?” You struggle to ask calmly.

“‘Course. Why wouldn’t I want a kid that’s half you? You’re everything and more. I can’t wait to tell everyone.” Your heart melts and his eyes glance at your fleshy mountains above it. “Fuck, darlin’, the thought of my seed growing inside you does things to a man.”

You want to slap him for ruining the sweet moment but you’re too turned on to do so. He lifts himself off of you, careful not to pull out. Beau stares down at your small bump, his impure thoughts untamed. Just maybe, if he said them aloud, he could get another round before everyone returned. The way your breath hitches tells him all he needs.

“You’re gonna look so sexy with a swollen belly. I don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off you. You’re gonna be one smokin’ mom. ‘Think I might just keep you pregnant after this one.” He grabs the top of your thighs, pulling you towards the edge of the desk. One by one, he lifts your legs and leans them against his strong chest. He turns his head and presses tender kisses to your right ankle, sending tingling sensations down your legs, and straight to your core. In between pecks, he asks, “How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

You barely register the question as he switches his attention to your other ankle. He chuckles when you murmur something incoherently agreeable.

He can’t help but mock, “You have such a way with words.”

Beau’s kisses halt and he looks at you with dark eyes. You squeeze his hardening dick and in return, he pushes deeper, his bellend brushing your shut cervix. He forces a whimper out of your pretty little mouth, and it drives you both feral. The fire in your tummy reignites and you bite your lip with anticipation. You want him so bad, you don’t care who walks in. His hands secure at your hips and you brace at the new angle, ready for more.

With your arms comfortably propped against his desk, you lean back with a satisfied smile, watching as the hot sheriff tucks himself back into his jeans. The office was quiet except for the occasional and distant ring of the abandoned phones. You should have been ashamed for being apathetic to those calling but your selfishness thrives on the euphoria Beau brought to you moments before. Coming here—in more ways than one—to mend things was the last thing on your mind but you aren’t disappointed with how they turned out. He begins to button his shirt from the bottom up when he notices you staring.

“See something you like?”

“Yes, sir.” Your lip tucks between your sharp teeth, nearly drawing blood. Despite having him twice already, you could go for a third. “Something I really, really, like.”

His fingers fall from his shirt and a devilish smirk makes a broad appearance on his irresistibly handsome face.

He steps between your thighs and leans closer as his sultry voice remarks, “Sounds like you’ve got a problem, princess.”

“I sure do...Daddy.”

His eyebrow raises, and so does his package. “What’d’ya gonna do about it?”

“I would show you but I don’t think you could handle another round.”

“Oh, sweetheart, when have I ever stopped at two with you?” Beau rhetorically questions before seizing your lips.

His mouth moves in sync with yours but he’s damn near ravenous. You moan into the urgent kiss, slightly taken aback by his hunger. It was as if you hadn’t done it twice in the last twenty minutes, a record for him. Sure he’s right, he didn’t stop at two rounds, hell, there’ve been days you never left the bedroom, but there was time between each copulation. His thick fingers run through your hair and massage your scalp, turning your brain to mush. Your arms envelope his torso in a warm embrace, longing for the moment to stretch into eternity, wishing never to let go again.

It had surpassed the 20-minute limit that Beau hadn’t given to his subordinates. They waited outside and would’ve enjoyed the nice weather had it not been for the way the Sheriff had exploded. Despite the copious amount of stress that came with the job, Beau had never reacted in such a way, which caused them all to worry. Everyone had formed small circles, talking amongst themselves about what was happening in the office. Little did they know...

Jenny pulls up to the station and her brows furrow once she sees the individuals. What in the hell..? She throws her ‘96 Bronco into park, her eyes narrow as she scans the crowd for Poppernak after rounding the vehicle. His back faces her but she instantly recognizes her partner. As she walks closer, he hears her boots against the pavement and spins around with a relieved smile.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Y/N. She showed up with hell to pay. They’re in there right now, going at it.”

“How long have they been in there?”

“Just under half an hour,” The detective nods, trying to piece together if that was enough time for you to kill him and hide his body. “The boss said to come back after twenty but we’re all too scared to go in before she comes out. I don’t want to get yelled at again.”

She huffs in slight amusement. “Do you want me to check?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me ma’am?”

“Sorry, ma—Hoyt.”

Jenny turns on her heel with a roll of her eyes. She walks up the steps and past the glass doors. It was quiet which made her wary. She figured the first interaction since that shameful day would involve yelling but nope. Just silence. A sick feeling set in her stomach. Maybe she had killed him, she thought.

Mo felt guilty for letting his partner go into the belly of the beast alone so he worked up the courage to follow after her. Jenny tiptoed through the station, not wanting to disrupt what may or may not be happening. He takes larger steps and catches up with her quickly, being just as quiet. She hears his heavy and nervous breathing, chuckling to herself. How can a man of his size be afraid of anything?

Then, there it was: The Sheriff’s office. They notice both doors and blinds are closed. This can’t be good. The Deputies shuffle closer and peer into the window of the door, past the vinyl lettering on the tempered glass. Beau’s lips attack your bruised neck and your body arches into his.

Their eyes widen as they watch the intimate scene before them. Your moans shove past the door and fill more than your cowboy’s ears. Poppernak gulps and his body goes hot; This wasn’t what he expected, and neither did Hoyt. She awkwardly chuckles but doesn’t tear her gaze away.

“Well, you weren’t kidding about them going at it.” Before he can respond, she knocks on the door, louder than normal, startling you. You jump while Beau slumps his shoulders. She pushes the door open and says with a sarcastic cheer, “I see you two made up.”

Beau sighs with great annoyance then straightens with a look matching his exhale. Your face blushes bright red, completely embarrassed yet thankful they hadn’t interrupted any sooner. But Jenny knew otherwise. The disheveled clothes, the messy hair, the faint smell of sex, the marks on each of your skins, the reason why the doors and blinds were closed to his office—it all added up. As soon as his partner opened the Sheriff’s door, his eyes stayed glued to the floor.

“What’d’ya want?” The handsome man beside you grumbles.

“Well, I was just wondering if everyone can come back and do their jobs, that is if you guys are done in here.”

You push your dress past your knees and hop down from the desk. Beau wraps his arm around your waist, holding you upright, knowing your legs are bound to give out on you. And he was most certainly right. They tremble underneath your weight but you hide it well. He gives you a look only you know and understand: Are you okay? You nod with a reassuring smile, once again, getting lost in his enchanting eyes until Jenny clears her throat.

“Sorry—Yeah, we’re finished.” You reply.

“Great. I’ll let ‘em know.” She closes the door behind her and takes Mo with her.

You grumble as you bury your flushed face in his naked chest. “Oh my gosh, that was so embarrassing.”

He rubs circles into your aching back, trying his best to comfort you. “I know, at least it wasn’t worse.”

“What would you have done if they came five minutes earlier?”

His brows draw together, glancing at you in question as he confidently answers, “If you’re asking if I would’ve stopped, the answer’s no.”

With a startled gasp, you snap your head towards his and witness his composed expression. He isn’t joking. Your laughter fills the room, instantly settling your nerves. The Sheriff cracks a smile; Oh, how he’s missed you. He was a fool for ever pushing you away and he’ll spend the rest of his life regretting the time he pushed you away. The station begins to fill with bodies, along with a light chaotic chatter, bringing you back to reality.

“I should call my boss. Tell ‘em the sheriff beat up our new hire.” You kid.

He rolls his eyes with a sly grin. “Tell him Wren wasn’t the only pussy I beat up today.”

“Beau Arlen!” Your face flushes at his quip. “I hate you.”

“Love you too, darlin’.”

Wren sat on the steel bench, cursing himself for letting another pretty girl get him into trouble. Footsteps echo down the corridor, grasping his attention enough to whip his head toward the exit. His shoulders slump in solace the moment you walk in but it doesn’t last long. His muscles tighten and his jaw locks in place as he shoots a fiery glare at the sheriff, anger crackling in the air between them. You could cut the tension with a knife and you hated it; It was all a misunderstanding, not that it mattered now.

Beau sighs in defeat as he takes the cellar keys from his pocket. A deal was a deal, and if he’s being honest, he got the better end of it: You. He inserts the key into the lock, and with hesitation to unlock it, he glances at you for assurance. You stare at him with expectant eyes and he knows he has to turn it. With a click, the cell unlocks and he slides it open.

“All right, you’re free to go.”

The inmate’s eyes dart between the two of you, bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

You gaze at your boyfriend, and ask, “Could you give us a minute?”

He was wary; He didn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone with the man who attacked him. He didn’t know him and neither did you. How bad could he be if he willingly defended you? You can practically feel Beau’s apprehensiveness, more now that you’re carrying his child.

“Please.”

He nods with reluctance. If he so much as lays a hand on her... “I’ll be right outside.”

You give your undivided attention to your coworker, wearing a look of sorrow. “Listen—”

“Let me guess,” He strolls from behind the bars toward you. “He’s your jealous ex-boyfriend who you’ve been avoiding, but then he sees you with me, unleashes his anger on my face, and now you’re sorry.”

That’s pretty spot on. “Yeah—”

“You could’ve told me he was the damn sheriff.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to—!” You pause and exhale softly. “Look, I talked to him and he isn’t gonna press any charges, and I really hope you don’t either. I don’t know what came over him, and I’m not excusing how he handled the situation, but he’s a good man.”

“What’s your deal with him?”

Your eyebrows pinch together, confused by the question. “Huh?”

“Just an hour ago, you were demanding he leave you alone and now you’re team Arlen.”

“I—I just, I know he regrets what he did and I don’t want this one mistake to ruin his career.”

“So those hickeys on your neck didn’t influence your change of heart?” Your hand flies to Beau’s canvas, your face growing hot with embarrassment. You totally forgot, but your cowboy sure didn’t. “‘Thought so.”

“It’s not like that. We just, we finally talked, and I’m sorry it came at your expense but please don’t punish him because of me. I never meant for you to get involved and if there’s anything I can do to fix it, I will.”

His eyes scan your countenance, finding only sincerity. He kicks himself; It isn’t your fault that he ended up in a jail cell on his first day of work, at least not all of it.

“Can you fix my face?”

“And take away how badass you look? Nuh uh.” You chuckle whilst praying your persuasion works. “Taking on a sheriff...the girls are gonna be all over you, don’t you worry.”

“Ya think so?”

“‘Course. Everyone loves a bad boy.”

Wren grins, now content with his swelling eye, bruised cheek, and fat lip. “You better be right.”

You were.

A week had passed since you and Beau made up. He took a few days off work and focused on you and your relationship moving forward. You both went to the baby’s first ultrasound and found out you were nearly two months pregnant. The look on your partner’s face was the happiest you’d ever seen. A memory you’d never forget.

From the moment you mentioned you were expecting, he hadn’t shut up about it. He was so proud to be the father of your child. He’d talk about how to raise it, his hopes of it looking and acting just like you, and that he couldn’t wait for Emily to be a big sister. He wanted to call her the day he found out but you both agreed it was best to meet formally first. You didn’t want to overwhelm her; After all, one could argue that you and Beau were moving too fast. Though, neither of you had seen it that way.

The Sheriff had talked of marriage plans, wanting to—legally—keep you forever. You’d be honored to be made his wife, but you didn’t want to upset his daughter by rushing it. So, you each decided to wait until after she adjusted to your relationship and her new sibling. He adored you, even more so, having put Emily’s feelings first. From that moment moving forward, he vowed never to fuck up again.

You were outside of Beau’s trailer in your prettiest dress, setting up the table with four plates, four utensils, and four cups while he cooked on his George Foreman. Despite your efforts to buy him a real, big boy grill, he refused. It was a big day; You were finally meeting Carla and Emily. He looked over and saw the tremble in your hands. ‘Nervous’ didn’t begin to cover how you truly felt.

“Sweetheart,” He pulls you into an embrace, kissing your shoulder as a comfort. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“What if they don’t like me? What i-if they ask you to break up with me? Oh, gosh, my baby isn’t going to have a father—”

“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it. I would never leave you, just like they’d never ask. They’re going to love you. You hear me?”

He had cupped your face as he assured you, shooing away the tears that formed in your pretty eyes. You nodded softly, letting the words sink in. Maybe he’s right, maybe they’ll love you. With a deep breath, you blinked the tears away, refusing to listen to the doubtful thoughts that haunted your mind. Beau pulled your forehead towards his lips and delivered a lingering peck.

The gravel underneath Carla’s tires crunched as she drove toward the trailer. Emily was ecstatic to meet you properly, as her father’s girlfriend, but her mother...not so much. Sure she had moved on but the thought of her ex-husband involved with a younger girl made her skin crawl. She wouldn’t call it jealousy; She wanted him to be happy, like she was with Avery, but did it have to be with someone half his age? And when the sheriff moved out of the way and she finally saw you, a sliver of envy pierced her heart: You were beautiful.

Your own pounded against your ribcase; There they were. It was time. Beau took your hand and he squeezed it as a reminder that you weren’t alone. They exited the vehicle, both wearing bright smiles, one real, the other fake.

“Hey!” He called, matching his daughter’s grin.

Emily jogged up the porch steps while Carla followed slowly behind. You released his hand before he pulled his daughter in for a hug, watching with a large smile as he held her close, incredibly grateful for her, and her acceptance of the two of you. When she began to groan, he set her free. She turned to you, each of you nervous about how to greet each other. Finally, you settled on a quick embrace.

“It’s so nice to see you again!”

“You too! I’m so glad you’re my dad’s girlfriend.”

“Awe,” Your heart clenched at the lovely comment. “You are so sweet.”

“Did you like the flowers he sent?”

“I loved them.”

“They were my idea.” She bragged.

“I knew it couldn’t have been him. They were too thoughtful.”

“Hey!” He called sternly. “That’s not true.”

You both giggled before you cleared your throat pretending to be serious. “No, of course not.”

Beau rolled his eyes with annoyance, earning another laugh. He should have known how fast it would be before you two turned on him. This next one better be a boy! He grumbles to himself. Carla watched how quickly her daughter took a liking to you so she figured it was only fair to give you a shot.

“Carla, this is Y/N. Y/N, Carla.” Beau introduced.

She extended her hand and you gladly shook it. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You as well. I’ve heard so many great things about you.”

“Thanks,” Her eyes glanced at her ex-husband and she playfully remarked, “You’re right about his thoughtfulness. It’s terrible.”

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” He hollered.

You led them to the table to get to know one another better while he finished cooking. You both agreed to keep the baby a secret for a little while longer so you made sure not to mention it. Time flew by and before you knew it, Beau had finished grilling. The man was right, they loved you. After eating, they stayed well into the night, everyone exchanging stories and having a grand ol' time. He was grateful as he watched the most important women in his world build a bridge he should've crossed a long time ago, and he was ashamed he hadn't done it sooner.

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[lush-escape]

Pretty Boy Peter Parker

f!reader | your best friend peter is just soooo pretty. you can't help but push him nsfw - MDNI wc: 2282 a/n: this is my first smut piece after telling myself i wouldn't write any. i just can't help it when it comes to peter 🥺 i'm a firm believer that peter has curly hair - fight me about it. not proof read or edited in anyway

It was supposed to be a simple movie night with your best friend, Peter. One that had been pushed off for weeks and weeks. Thanks Spiderman. Okay, it’s not like it was really Peter’s fault that he was practically the only hero in Queens. You knew that, deep down. But still! Being bailed on was starting to get just a little bit frustrating. Only now you couldn’t focus on that. Now you had Peter all to yourself. Finally, the movie night that was long overdue. Full of old B-rated movies that he had saved from one of Aunt May’s annual spring cleanings and enough junk food to power an entire frat house.

Godzilla droned on in the background - you can’t focus with the sound not matching up or the way the Godzilla costume looks. Peter’s already chastised you twice with that cute little smile of his for giggling each time the creature faced the camera. It was just so comical, you couldn’t help yourself!

“If you don’t stop staring at me-” Peter side eyes you with a lopsided grin. He’s trying to keep his focus on the grainy movie playing on his shitty TV.

“I’m not staring.” You defend with a smile. You’re sitting sideways on his couch, worn in and comfortable and familiar. Your back is against the arm, your head laying against the back of the couch with your legs stretched out in front of you, socked feet tapping periodically against Peter’s thigh.

“You are.” He smiles wider and turns his head to look at you.

Shadows from the dark room and lighting from the movie dance across his face amplifying everything perfect about him.

“Not my fault you’re so pretty.” Slips quietly from your mouth before your brain to mouth filter kicks in. You had always thought Peter was pretty - so, so cute with his soft brown hair and big brown doe eyes, what was not to love? But those were thoughts you generally kept to yourself since he was your best friend and all. Better to have him as a friend and keep your feelings to yourself than say something stupid and lose him all together.

Right?

Peter’s smile falters for just the slightest of seconds and you’re calling yourself delusional for thinking you see the tips of his ears turn pink.

Oh this just got so awkward.

“P-pretty, huh?” Peter’s trying to act confident, cocky even, but it doesn’t land with the way he stutters. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his head to look at you.

It’s like the energy in the room takes a sudden turn.

You swallow and your tongue darts out to lick your lips, “Yeah. Pretty.” It’s too late to go back on what you said with Peter’s super hearing. It would just be even more embarrassing to deny everything no matter how badly you want to.

It’s quiet, almost painfully so, before Peter says; “I think you’re pretty too…”

Once and then twice you blink with widened eyes.

“Oh.” You respond in a whisper.

“Yeah. Oh.”

Your antsy, biting at the inside of your cheek, arms folding across your stomach, toes wiggling in your soft socks.

“What um…” *’Don’t.’* you tell yourself silently. But you’re this far, why not take it farther? Right?...

“What are you gonna do about it?” You ask softly. You see Peter’s eyebrow twitch upward and his Adam’s apple bobs. God it shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“What do you want me to do about it?” He asks just as quietly.

It’s now or never, you tell yourself. Adrenaline courses through your veins giving you the courage to tell him;

“I dunno, maybe you should kiss me about it.”

You inhale sharply, quietly, the second his hand grabs hold of your ankle. Your nervous system is thrumming from the contact. That alone, after wanting it for so long, is enough to make your stomach twist into excited knots.

“Maybe I should.” Peter’s eyes are on you, never leaving yours for a second. 

You stay quiet as his hand trails up your leg, pushing up your sweats in the process.. His thumb is rough against your knee as he rubs soft calming circles. On reflex you move your free leg to make room for him to slot himself perfectly between your pretty soft thighs. His other hand is next to your side to hold himself up. Your heart pounds painfully in your chest.

Peter’s eyes search yours silently and you can already hear the question he wants to ask but is too nervous to speak out loud. So with a resolute nod you tangle your arms around the back of his neck and tell him,

“S’okay, Peter…” in a breath. The soft exhale he lets out melts into a deliciously quiet moan when your fingers tangle into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He lets his eyes flutter half lidded before he’s looking at you again.

“Call me pretty again?” He asks softly and you feel your stomach flip in turn.

“Pretty…” You repeat the word before you give him a slight nod, “Pretty boy… Peter Parker…” Your voice is so absolutely tender that Peter is certain you’re rewiring some part of his brain.

“My pretty boy.” You say more confidently. In return he tugs on your knee, pulling you flush against him. Your face burns when you feel what the compliment has done to him.

“Your pretty boy?” He echoes in a question with wet eyes. Your heart aches at the sight, so pretty and flushed and needy above you. You nod.

Peter leans closer until the tip of his nose bumps against yours, “Yeah… ‘m your pretty boy.” He agrees before his dry lips are covering your soft ones. Your pupils dilate and your breathing stops before you’re closing your eyes.

A tingle runs down your spine, your fingers tightening in his hair sparks a fire in Peter’s belly. He inhales sharply and hums softly against your lips. You’re quick to swallow the honey sweet sound. 

Neither of you can wrap your head around the fact that this is happening, finally happening. Dancing around each other for months in fear of ruining a friendship when you could have been enjoying this the entire time? You felt a little silly in the moment but it was quickly forgotten the second Peter’s mouth turns hungry against yours. The tender, hesitant kiss is quickly turning hungry and hot. His tongue is slotting into your parted lips, warm and wet and desperate to touch and taste every inch of you. As if it was meant to be there, your leg wraps around his waist.

“Shit-” Peter whispers as he pulls away, a line of saliva still connecting the two of you together. He grinds himself against you and earns himself a sweet whine from you.

“S-sorry, sorry.. Should stop..” he pants, but that doesn’t stop him from grinding against you again. He’s in a trance, unable to stop himself.

“Don’t stop. Don’t. Please don’t stop.” You mumble through the fog that’s taken over your brain.

Peter’s sure his brain is short circuiting when he hears you beg for him to keep going. He dips his head to kiss from your jaw down to the hollow of your throat. You’re quick to follow his lead and tilt your head back. In an instant his hand moves from your knee to grab the waistband of your sweats. In his hasty attempt to pull them down Peter ends up ripping your sweats. You both stop. You let out a quiet gasp of surprise at the sudden action and Peter is cursing himself under his breath.

“God, I- I’m sorry! Sorry, super- super strength. I didn’t-” He stammers an apology. His mouth goes dry when he looks down to see your soft thighs underneath him.

“It,” you laugh softly at how pink the tips of his ears get, “It’s okay, Pete.” You look down between the two of you and see the bulge in his own sweats. You take your bottom lip between your teeth and swallow your own moan. Peter looks back at you with wide eyes and when he sees the way your pupils dilate he doesn’t hold back. With a clumsy haste he’s pulling your sweats off the rest of the way leaving you in your soft cotton underwear. The light wet spot in the center makes his cock twitch in his pants. 

He can’t handle another second not touching you. He’s quick to sit back on his knees to pull down his sweats and boxers. His swollen head is a pretty pink and already leaking with precum. Peter holds the base of his cock before rubbing his tip against your clit through your panties. His breath catches in his throat at the stain his precum leaves against the soft fabric. Little does he know he’s effectively ruining you for anyone else.

“Hah-” you gasp as he continues to rub against your sensitive bundle of nerves with his tip. “Peter, *please*,” you beg, your hips rolling forward to grind your center along his tip. You can hear him whisper a curse.

“Okay, yeah..” He mumbles before he lets go of his cock to pull your panties to the side. He lines his tip with your wet cunt, exhales once, and slowly pushes himself in.

Each inch pulls breathy moans from you. Heat pools in your lower belly. Your nerves feel like a livewire. Peter places his hand against your stomach, right beneath your belly button, and hums a moan when he applies a soft pressure.

“F-fuck… can y’feel me? *Hah*-” Peter gasps as he bottoms out, “Right there, ‘m right there.”

He’s filling you so nicely, you feel warm and fuzzy and full. 

He pulls out slowly until just his tip is left. His head hangs as he moans again. He forces his eyes to stay open to watch you take in every inch of him again when he pushes forward into you. He’s afraid he’s not going to last - that he’s going to cum with another pump and he refuses to let that happen. Peter takes in a deep breath and focuses. 

“Feels so good, Peter.” You whimper as he fills you completely. You feel like your body was made for him specifically. 

With a few more slow strokes inside of your warmth Peter finds a rhythm that’s slow and long and deep. He’s hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you that no one else has been able to reach just yet. Peter does it with ease, without trying. With each slap of skin against skin you start to feel that hot coil in your stomach grow tighter. He grips at your waist to keep you still as he fucks into you and your hands hold onto his forearms to keep yourself grounded. Each drag of his cock against your clenching walls sends you to Heaven and back. Your soul being pulled out of your body and placed back. 

“So good… god you feel so good.” Peter mumbles out loud. He moves his hand to rub his thumb against your clit. Firm slow circles send your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You want to warn him of your impending orgasm, it’s so so painfully close, but your words get lost - dying in the back of your throat. The only warning he gets is the way your back arches, the way your pussy clenches so firmly around him that his hips stutter. 

You let out a long moan that mixes with a whine as you cum around his cock, slick drips down your conjoined bodies onto the couch beneath you. The sound your cunt makes when Peter pumps into you again is obscene, makes your face warm with embarrassment, but he moans at the sound.

“Shit that was hot. Think you can do that again?” He smiles down at you and you whine with a nod.

Peter makes you cum two more times after that. He makes it seem so easy, like he’s an expert on your body already. Tears prick your eyes after your third orgasm and he moves a hand to hold onto your jaw.

“I know, ‘m almost there, ‘kay?” He promises. Your thighs ache where his hips pound into you, your cunt becoming sore from the way he continues to stretch and fill you. 

“Please, pretty…” You beg with a soft whimper. “Pretty, pretty,” you repeat as your head lolls to the side, face screwed tight in pleasure.

The praise does Peter in. Bottoming out against you he lets his orgasm wash over him with a choked moan. He lets out rope after rope of warm sticky cum inside of you. His fingers dig into your thighs as he slowly comes down from his high with bleary vision. Peter lets his cock twitch inside of you as your cunt milks him for all he has. With a heavy breath he slowly pulls out of you, his head spinning as his cum drips from your slit.

“Christ…” He whispers at the obscene sight but you whine at the loss of him. 

Slowly he leans forward until his sweaty forehead lays against your chest. With trembling hands you hold onto the back of his head, your legs sliding down his hips now that he’s no longer holding you up. The two of you lay there in silent bliss catching your breath, that god awful Godzilla playing in the background.

“So… ‘pretty boy’?” You ask in a tired voice, a playful smile on your face. You feel Peter’s cock twitch at the name.

“Shut it.” He warns halfheartedly.

taglist: @vellichor01

[ibuprofein]

plug!connie x reader

tags: angst, plug!connie, romantic tension, smoking, drug references, toxic relationship undertones, soft moments, kissing

The low, throaty rumble of a black Dodge Charger was always the first warning sign. It echoed through the parking lot like thunder before a storm. You could hear it before you saw it—before the halo of smoke trailing from his window, before his eyes met yours like they hadn’t seen anyone else all week.

Connie.

He always pulled up with one hand on the wheel, the other holding his blunt. Black hoodie, black cargo pants, black sneakers. A walking shadow, really, with that clean low fade and a tiny etched star just above his temple—a sharp design that matched the glint in his eyes when they locked on you.

You were leaning against the steps of your apartment complex, already rolling up. As if he wasn’t the one supposed to be supplying you.

“Damn,” he muttered, stepping out of the car and sizing you up. “Didn’t even wait for me.”

“You’re late,” you replied, lips curving around your own smoke. “Again.”

He smirked, that same crooked grin that always got him out of trouble. “Told you, shorty. I’m movin’ around. Gotta make plays.”

You knew what that meant—Connie always made time for the streets before he made time for you. But when he was here, it was like none of that mattered.

He slid next to you on the steps, his presence humming with heat. He smelled like weed, cologne, and midnight rides. You passed him your blunt. He took it, inhaled, and didn’t speak until the air between you was foggy with smoke.

“You look beautiful,” he said lowly, not even glancing at you, eyes staring off across the lot. “Like… fuck. I miss you.”

You said nothing, just leaned your head on his shoulder. You’d heard those words too many times before, yet they always crawled under your skin and settled somewhere soft. Maybe because when Connie said it, he sounded like he meant it.

“I miss you, too,” you whispered. And you did. Even though he dipped for days without warning. Even though you only saw him when he had a pocket full of something and an hour to kill.

He turned his head slightly, cheek brushing yours. “I mean it this time. I been thinkin’ about you, for real. I know I be distant but… that’s not ‘cause I don’t care.”

You looked up at him. “Then why?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just passed the blunt back to you, watching your lips when you pulled. You felt his hand slip under your jacket, fingers brushing your waist.

“‘Cause if I give you too much of me, I won’t get it back.”

You wanted to scream. To tell him he never even gave you enough to miss. But his voice was soft and broken, like he didn’t want to admit he was scared. Like he knew you’d always be here waiting anyway.

“I’m tryna change,” he added, eyes finally meeting yours. “I promise.”

You almost laughed. He always promised. Promised he’d come see you more. Promised he’d stop ducking your calls. Promised that one day, it wouldn’t just be stolen hours and hazy kisses.

But you didn’t laugh. You just leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, like you could draw the truth out of him that way.

His hands gripped your waist harder. He kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Like he hated that he had to go but didn’t know how to stay.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I’ll hit you later tonight,” he mumbled.

You nodded, though you knew it might be days before he called again.

He stood up, tossed the roach to the pavement, and climbed back into his Charger. The engine growled to life. You watched him disappear down the block like he always did—just taillights and empty promises in the dark.

And you knew next time you heard that engine, you’d be waiting on those steps again.

Because loving Connie Springer was a cycle.

And you were too far gone to break it.

[babyybrii]

Again

Summary: When the joint burns down, JJ still isn’t satisfied - and neither are you.

Warnings: NSFW, smoking, smut, fluff, female reader, cursing, hickies, dirty talk, fingering, groaping, dry humping, piv, unprotected sex. JJ calls you baby which is a warning in itself.

The room is lit dimly by your led lights, the pink glow casting over your faces as you and JJ pass the joint back and forth. The TV is playing some zombie show neither of you are really paying attention too, the room smells like weed and sex and the pizza you ordered earlier. JJ’s lying back shirtless, one arm behind his head while the other brings the joint to and from his lips. His eyes are a little droopy and his blinks are slow. You’re wearing his wrinkled t-shirt over your panties and nothing else, with the same tired eyes, giggling at his comments about the terrible CGI zombies on TV.

“I’m serious, baby,” he laughs, throwing his hand up mockingly after passing you the joint, which was close to burned down. “I don’t know how you watch this shit.”

You shrug, giggling again before trying to defend yourself, “It’s not that bad, trust me. It grows on you.”

JJ just smirks, muttering something about ‘taking your word for it’ as he watches you take a hit off the joint. The amber casts a warm glow across your face as you inhale, and JJ feels his breath hitch, his eyes drifting to the way your bare thighs peek out from under his shirt. His eyes catch a hickey he left there just hours ago, and his smirk widens before he reaches his arm out, grabbing the joint from your hands.

“Y’know,” he speaks, taking one more hit before pressing the cherry out against your ashtray, “I could go again, if you’re up for it.” You bite your lip, heart fluttering at the lazy confidence in his voice. He shifts over you, arms on either side of your head as he gestures you to lay back, his knee already shifting your thighs apart. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

His mouth is warm and slow, tongue sliding against yours in a lazy rhythm that makes your head spin. You taste the last drag of weed and the cheap cherry soda he’d been drinking on his breath. He brings his hand up to cup your face, and you can’t help the little sound you let out, your fingers curling around his neck to pull him closer as he deepens the kiss.

He uses his knee to push your legs even farther apart before grinding against your warmth, his fingers tightening around your jaw. You whimper again and feel him smirk against your lips before he brings his hand down, using his fingers to rub your clothed clit. He continues kissing you as his fingers circle your heat, eventually using his hands to pull your panties off.

You break the kiss, pulling away so you can use your hands to tug at his pants. He smirks, once again, teasing you with a low, “So impatient, baby.” Before helping you remove his boxers anyways. You can’t help the small grin that breaks out on your face when you feel his hardened cock against your thigh, using your hand to stroke him softly as he leans down to kiss you again.

He’s the one groaning into your mouth this time, grinding against your hand and panting softly at the friction. He pulls back slightly and his brows furrow when he realizes his shirt is still clinging to your body, using his hands to pull it up over your chest, revealing your tits. He immediately ducks his head, pressing his mouth against your breast before wrapping his lips around your hardened nipple, swirling his tongue around before pulling away with a ‘pop.’

You giggle and he grins, pressing his lips against yours in a quick kiss before murmuring, “Turn over, baby.” You oblige, turning to lay on your stomach, arching your back just a little to rub your ass against his cock. You smirk when you hear him groan, his hands rubbing your ass softly before he pushes your hips down, forcing you to lay on your stomach.

“And I’m the impatient one,” You tease as you feel him line his cock up with your entrance. He doesn’t respond, just pushes himself inside of you, arms caging you in as he begins sliding in and out of you. You moan at the feeling of him, every inch stuffing you full.

“Feel so good, baby,” He praises, speeding up and using his arms to hold you tighter against him. You whimper, feeling him everywhere. Pressed tightly against your backside, pushed all the way inside you, his groans slipping out against your neck.

His hips snap forward again, harder this time, and you cry out, hands clutching at the sheets. Each thrust drags a broken moan from your lips, the friction making your head spin.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he groans, voice rough against your ear. His hand slides down, palm splaying over your stomach, pressing you back into him. You can feel how deep he is, every inch of him splitting you open.

“Fuck—so tight, baby. You’re perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw as he rocks into you, relentless now. The heat coils low in your belly, pressure building with every stroke, and you can’t hold back the needy whimper that slips out.

“I’m close, J,” You tell him, turning your head so only half your face is pressed into the pillow. He takes the opportunity to press a kiss to your cheek, leaning his forehead against yours so he can see your face while you come for him.

“I know, baby,” He groans softly, speeding up just slightly. He keeps his pace steady, every deep thrust pushing you closer to the edge. You feel his breath fan across your cheek, hear the rough, broken sounds slipping past his lips, and your whole body tightens in anticipation.

“Please…please don’t stop,” you whisper, voice cracking on a sob as the pressure inside you finally snaps. Your walls clench around him, and he groans, dropping his head to the crook of your neck as you come.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck—just like that,” he pants, hips stuttering as you pulse around him. His hand slides up to cup your jaw, tilting your head so he can kiss you through your high, messy, desperate release.

You feel him twitch inside you, and then he’s burying himself as deep as he can, spilling into you with a hoarse groan. The heat of it only makes you shiver harder, your thighs trembling as he holds you there, pressed tight to his chest.

He doesn’t move for a moment, just lets his weight rest against your back as you both try to catch your breath. His lips brush the side of your face in a lazy, lingering kiss, face trailing up and down as he plants kisses along your back, shoulders, neck.

“I love you,” He whispers before pulling out slowly, like he can’t stand to leave the warmth of you. You both groan at the loss, your body still tingling from the high.

“I love you, more,” You whisper back and he flops down beside you, pulling you into his chest and burying his face in your hair. You trace lazy circles on his chest, he hums.

“No..I’m talking can’t-breathe-when-you’re-not-here-love, baby,” You giggle, pressing your smile into his skin.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah, but I mean it,” he says, lifting your chin to kiss you again — this one slow and deep, like a promise.

A/N: I’m sorry I know I lowkey rushed through the end but I hope yall enjoy I had sm fun writing this one!!

[idkyetxoxo]

Eight | Sacrifice | The Ruin

Pairing - Rhysand x reader (Mafia Boss Rhysand x Nurse Reader)

Word count - 2.3k

Warnings - Slight angst

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It was hard not to fall for Rhysand.

Not in the way love stories warned you about, not with soft candlelight or whispered promises or the kind of safety that was tame and easy.

No, falling for Rhysand was a slow-burning, sharp-edged thing. Like thawing after frostbite. 

It hurt. It confused. It peeled away everything I thought I already knew and made room for something... terrifyingly real.

Yes, he was possessive. He hovered. He watched the world like it was a loaded gun and he was the only one who knew how to disarm it. 

But he was also gentle in a way no one had ever been with me.

Not gentle like weakness. Gentle like restraint. Like the knowledge of power so absolute it didn't need to prove itself.

And lately... he'd used that power to make space for me. For my recovery. For my mind, bruised and stormy, to settle at its own pace. He didn't rush me. Didn't ask for more than I could give.

But he was always there.

At some point in the endless hours we spent curled in his house, wrapped in blankets and silence and questions I couldn't help but ask—I stopped being afraid of his world. I started listening.

And he never lied. Never sugarcoated the parts that would've been easier to ignore. His work was bloody. Messy. Illegal.

But it wasn't pointless. It wasn't power for power's sake.

Rhysand moved through a world built on rot, and every step he took carved out a little more room for justice. Justice not found in courts or laws but the kind that mattered. The kind that kept the worst of monsters from slipping through cracks the system would never see.

I used to think I knew what 'good' meant. What 'bad' looked like.

But now? Standing in his kitchen watching three fully grown men buzz around like anxious bees, I wasn't sure of anything except this.

Sometimes, the bad guys wear suits and smile for cameras. Sometimes, the good ones are covered in scars and blood and grief and still choose to love anyway.

Rhysand stood at the stove, barefoot in sweats and a black t-shirt, flipping eggs like it was a life-or-death operation. 

Azriel leaned silently against the counter, packing my lunch with the precision of a soldier assembling a sniper rifle. 

And Cassian—gods bless him was juggling strawberries, failing dramatically, and providing unnecessary but highly entertaining commentary.

"Is this really necessary?" I asked, tying my hair up into a loose bun as Rhysand turned and presented me with a plate like he was serving at a five-star restaurant.

His eyes swept over me, soft but still sharp at the edges. "It's your first shift back. Of course it is."

Then he bent, pressed a kiss into my hair, warm and lingering before reaching out and whacking Cassian's hand as he tried to steal an egg from my plate.

"Ow," Cassian muttered, rubbing his hand. "I'm helping."

"You're inhaling," Azriel said without even looking up.

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. It felt good to laugh again. Like air after being underwater too long.

"It's not like I'm incapable of working," I murmured, eyeing the absurdly beautiful breakfast with mild suspicion. "I'm still me."

Cassian snorted. "Sure, you—who was recently kidnapped, beaten within an inch of her life, and somehow still thinks triple shifts at a hospital are a solid recovery plan."

Rhysand's face blanched, the humour draining from his features in an instant. Azriel shot Cassian a glare sharp enough to wound.

But I just smiled. Because I was still standing and because they cared.

"I'm okay now," I said gently. "So back to saving lives."

Before Rhysand could respond, I leaned in, brushing my lips against his in a kiss that was quick but full of unspoken things. He blinked down at me, as if stunned every time I touched him like that.

And I liked it. I liked undoing him.

"I'm driving you," he said suddenly. I opened my mouth to protest and immediately lost the battle.

Because he scooped me up like a damn fairytale, muttering something about not trusting anyone else to get me there safely, and started toward the door.

"Rhys, I have legs."

"Yes, and they've been through enough," he replied, striding past Azriel and Cassian like this was the most natural thing in the world.

The drive to the hospital was quiet, peaceful, even which was saying something, considering Rhysand drove like the world would split in half usually.

He parked like he owned the curb, stepped out, and helped me down as if I hadn't walked into this building a thousand times before on my own.

I let him. I let him brush his thumb over my jaw, fingers trailing for a moment too long on my waist before he leaned in and pressed one last kiss to my lips, soft and lingering, like he didn't want to let go.

"Text me when you're off," he said.

I nodded, forcing a small smile. "I'll be fine."

And then I turned and walked through the glass doors, the fluorescent lights swallowing me whole.

Lucien found me before I even made it to the locker room.

"Manager wants to see you," he said, leaning one shoulder against the wall, expression unreadable.

My brows lifted in surprise. "Why?"

He shrugged, but there was tension in the line of his jaw. "I saw her talking to Ianthe earlier. So I'm guessing it's not good."

A sharp prickle ran down my spine. Ianthe. Of course.

She always smiled too wide, too fake. Always called me her friend but couldn't keep my name out of her mouth if it meant earning points with someone else. 

She wanted Lucien, had for years now and somehow, in the twisted logic of insecure women, that made me the enemy.

I bit down the sigh that clawed up my throat and made my way to the manager's office, my footsteps heavy and strangely hollow.

My manager sat at her desk, phone raised to her ear. She didn't look up when I entered, just raised one finger, signalling me to wait.

So I waited. Stood there in silence, heartbeat beginning to tick just a little too fast. Like I was already bracing for something I couldn't see.

She ended the call with a curt, "Thank you," and finally looked up.

Her eyes flicked over me, not unkind, but distant, clinical. Then they lingered, ever so briefly, on the bruises still faint on my collarbone, the shadow near my temple.

"We've had some concerns," she began, folding her hands neatly atop the desk. "Regarding the company you're choosing to keep. Both inside and outside of hospital grounds."

Confusion unfurled in my chest like a cold mist. "I—what do you mean?"

She tilted her head, a sort of condescension in her expression. "You're a smart girl. Young, sweet. You know exactly what I mean."

I blinked. Once. Twice. Then the implication landed, sharp and ugly. Rhysand.

"You're talking about my personal life," I said, quietly, the disbelief starting to melt into something darker.

"I'm talking about the image you project while representing this hospital," she said, voice still measured. "You've been seen with individuals who are considered... problematic. Dangerous, even. And that association raises questions. From colleagues. From patients."

My fingers curled around the strap of my bag. "So I don't get to be seen with someone because of rumours?"

Her expression didn't change. "Whether rumours or truth, perception matters. Optics matter."

"You mean he matters," I whispered, voice tight. "And you don't like the way he looks."

She leaned back slightly, as if I'd proven her point. "You've worked hard here. And we appreciate that. But we have a reputation to protect. This isn't personal."

The fury building in my chest was molten—too hot, too sharp to keep inside.

"But it is personal," I snapped. "You're punishing me for something that has nothing to do with my job. With how I care for patients. You're punishing me for who I care about."

Something flickered in her eyes, pity maybe. Or the sterile kind of regret that doesn't mean anything.

"I'm sorry," she said, almost gently. "But as of this moment, you're suspended pending review."

My heart plummeted. "What review?" I asked, voice cracking. "What does that even mean?"

She didn't answer. Her phone rang, and she picked it up like I was already gone. Dismissed. Discarded.

"I'll be in touch," she murmured between sentences and then she was waving me off, her gaze sliding to the papers on her desk like I no longer existed.

I stood there for a beat too long, staring at her like I might wake up any second.

Then I turned and left. 

No goodbye to Lucien. No pause to change out of my scrubs. I just walked. Out the hallway. Through the doors. Into the glaring light of day that suddenly felt colder than it had a minute ago.

My fingers trembled as I dialled Rhysand's number. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, willing the sobs back down into my throat.

He picked up on the second ring. "Bunny?" His voice was warm, but tight. Alert. "Everything okay?"

I couldn't speak for a second. Just breathed, just tried to not break. Then, in a voice smaller than I meant it to be, I whispered, "Suspended. Pending review."

A long pause. Sharp inhale. The sudden tension in his silence hit harder than any scream.

"What—" he began, but I cut him off.

"I gave everything to build a life on my own," I said, walking faster now, like moving would help me outrun the ache rising in my chest. "Every exam. Every shift. Every ounce of sleep I sacrificed—and now it's all falling apart."

I stopped on the sidewalk, chest heaving.

"Because of you."

There was silence. A silence that felt like gravity, like the edge of something dangerous and fragile. For a moment, I thought he'd hung up.

Then came his voice, soft and hollow. "Then hate me."

I closed my eyes, and it broke me. Because I couldn't. Not even now. "I don't," I said, voice cracking. "That's the worst part."

And I hung up.

Before I could hear his breath. Before I could change my mind. Before I could forgive him for something he never meant to do, and couldn't stop from happening.

I stood there for a long minute, the phone pressed to my chest like it might hold me together. But the weight was too much. I couldn't carry it anymore.

By the time I made it to my apartment, I was crying openly. Quietly at first, then louder—the kind of cry that comes from a place so deep you don't even know how to stop it.

And he wasn't there.

But someone was. 

Cassian. Leaning against the front door like he'd been waiting for me forever. Just him.

When he saw me, he didn't say a word. He just opened his arms and caught me like I was something precious. Like I wasn't broken glass, but something whole that just needed to be held.

He pulled me into his chest, wrapped his arms around me so tight I almost believed the world wasn't falling apart.

"He thinks he ruined you," he said quietly, his voice rough with something unspoken. "That's why he's not here himself."

I pulled back, blinking through the blur. "He's right."

Cassian wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "Then ruin him back," he said, almost gently. "He'd let you."

"I don't want to," I whispered. "That's the issue."

He nodded slowly, like he already knew. Like maybe he'd also loved once in a way that hurt like this too.

"It's not him I'm scared of anymore," I added, barely above a whisper. "It's what loving him might cost me."

Cassian's gaze softened, the usual spark in his eyes tempered with quiet understanding. "The good ones always cost the most."

I stared at the keys in my hand, at the door in front of me, and wondered what it meant to open a life again—after all the locks had been changed.

It wasn't until the quiet hours of the night that my apartment truly felt empty.

The kind of empty that had nothing to do with space and everything to do with silence. The kind of silence that hummed between your ribs like an ache that wouldn't speak out loud.

I lay curled on my couch, a blanket twisted around me, still in my scrubs though I couldn't remember when I'd kicked off my shoes. The TV was on, some mindless sitcom playing, but I hadn't heard a single word.

My phone lay on the coffee table. I stared at it like it might blink first.

I didn't pick it up. Not right away.

But after an hour of pretending I wasn't waiting for it to ring, for him to call, even though I'd ended the last call  we had—I reached for it with a sigh.

The screen lit up. No new messages. I opened our thread anyway.

His name still sat at the top. Rhys <3

Stark and elegant and sharp like the memory of his hands on my skin. Like the way he used to say "bunny" in that voice that felt like velvet over bruises.

I scrolled through dozens of messages.

Some recent, short texts about coffee orders, books, ridiculous Cassian quotes he thought I'd laugh at. Some older, like the first time he texted me. 

I could feel the press of tears at the back of my throat again.

I clicked the text box at the bottom. Let my fingers hover over the keyboard.

Me - I miss you.

Deleted it.

Me - I didn't mean it—

Deleted that, too.

Typed nothing at all, just stared at the blinking cursor like it might say it all for me.

I locked the screen and tossed the phone back onto the table, curling deeper into myself like I could hide from the truth.

I didn't call him. Not that night.

But I dreamed of him, of his voice, low and ruined. Of the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

And in the dream, he didn't say "hate me."

He said, "come home bunny."

A/n - Omg, Ianthe a villain in this? Who would have thought, right?

I promise, this is the last little sprinkle of drama before we wrap things up (we're so close now, I swear!) sometimes the story just demands it, but I truly hope it's been worth the rollercoaster!!

Also, shoutout to Rhys, Azriel and Cassian—three kinda scary overgrown bats helping get breakfast ready before a long-ass shift? Sign me up :))

Thank you for reading <3

The Ruin tag list - @queenoffeysand @sttvrdustt @wedonttalkaboutvoldemort @coeurdeveea @maltemp @sillyfreakfanparty @justtryingtosurvive02 @bosssliv5g @hyruledemigod20 @sstrohma @zoeisdreaming6 @shellsarepretty @moonlitlavenders @sherlockholmes08 @lou-diaries @acourtofbatboydreams @talesofadragon @blueeclipsepaperstudent @coffeebooksrain18 @lilah-asteria @bbontenswhhore @thisfireheart @sheblogs

[ranticore]

i'm slowly inhaling bits and pieces of your worlds when i have spare moments, and something about reading that ishmael sucked his thumb to self-soothe when he was younger made me almost tear up. it's so painfully human and childish, and that he was "strongly discouraged", but he kept sleeping with his hand near his face anyway presumably for comfort in such a bleak and uncomfortable setting, makes my heart ache

sometimes it's the closest you can get to comfort without breaking the rules :')

[taystarr]

I Never Deleted Your Number

( ⟢ ) pairings. Jungwon x fem!reader

⎯⎯ Contains. Fluff, profanity.

✿°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.->

The hard rain taps your windows, and the lighting flickers throughout your apartment. BOOM. Thunderstorms. You flip back on your back, turning up your tv volume to block the sound, or at least attempt to.

The blankets aren’t really doing much, so you get up and walk to the kitchen. Not that you’re hungry, you just wanted a reason to eat something. You look in the fridge, and spot a half eaten slice of cake from the birthday party you attended four days ago. “Yuck. The flavor was nasty anyway” you say, picking up the cake and tossing it in the trash bin.

You reach down on the counter, only to realize you didn’t bring your phone with you. “Shit. URGH” you turn on your feet and make your way towards your room, only to hear your phone vibrating hard against the bed. You make a run to the phone before the call could pass, only for your heart to drop when you look at the screen.

‘Do not Interact’ was what you put as the contact. His contact. The contact your friends told you to block but you didn’t anyways. You sighed and picked up the phone, a slightly sniffle coming from the other line.

“Y-.. y/n?” He whispers against the phone. “What, Jungwon?” You say almost instantly, your voice slightly laced with annoyance. “Can you.. stay on the phone with me? I can’t sleep, and the storms are too loud.” Fuck this. Why all of a sudden he’s calling? Cause he’s scared of some damn water and lighting?! You inhale and exhale deeply, before continuing, “fine. But when you fall asleep, I’m hanging up.”

You hear a small puff from the other line, then movement. He must’ve just gotten in bed. He’s such a damn baby. You climb into your bed, grabbing your remote to mute the tv. You put your phone on speaker, and his breathing is now echoing out your phone speaker.

His breathing becomes more relaxed, more comfortable, slower. You lay your head on the pillow, letting out a small yawn. “I should’ve have call.. but..” your eyes connect to your phone, raising an eyebrow “I missed the way you talked to me when it rained” he continued. Your heart pounds a little faster. He missed it?

“You were always a crybaby when it stared thundering. No wonder you’d call at 11pm. Even if it was.. the last thing I expected.” You say back, and he lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah. I guess.” You close your eyes, clutching the blankets over your now warm body. Even if you don’t know, it’s like you can feel him falling asleep. You can feel yourself falling for him. Again. More.

After what seems like twenty minutes, he’s fully asleep on the other line, and you smile softly. Though you said you were going to hang up, it doesn’t seem just right. You slowly began to fall asleep, your eyes drifting into a deep sleep.

Tonight, was the night you’d fall back in love with your ex, over a phone and under a thunderstorm.

[104cadetlauren]

“Any regrets, Levi?”

Levi woke up gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. His throat burned, like he had just inhaled smoke. The dream was too real. Too vivid.

This was why he never let himself look out the window when the plane took off back in Odiha. He knew it would haunt him forever. It had happened before, with Furlan, Isabel, Petra, and Erwin—and in every dream, he was powerless to save them. He couldn’t change the ending, only relive it.

So even if it tore him apart, he refused to look. He didn’t want to see Hange like that. Not burning, not falling. He wanted to remember her alive.

It was always the same dream, Hange slowly being engulfed in flames, but he can’t reach her. No matter how fast he ran, the distance between them was not closing, it only gets wider and wider and when he finally reaches her, it was already too late, the flames already engulfed her all the while asking, ‘Any regrets, Levi?’

“Fuck it.” Levi cursed at himself.

That fucking phrase, no regrets.

It was starting to feel like an excuse. Something they would say to justify the decisions they can’t undo, to live with the consequences of their decisions, even if they were the wrong ones.

But still, Levi clung to it like a prayer.

His gaze drifted to the broken pair of glasses on his bedside table, the only thing he kept there. A makeshift tomb for someone he could barely hold onto in memory. That’s when it hit him: the promise he never kept. He had promised to get her a replacement back at HQ, but he never got the chance.

It’s been a long time since he truly lived by that phrase, no regrets. Maybe he had managed to live with it, but he still had regrets. And all of them were about Hange.

Despite how he felt about her, he always chose duty because it was the right thing to do. Whenever she was injured, she left her care to others like Armin or Moblit, it was never him. He was always chasing enemies, following orders, making sure he never failed Erwin’s commands. But Hange… she momentarily dropped everything. Her duties, her principles, just to save him back in the forest when she could’ve easily walked away. And now, here he was, regretting that he couldn’t even get her a damn replacement for her glasses, when he was the one who promised.

He held the broken pair of glasses, the little tomb at his bedside.

“No regrets, right, Hange? …Then why does not choosing you feel like the one thing I’ll never forgive myself for?”

With that, Levi was condemned to another restless, hollow night, his mind trapped in a cycle of regrets that refused to let him rest.

——- Author’s note: I felt so attacked when I saw this artwork by @niwow-s. It was so moving. I immediately imagined Levi’s pain, and I just couldn’t handle it. I need some catharsis! Hange never questioned any of Levi’s decisions, not even during the serum bowl. So seeing Hange slowly engulfed by flames, asking Levi if he has any regrets… the feels. Anyways, thanks again @niwow-s for giving me something to write about. Really loved your art!

Lastly, this ficlet/ flashfic is also posted on my AO3 Account under the title : The Lies We Tell

[sweetonsin]

- where he found me -

A DBF! Joel Miller x f!reader oc fanfic. NO OUTBREAK AU!

CW: SMUT, PARENT LOSS, ALCOHOL USE, MILD LANGUAGE.

WC: 3.1k

note: two chapters because the last was super short :,) love u!

CHAPTER EIGHT: ALL OF YOU

The silence stretched longer than you expected.

Days passed.

Joel didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t come around.

You told yourself you were grateful for it—that maybe he was finally getting the hint. That maybe distance would make everything easier. Simpler.

But it didn’t feel like relief.

It felt like something dying slowly inside your chest.

You sat in the kitchen with your dad most mornings, picking at toast and sipping bitter coffee you didn’t finish. He still mentioned Joel here and there—casual, like always.

“Think he’s been working a lot. Said Sarah’s got some school stuff going on.”

You’d nod like it didn’t hurt. Like you hadn’t been checking your phone at night just to see if he was thinking of you.

You tried to move forward. Tried to go out again, force yourself into clothes that didn’t feel like armor and paint your face with something close to confidence. There was a guy at the bar who bought you a drink. Asked if you wanted to talk.

You left halfway through his sentence.

The emptiness inside you has teeth now. It gnaws at your ribs, sharp and constant.

That night, lying awake at three a.m., you scrolled through old texts like an idiot. Staring at the thread between you and Joel. The way he used to say your name. The way he used to say goodnight.

You hated yourself for missing it.

You told yourself you were the one who ended it. That you’d made the right choice.

But when you drove by his house—just once, just to see—the right choice didn’t feel right at all.

There was a woman there.

Outside with Sarah, laughing, groceries in her arms, like she belonged. Like she was part of that little world you were never supposed to be part of in the first place.

You parked two streets down and stared at your steering wheel until your throat burned.

He moved on.

You told him to.

You asked him to.

So why did it feel like drowning?

You drank that night. Harder than you meant to. Alone this time.

You put on one of your mom’s old records.

The first verse played and you started crying before the chorus hit.

Not soft tears. Not romantic, tragic movie tears.

You broke open.

All of it came out—the grief you’d swallowed for months, the shame, the guilt, the bone-deep ache of wanting someone who wasn’t yours. Who was never supposed to be yours.

You cried so hard you forgot what started it.

Joel?

Your mom?

Yourself?

When the sobs finally eased, your throat was raw and your eyes felt carved out.

You stared at the ceiling, tears drying into salt.

The house is still.

Quiet in that way that makes your ears ring.

You’re curled on your side, phone buzzing weakly in your palm. Your head’s foggy from the half bottle of wine you didn’t mean to finish. You know you should sleep. You know you shouldn’t do this.

But your fingers move anyway.

You tap his name.

That same thread of messages from weeks ago.

The one you swore you’d never touch again.

You stare at the blinking cursor like it might stop you. Like it might be a sign.

It isn’t.

You start typing.

Is she your girlfriend?

Backspace.

That woman. At your house.

Backspace again.

You inhale shakily, the alcohol buzzing beneath your skin, your stomach tight.

Then—

Is she why you don’t come around anymore?

Send.

Your heart stutters.

No response.

You stare.

And stare.

And then:

I saw her with Sarah. She looked… happy.

Pause.

Then you add:

You did too.

Still no answer.

Your vision is swimming now. You close your eyes. The shame will come later. Right now, all you want is the truth. Or maybe you want him to say something that will make you feel again—anything but this numb, twisted ache in your chest.

So you type again. One last message:

You can fuck me up all you want, Joel. But don’t lie to me. Please.

You’re half-asleep when your phone buzzes again—loud in the silence. Your eyes snap open, heart lurching in your chest.

You fumble for it, your screen too bright, your fingers too clumsy.

Incoming call: Joel

You blink at it.

Stare.

He’s calling you.

Not texting. Not ignoring. Not pretending nothing happened.

Calling.

You hesitate.

Then swipe to answer.

“…Hello?”

Your voice is barely a whisper, thick with vodka and sleep and regret.

There’s a pause on the other end. Just breath.

Then his voice—rough and low. Tight.

“You drunk?”

You blink again, swallowing. “Maybe.”

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding it in. “Jesus, Delilah.”

You sit up in bed, clutching the phone tighter. “Sorry,” you murmur. “I shouldn’t have texted. Just—forget it.”

“No.” His voice cuts through fast, firmer now. “You don’t get to send me shit like that and then tell me to forget it.”

Your stomach flips. “I just… I saw her. With Sarah. And I thought…”

“What? That I replaced you?” He lets out a dry, bitter sound—half laugh, half something else. “She’s my cousin, Delilah. She came by to drop off groceries. Sarah hadn’t seen her in months.”

Your lips part. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he snaps. “Oh.”

Silence.

Your head spins. Guilt and heat curl low in your chest.

“I thought you were happy,” you whisper.

Joel doesn’t answer for a moment.

Then quietly, like he’s admitting something to himself more than to you:

“I haven’t been happy since you stopped looking at me like I meant something.”

Your breath catches.

“Joel…”

“I shouldn’t be calling you. Your dad’s asleep down the hall. You’re drunk. I know this ain’t smart.” He pauses. “But I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“I know. But I mean it.”

Another beat of silence.

“I know you do,” he murmurs. “That’s the fucked up part.”

You press the phone tighter to your ear, wishing he were here. Wishing everything was simpler. Wishing you weren’t the one who broke everything and still wanted him like this.

“I miss you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t say it back.

But he doesn’t hang up either.

He just breathes. Quiet. Heavy.

And stays on the line.

You don’t speak for a while.

Just lie there with the phone pressed to your cheek, letting his silence hold you like it always does—strong, steady, warm enough to make your throat ache.

When he finally speaks, his voice is different.

Not angry.

Not soft.

Just… tired.

“Delilah,” he says, slow, careful, “you gotta decide what you want.”

The words settle heavy in your chest.

“I can’t keep getting ripped outta your life every time you get scared.”

You close your eyes, shame crawling across your skin. “I know.”

“I mean it,” he goes on, and you can tell this isn’t rehearsed. It’s just pouring out. “I ain’t mad at you, baby. Not for the drunk texts. Not for showin’ up yellin’ on my porch. Hell, I deserved half of it. But this—” he sighs, low and deep, “—this halfway shit’s killin’ me.”

Your breath catches at the pet name. At the truth in his voice.

“I need to know,” he says, quieter now, like he’s afraid of the answer. “If you want me. If you want this. I won’t ask again.”

The vodka in your bloodstream makes everything slow, a little too raw. You swallow hard.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know,” he replies. “So am I.”

Your lip trembles. “Joel…”

“I’m not doin’ this over the phone, Lila..,” he says. “Not when you’re drunk and I can’t look you in the eyes.”

You nod like he can see you.

“I wanna see you. Tomorrow.” His voice lowers, softer but no less firm. “Clear-headed. Just us. No sneakin’, no lies. You say the word, I’ll be there.”

You don’t answer right away.

Your stomach’s in knots. Your brain foggy.

But your heart—your stupid, traitorous heart—knows exactly what it wants.

“I’ll text you,” you whisper.

Joel is quiet for a moment. Then—

“I hope you do.”

And he hangs up.

You’re left in the dark, phone still warm in your palm, heart beating so loud it drowns everything else out.

You don’t sleep much after that.

———

The sun is too bright.

It slices across your face like a punishment, and for a moment you’re sure your skull has cracked right down the middle.

You groan, turning your head into the pillow, breath shallow and sour. Every part of you aches. And not from the wine.

Memories flash in fragments—your fingers fumbling over your phone, Joel’s voice in your ear, that low and steady “You gotta decide what you want.”

You sit up slowly, blinking at the daylight like it’s an accusation.

The bottle of alcohol is still on your floor. Half-drained. Your phone, face-down on the nightstand, stares back at you like a silent dare.

You stretch, muscles stiff, then drag yourself to the bathroom and run the coldest water you can manage.

You splash your face. Twice. Three times.

Then you lean over the sink, gripping the sides like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“I have to stop doing this,” you whisper.

To yourself. To the ghost of him. To the ache still blooming in your chest.

You take two Advil with a gulp of tap water, then go back to your room and sit on the edge of your bed, phone in hand. The screen feels heavier than it should.

You open the messages.

You scroll past last night’s drunken confessions and shaky words.

And then, heart pounding in your throat, you type:

I’m sorry. I want to see you.

Send.

Simple. Bare.

But maybe that’s what this needs now.

The text bubbles disappear.

Seconds later, your phone buzzes.

Joel:

You free in an hour?

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering.

Yeah. I’ll come to you.

He replies instantly:

Okay.

That’s it.

 No teasing. No pressure.

Just okay.

You toss the phone on the bed and head to your closet.

You try to make yourself look like you slept. Like you didn’t spend the whole night staring at the ceiling with tears drying on your cheeks. You brush your hair. Apply a little mascara to hide the tired around your eyes. Pull on a sundress—neutral, soft, something that makes you feel almost normal.

You stare at your reflection a moment too long.

Then you grab your phone and head out the door.

You take the long way.

Just a few extra steps down the drive, past the hydrangeas your dad refuses to trim and the cracks in the sidewalk like the ones you used to trip over as a kid back in Georgia. Your sandals make soft noises against the concrete, heartbeat louder in your ears than anything else.

The air is warm already, thick with the promise of another too-hot day in Austin. But there’s a breeze that catches your dress and reminds you—this isn’t the end of the world. Just a porch. Just a man.

Just Joel.

He’s already there when you round the corner—

Sitting in a chair on the porch with a mug in his hand, flannel sleeves rolled to the elbows even in the heat. His hair’s a mess. The kind of mess you know from fingers tugging, not sleep.

He looks up when he hears your footsteps.

Doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

Your stomach flips.

It’s a normal morning. He looks like a man just enjoying the quiet before the day starts. But you know better. That stillness in his shoulders, that tension in his jaw—it’s for you.

“Coffee?” he offers.

You shake your head. “No. I—” Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. “I’m okay.”

He nods, sets the mug down beside him. Then gestures with his chin. “Come sit.”

You do.

Slowly. Carefully. Like if you move too fast, you’ll unravel.

You sit next to him but not too close. Not yet.

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of cicadas and wind. And the quiet ache between you.

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of cicadas and wind. And the quiet ache between you.

“I didn’t mean to text you last night,” you say softly. “I just… I don’t know what I was trying to prove.”

Joel shakes his head once. “You were hurt. And drunk. I wasn’t mad.”

You glance over at him. “I meant what I said, though.”

“I know,” he says, eyes still fixed on the street ahead. “But I need you to figure it out, Delilah. ‘Cause if you don’t… I can’t keep doing this halfway.”

You nod slowly. “That’s fair.”

Joel’s quiet for a long time. Then, so softly it almost disappears in the breeze:

“I’m not askin’ you to be sure about everything. But be sure about me.”

You swallow hard, breath caught in your throat.

“I’m trying,” you whisper.

Joel turns his head, eyes meeting yours.

And it’s not anger there. Or even hurt.

It’s hope.

Quiet. Barely there. But it’s enough.

He gives the smallest nod, and that’s all either of you needs—for now.

“C’mon,” Joel says, pushing himself up from the porch with a soft grunt. “Let’s go inside.”

You hesitate, but he’s already holding the door open for you.

You cross the threshold slowly, the familiar creak under your sandals making your chest tighten. You’ve been here before—but not like this. 

The air is cool inside. Smells like old wood and coffee grounds and something distinctly him—cedar and warmth, the kind of scent that lingers in bedsheets and shirts long after he’s gone.

He leaves the door cracked, walking toward the kitchen, giving you space. “You want water? Somethin’ to eat?”

“No, I’m okay,” you murmur, eyes already drifting across the room.

It’s quiet. Lived-in. A little messy, but not in a bad way. Shoes kicked off by the back door. A flannel tossed over the arm of the couch. And the mantle—lined with things you never noticed before.

You step closer.

There’s a picture of him and a young girl—Sarah, you assume—smiling wide with two ice cream cones in their hands. Her hair’s pulled back in a braid, Joel’s got a sunburn across his nose. It’s the kind of photo that aches just to look at. Happy. Real.

Next to it, an older photograph—two younger men, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Joel and another guy. A brother, maybe? The resemblance is strong. There’s laughter frozen in the frame, even if their smiles look tired.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring. Something presses heavy behind your ribs.

You didn’t see this house when he pulled you into his lap in the truck that night. Didn’t notice the photographs on the walls when he had your back arched off his sheets.

This is his life.

He’s lived a whole one.

You feel him before you hear him, the soft thud of boots on the rug behind you. He stops a few feet away, not touching, just watching.

“I didn’t think you’d ever really look,” he says quietly.

You turn a little, eyes flicking to his. “I didn’t let myself.”

Joel nods once, jaw flexing like he’s biting down a dozen things he wants to say. “You weren’t part of all that,” he murmurs. “Not then.”

Your fingers twitch at your side.

“But you’re here now.”

The words hang heavy. Real.

You blink. “Joel…”

He steps forward just enough to close the gap, his voice low, soft like the morning sun bleeding through the blinds. “You don’t gotta say anything yet. I just wanted you to see it. All of it. Not just the parts I show you in the dark.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until his fingers gently brush a tear from your cheek.

You don’t flinch.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself look at him fully.

This man. This house. This life you keep pretending you can walk away from.

It’s all right here.

And it’s waiting.

You sit down on the worn edge of his couch, hands clenched in your lap like you’re bracing for something—though you couldn’t say what. Joel stands near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching you like he’s not sure whether to move closer or give you space to breathe.

The silence stretches.

You break it.

“I’m not… good at this,” you say finally, voice hoarse. “At—” your hands flutter, vague and uncertain “—feeling things. Letting people see the real stuff. Letting myself feel it.”

Joel doesn’t interrupt.

“I thought I’d be okay by now. It’s been almost a year since my Mom…” You pause, throat catching. “And I thought moving here, being with my Dad, starting fresh—whatever the hell that means—was gonna help me get over it. Over her. Over the guilt.”

He still doesn’t move.

“I’m confusing,” you admit, bitter, quiet. “I make bad choices. I hurt people. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, Joel, and when you—when we—started… I didn’t think it was anything. I didn’t let myself think.”

You finally look up.

He’s closer now. Not touching. Just near enough that his warmth feels like a question.

“But then it was something,” you whisper. “You became the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t falling apart. Like there was solid ground under me again.”

Joel’s brow furrows, but he says nothing.

And so you go on.

“I know I’ve been selfish. I know I’ve sent mixed signals and pushed you away and ran straight into things just to prove I didn’t care.” You shake your head, eyes stinging. “But I do. I do care. I want to stop pretending like I don’t.”

He watches you, gaze unreadable. Something flickering behind his eyes like fire behind glass.

“I want this,” you say finally. “Whatever this is. I want to know you. Not just the parts that come out in the dark, not just the way you touch me. I want to know about Sarah. Your brother. What you were like at my age. What scares you. What makes you laugh. I want all of it, Joel.”

Your voice cracks. “I want you.”

The silence that follows is thick, electric.

He takes one slow step forward. Then another.

Then he crouches in front of you.

“You sure?” he asks quietly.

You nod, eyes glassy. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Joel exhales through his nose like he’s been holding that breath for days.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He just sits there a moment longer, studying your face like it’s the first time he’s been allowed to. Then finally—

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Then let’s take it slow this time.”

[stellargh0ul]

I know there is a lot of feral/creature Perpetua stuff on your blog but holy fuck after today's "Bark at the moon"... THE WAY HE HOWLED THAT MAN IS HALF A VAMPIRE AND HALF A WEREWOLF (I need him carnally). I need more puppyplay Perpetua or maybe mix of both??? Werewolf Perpetua puppyplay??? 👀

this... isn't quite puppyplay.

-

you slip down the stairs with a platter in your arms and his name on your lips. you’re unsure if he’ll be able to answer you; the moon is high in the sky, after all, and he’d begged you to chain him up in the basement for the evening.

unsure of what you’ll find when you enter the room, you set the platter of meat down on the floor by the door and knock softly at the wood in front of you.

you’re answered by a growl, something low and guttural. hesitant now, just in case he’d somehow escaped the bonds you’d locked him in, you creak the door open and peer into the room.

Perpetua is crouched in the corner, his hackles raised as the door moves. large eyes follow you as you move gingerly into the room, your own watching for the chains around his ankles and wrists that will keep him from lashing out at you.

“Papa?”

his nose pokes into the air and he takes a large inhale, scenting you. you hold still, letting him realize who it was in front of him. when his gaze settles on you again, you think there’s a little bit of recognition behind those eyes.

you hope there is, anyway. it’s hard to think about the fact that your partner might have forgotten you in the face of the transformation that has overtaken him.

his face is elongated into a snout, fangs poking out over his bottom lip. there’s fur over every part of him, shreds of fabric on the floor telling you what had become of his clothes the moment he changed into the beast in front of you.

his legs are bent in odd directions and you have trouble telling his front legs from his back for a moment as you stare at the creature in front of you.

“I brought you something to eat,” you say when you’re done looking him over, turning to grab the platter of raw meat that you’d brought with you. you bring it into the room, watching his pupils grow huge as they settle on what you’re holding in your arms.

unwilling to risk drawing closer to Perpetua in that state, you set the tray down on the floor and slide it over to him.

there’s a creak, and then a groan as he stretches towards the platter, which has landed just slightly outside of the range the chains allow him. before you can correct the issue, he yanks hard on the metal fixtures in the wall.

they come free with a screech of metal and a burst of concrete dust. you scream, certain you’re about to be devoured, no matter how much recognition you’d thought you’d seen in his gaze.

he barrels across the small space towards you and before you can even think about what you’re doing, you scream out a single phrase.

the only thing that you think might save you in the moment.

“sit, boy!”

Perpetua’s back legs hit the ground.

[mid-youth-crisiss]

after watching tog1 back in 2020, i remember being on tumblr back then and there were barely any andromaquynh related posts. there were barely any gifsets i could repost here. don’t get me wrong there were gifsets about nicky joe etc but andromaquynh? we were living in crumbs.

we thrived out of our own overanalyzations and theories about what happened and what could happen for tog2 for andy and quynh. especially that they were just about to release the newest version of the tog comic book by greg rucka.

there was once a theory about andy’s dragon shirt in one of the first scenes of the film. but i can’t remember what the context was. ((if anyone can remember this theory, pls tell me. i wanna read it again!))

anyway, i guess the reason why im rambling is because i wanna welcome those who just came in to this fandom. special mention to those who are now just finding about the immortal wives aka andromaquynh. it’s an absolute hellhole down here but it’s going to be fun! we love angst! if youre an ao3 writer, please don’t hold back on the angst! i will inhale all your fanfictions like air. keep them coming!