#the way Ice said perched like that

[nade2308]

Ice, smitten with Mav since day one: Play it cool, like you are not waiting for him, now perch like a peacock. Subtle, right?

P.S. Not subtle at all

@thethistlegirl

[calypso-rt]

5 LIL' THINGS

Rafe does as your bf...

-> Rafe x F!Reader

intro

There were a lot of things people said about Rafe Cameron.

Most of them weren��t nice.

Words like reckless, selfish, and volatile were tossed around with such regularity you’d think they were stitched into his DNA.

And maybe some of that was true. He could be a pain in the ass, even on a good day. But then there were the other things.

The things no one talked about.

Like how he’d tilt his head just slightly when he was pretending not to care but actually cared more than he’d ever admit. Or how he’d mutter something sarcastic to cover up the fact that his eyes softened whenever he looked at you. The kind of things that didn’t make headlines but stayed tucked away in stolen moments and quiet gestures.

Because Rafe Cameron wasn’t a perfect boyfriend. But if you paid attention, he was so much better than perfect.

He was Rafe.

And sometimes, that meant big, messy declarations of love. But most of the time? It was the little things. The ones that slipped through the cracks but left their mark anyway. The kind of things you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.

1 | Midnight Runs for Ice Cream

It started as an offhand comment. You were sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, mumbling something about how a bowl of chocolate ice cream would fix everything wrong with the world. You didn’t expect Rafe to hear it, let alone act on it.

But twenty minutes later, he was pulling up in his truck, headlights slicing through the darkness outside your window.

“Get in,” he called, leaning out of the driver’s side with his trademark smirk. His hair was messy like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his hoodie hung loosely on his frame, but there was something about the way he looked at you: like he’d move mountains just because you said you were craving dessert.

You didn’t need convincing.

In the car, it took all of five minutes for an argument to break out over toppings.

“Hot fudge is the only acceptable option,” you insisted, crossing your arms dramatically.

Rafe scoffed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Please. Caramel’s where it’s at. You just don’t have taste.”

“Oh, I have taste,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “You’re the one with the palate of a toddler.”

He glanced over, his smirk widening. “Toddler, huh? That’s bold coming from someone who’s about to order sprinkles.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. “And don’t even bother denying it. I already know exactly what you’re getting.”

The audacity.

“You don’t know me, Cameron.”

“Sure I do.” His voice was low, teasing. “Chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, and a mountain of sprinkles.”

And, annoyingly, he was right.

By the time you got back to your place, the ice cream was already melting, but neither of you cared. You leaned against the counter, savoring each bite like it was heaven in a cup. Meanwhile, Rafe stayed perched a few feet away, one hip propped against the edge, arms crossed casually.

He wasn’t eating anything. He never did. But his eyes lingered on you, soft and warm in a way that felt unguarded, like the weight of the world didn’t matter for a little while.

“Why are you staring?” you asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not,” he muttered, looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin.

But he was.

And even though he’d deny it later, you knew that Rafe loved these moments.

Just you, the quiet, and the faint hum of the world outside.

2 | Personal Handyman

It was a lazy afternoon when you casually mentioned the faucet in the kitchen was leaking again. You didn’t think much of it. It was a small problem, something you’d fix when you got around to it. It wasn’t worth stressing over.

But apparently, Rafe thought otherwise.

You were in the living room when you heard the sound of his truck pulling up outside. A moment later, there was a knock at the door, followed by the familiar voice of Rafe Cameron calling your name, low and a little rough.

When you opened the door, he was standing there, toolbox in hand, looking like he’d just walked off a worksite.

“Uh… what are you doing here?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fixing your sink,” he said matter-of-factly, brushing past you and making his way to the kitchen without waiting for permission.

“Rafe, I didn’t-”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. “You mentioned it. I’ll take care of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he just acted, like it was no big deal. But you knew better.

Rafe wasn’t exactly Handy Manny. But for some reason, when it came to you, he’d drop whatever he was doing and show up, ready to tackle whatever needed fixing.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as he knelt down by the sink, inspecting the faucet like he actually knew what he was doing. It was kind of endearing, watching him concentrate.

He grumbled to himself, clearly getting frustrated as he fumbled with the wrench. “This thing’s not going in right…”

You couldn’t resist. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

He shot you a glare over his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

It took him a bit longer than expected, a few more muttered curses under his breath, but eventually, the leak stopped. He leaned back, wiping his hands on a rag, a proud look on his face.

“Done,” he said, standing up and brushing the dust off his jeans.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I didn’t think you were the handyman type.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, smirking, wiping his hands one last time. “But I’ll do it for you.”

It wasn’t the words that made your heart skip a beat, it was the sincerity behind them. Because Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy who did things for anyone else. But for you?

Anything.

3 | The Protector

The bonfire crackled, flames dancing in the cool evening air, throwing long shadows across the beach as the sound of waves crashed softly in the background.

Everyone was spread out in small groups, drinks in hand, laughing, talking, and basking in the glow of the fire. It was one of those nights where everyone felt a little too wild, a little too free, but you felt calm. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Except... Rafe had been watching you.

Not in the creepy, overbearing way, but in the subtle, Rafe kind of way. He was always nearby, his eyes scanning the crowd, just making sure no one got too close. He made sure you had a drink in your hand, not too much, just enough so you didn’t have to worry about someone else trying to buy you one.

He had a sixth sense for noticing when someone came too close to your space, his jaw tightening just slightly as he made his way over to draw you into a conversation, his hand resting at the small of your back like a silent warning to anyone who might have been eyeing you.

“Got everything you need?” he’d ask, his voice low and steady, as he plopped down next to you.

You grinned, giving him an exaggerated wink. “Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for being my personal bodyguard tonight.”

His lips quirked up at the corner, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I’m always looking out for you." The words felt like more than just an empty promise. They were a truth, simple but intense in the way only Rafe could be.

As the night stretched on, the bonfire began to fade. The crackling wood sounded more like a whisper now, the heat slipping away into the cool night air. You were just about to get up to grab more firewood when you felt a familiar weight settle over your shoulders.

Rafe’s hoodie. You didn’t even have to ask.

You didn’t even notice he’d stood up, not until he returned, draping the fabric over you in one smooth motion. “Don’t want you getting cold,” he muttered, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a second too long, like he was debating whether he should say more. But then he was back to his spot, his eyes scanning the beach again, always on alert, always looking out for you.

"Thanks," you murmured, pulling the hoodie tighter around your frame, the faint scent of his cologne making you smile.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice low, but it was the kind of ‘anytime’ that meant forever.

And that’s exactly how it felt. Forever.

4 | Has Your Back

It was supposed to be a simple night out.

A few drinks, some laughs, the usual. Dinner at a local spot with Rafe and his friends, the kind of casual evening that would slip by unnoticed in the grand scheme of things. But then, Ruthie opened her mouth.

"Honestly," she started, swirling her drink around nonchalantly, "I don't get it. How'd someone like Rafe end up with you?"

The words stung, and you could feel your cheeks flush. Ruthie had that uncanny ability to hit below the belt without even trying. You shot her a sharp look, about to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s demeanor shifted.

One moment he was laughing, holding court with the guys, the next he was leaning in with an icy calmness that made the air around him tighten. His hand shot out, resting protectively on the back of your chair, his body angling just enough to block Ruthie’s view of you.

"Watch it, Ruth," he said, his voice low, but there was an edge to it. "You might wanna take that back before you piss me off."

You could feel his gaze, intense and unwavering, but there was something else behind it. A playful edge that suggested he wasn’t taking Ruthie’s words too seriously, just looking out for you. You swallowed the heat that had risen in your chest, deciding to hold your ground and respond on your own terms.

"I'm not some charity case, Ruth," you shot back, keeping your tone even but firm. "If you’ve got a problem, maybe we can talk about it later."

Rafe’s lips twitched into a barely there smile as he let you handle it. He wasn’t going to fight your battles for you, but the way he hovered, close enough to let everyone know he was ready if things escalated, was enough to settle the tension.

"And just so you know," Rafe added, looking directly at Ruthie with a mockingly sweet tone, "you can keep your thoughts to yourself. I like her just the way she is."

There was a beat of silence, and Ruthie’s eyes narrowed, but she backed off, giving you a pointed look before taking another sip of her drink.

The night resumed, but you could feel Rafe's hand on your back as he leaned into you, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze.

Later, as you and Rafe walked out of the restaurant, he nudged you with a softer grin. "You handled Ruthie pretty well," he said, his voice a little quieter than usual. "Impressive."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sincerity. "You think so?"

Rafe nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah. She can be a lot, but you didn't back down. I respect that."

You smiled, feeling a warmth you weren’t expecting. "Thanks, Rafe."

He pulled you a little closer, his arm around your shoulders. "Anytime. I’ve got your back." And in that moment, it was clear.

His admiration for you was genuine, and he'd always be there, quietly protective in his own way.

5 | More Than Words

After a long, draining day, you stumbled through the front door, exhaustion weighing heavily on you. The world felt too loud, too overwhelming, and you just wanted to escape for a while.

To your surprise, Rafe was already on the couch, his laptop resting in his lap as he looked up at you, eyes softening the second he saw how tired you were.

Without a word, he set the laptop aside, his usual cocky demeanor gone. He just knew.

He didn’t ask what was wrong.

He didn’t need to.

Moving toward you, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto the couch, guiding you gently between his legs, holding you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. His hand softly brushed through your hair, the quiet comfort of his touch calming the chaos of your mind. He didn’t need to say anything; his presence was enough.

"Hey," his voice was quiet, soft against your ear. "I know today was tough."

You nodded, leaning your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just held you, grounding you with his steady presence. His fingers found yours, the simple act of holding your hand more meaningful than any words could be.

In the silence, you realized something: with all the messiness inside him, all the brokenness he carried, Rafe knew how to find peace in moments like this.

And in this small, quiet space, you found it too.

Wrapped in his arms, the weight of the world seemed a little less heavy.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

[ha-rinrin]

Torn Between Fire and Ice

summary: In a world divided between Piltover’s rules and Zaun’s chaos, a forbidden connection grows.

wordcount: 9.7k

pairing: Jinx x fem!reader (Caitlyn’s little sister)

warning: smut

sequel

masterlist

Zaun always felt different at night. The sharp edges of the day softened, and the endless noise dulled to a hum. Neon lights flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow over the worn buildings. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your way through the familiar alley, anticipation buzzing in your chest.

Jinx had been waiting for you, perched atop a stack of crates, her legs swinging idly. When she spotted you, that wild grin spread across her face, but it wasn’t the mischievous one she wore when she was causing chaos—it was the softer one, reserved just for you.

“Hey, troublemaker,” you teased as you approached, your heart lifting at the sight of her.

She hopped down from the crates with ease, her electric-blue hair catching the light as she landed in front of you. “Says the girl sneaking down here in the dead of night,” she shot back, her grin widening. “Pretty sure you’re the troublemaker.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your face. “Maybe. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Jinx’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the reckless, wild girl you knew faded away, replaced by someone softer, someone who let you see the side of her that no one else did.

She took your hand, tugging you gently toward her little hideaway—a tucked-away rooftop with a perfect view of the city below. It was your secret spot, away from the dangers of the Undercity and the watchful eyes of Piltover. Up here, it felt like it was just the two of you, like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

You sat together on the ledge, your legs dangling over the edge as the city stretched out beneath you. The hum of Zaun echoed in the distance, but here, in this moment, it was quiet. Peaceful. For a while, neither of you said anything, content to be wrapped up in the stillness of the night, just the two of you.

But the peace you felt was fragile. The thoughts you had been pushing away slowly bubbled back to the surface.

“I’ve been thinking about Caitlyn.” you said softly, breaking the silence.

At the mention of her name, Jinx’s playful demeanor faltered. Her eyes flickered with something sharper, a flicker of unease. She knew exactly who Caitlyn was—Piltover’s top Enforcer, the one person who could ruin everything for both of you.

Jinx’s legs stopped swinging, her carefree smile fading slightly at the name. She looked over at you, eyes cautious. “What about her?”

You sighed. It was hard to even say it out loud, but the more time you spent with Jinx, the more the worry grew. “I’m afraid she’ll find out… about us.”

Jinx shifted, standing up from the ledge and running a hand through her electric-blue hair. She crossed her arms, her expression tightening. “So what if she does? You think she’s gonna march down here and drag you back?”

“No, it’s not just that,” you replied, standing as well. “She’s been keeping an eye on me, asking questions. If she catches on… I’m worried she’ll see you as a threat.”

Jinx snorted, a sharp, bitter sound. “She already does.” She turned away from you, pacing a little. “To her, I’m just some dangerous criminal. A problem that needs solving.”

The words hung in the air between you. You couldn’t deny the truth in them, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “It’s not that simple, Jinx. She’s doing her job, but I’m scared of what she’ll do if she knows we’re together.”

Jinx stopped pacing, her fists clenching at her sides. “What, you think she’s gonna throw me in jail? Put a bullet in my head?”

“Jinx…” The thought of something happening to her made your chest tighten. “I don’t know what she’d do. She’s determined, and once she’s on a mission…”

Jinx’s jaw tensed, her eyes flashing with that wild energy she tried so hard to contain. “Let her come. I’m not afraid of her.”

You stepped forward, grabbing her hand, holding tight. “I don’t want you two fighting. I don’t want this to end in some kind of showdown.”

Her eyes softened at your touch, though the tension still crackled under her skin. “Then what do we do? You gonna stop seeing me?”

The question hung heavy between you, but you shook your head firmly. “No. I’m not giving you up.”

Jinx’s grip on your hand tightened, her voice lowering. “Good. Because I’m not letting anyone take you away. Not her. Not Piltover. No one.”

You rested your forehead against hers, the warmth of her hand grounding you. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “We’ll make it work. No one else matters, not when it’s just us.”

The world outside, with all its dangers and complications, felt far away as you stood there together, holding onto each other in the quiet of the night.

Jinx lingered in your embrace, the tension in her body gradually easing as your fingers brushed against hers. For a moment, it was as if everything beyond this rooftop didn’t exist. The weight of the world fell away, leaving just the two of you, hidden from prying eyes and the chaos that always seemed to follow Jinx.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, her fingers gently tracing a path up your arm. “You’re too good for me, you know that?” she whispered, a hint of vulnerability seeping into her voice.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Sure it is,” Jinx teased, but there was a flicker of something else beneath the surface—doubt, maybe. Fear. “You’re the shiny one, always doing the right thing, while I…” She trailed off, glancing out at the city below, her lips pulling into a crooked smirk. “I blow stuff up.”

“Hey.” You gently turned her face back toward you, your thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re not just that, Jinx. Not to me.”

She blinked, her eyes searching yours as if she was trying to figure out how you could possibly believe that. “You’re crazy, you know that?” she muttered, but the small smile she gave you was filled with affection.

“Maybe I am,” you teased back, your voice soft. “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

Her grip on your hand tightened, and she leaned in, resting her head on your shoulder. “It’s just… what if we can’t keep this a secret forever?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “I know you want to, but… I don’t know what’s gonna happen if Piltover finds out.”

You could feel the uncertainty weighing on her, and it mirrored your own fears. There was a delicate balance between the life you had in Piltover and the dangerous world Jinx lived in. The fear of losing her, of something going wrong, gnawed at you constantly.

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around her. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Jinx was silent for a moment, and then she let out a small sigh, melting further into your embrace. “You’re always so calm about everything,” she muttered. “I don’t get it.”

You laughed lightly, your fingers gently running through her blue strands. “I’m not as calm as you think.”

“Yeah, sure,” she grumbled, though you could hear the hint of amusement in her voice. She leaned back, looking at you with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go.”

“You better not,” you replied, grinning.

Jinx pressed her forehead against yours again, her breath warm against your lips as she whispered, “You’re mine, and I don’t care what anyone says.”

The intensity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and before you could respond, her lips were on yours, soft yet filled with a fierce determination. You kissed her back, savoring the way her arms tightened around you as if she was holding onto you for dear life.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were softer, the wild edge gone for the moment. “Let’s stay here a little longer,” she murmured, leaning back into you.

You nodded, content to stay wrapped up in her warmth for as long as you could. The night stretched out before you, and while the world below was filled with danger and uncertainty, here, in this little bubble of peace, it felt like nothing could touch you.

For now, that was enough

You made your way back to the Kiramman mansion, the weight of the conversation with Jinx still lingering in your chest. As you entered the grand entrance hall, the silence felt almost suffocating. You had hoped to get back to your room undetected, to process everything in peace, but fate had other plans.

Before you could make it halfway up the staircase, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. You froze, already knowing who it was. Caitlyn.

“Where have you been?” Her voice was calm, but there was a certain edge to it, like a blade hidden in soft velvet.

You turned around to face her, trying to mask the nervousness rising in your chest. “Just out for a walk,” you said, your voice casual but your heart pounding in your ears.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “A walk, huh? In the middle of the night?”

You shrugged, attempting to brush it off, but she wasn’t letting it go. Her piercing eyes studied you closely, searching for any hint of something she couldn’t quite place. “You’ve been acting... different lately,” she said slowly. “And I’m not blind. You’re slipping away.”

Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t expected Caitlyn to catch on so quickly. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Caitlyn took a step closer, eyes narrowing as she studied you. “You’ve been... distracted. You’re leaving the house at odd hours, and I know you’re not just wandering the city aimlessly.” Her voice dropped into something softer but no less serious. “What’s going on? You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

You shifted uncomfortably, heart racing in your chest. The last thing you wanted was for her to find out about Jinx. “It’s nothing. Just... personal stuff.”

Caitlyn didn’t buy it. “Personal stuff? You can’t even tell me what’s going on? We’re sisters, you know. You don’t have to keep everything from me.”

You felt the pressure mounting, your mind scrambling for the right words. “It’s... it’s complicated, Caitlyn. You wouldn’t understand.”

Her eyes flickered with frustration, but she held herself back. “I don’t want to understand, I just want you to be honest with me. I’m worried about you.” Her voice softened, though the concern was still evident. “If you’re getting involved in something dangerous, I want to know.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. She was so close to the truth, and it terrified you. “I’m not getting involved in anything dangerous, okay?” you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’m just... trying to figure things out.”

Caitlyn’s gaze lingered on you, searching for the cracks in your facade. You could see the doubt in her eyes, but she didn’t push further. “Alright. But if something happens, you’ll tell me, right?”

You nodded, trying to force a reassuring smile. “I promise.”

The tension in the air didn’t entirely dissipate, but Caitlyn seemed to accept your answer, for now. “Fine. Just... be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you said softly, but in the back of your mind, a fear gnawed at you. The more you kept lying, the closer you were to everything unraveling.

As Caitlyn turned and walked away, you exhaled a shaky breath. You knew you couldn’t keep this secret for much longer, but for now, you’d do anything to protect Jinx from Caitlyn’s prying eyes.

You had just left your room, wanting a moment of space from the constant buzzing in your mind. The house was quieter than usual, the echoes of footsteps from other rooms distant in the silence of the night. You made your way down the hallway toward the staircase when you heard voices coming from Caitlyn’s room, low and urgent.

You stopped, instinctively pressing yourself against the wall, straining to listen. It was clear that Caitlyn and Vi, her girlfriend, were in the middle of something serious.

“You can’t keep doing this, Cait,” Vi’s voice carried through the door, rough around the edges. “Pushing her, I mean. You’re just gonna drive her away.”

You shifted slightly, heart starting to thud in your chest as you pressed your ear closer to the door, trying to hear more clearly.

“I can’t just sit back and watch her self-destruct, Vi!” Caitlyn's voice cracked with frustration, more vulnerable than you'd heard in a while. “Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, she pulls away, and I don’t know why. I can’t stand seeing her spiral like this.”

Vi’s response was softer, more measured. “I know, but you're doing more harm than good. You’re her sister, Cait. She needs you, but she also needs space. And right now? She’s not gonna give you that if she feels cornered.”

There was a pause, and you heard the shuffle of movement from inside. You couldn’t help but picture Caitlyn pacing, her worry turning into a tangled mess.

“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.” Caitlyn’s voice softened, the raw emotion in it a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. “She’s been hiding something. I can feel it. She’s been sneaking around, and I don’t think it’s just the usual trouble. What if she’s involved in something… dangerous? What if she’s already in over her head?”

Vi sighed. “Maybe she’s involved in something, but don’t jump to conclusions, Cait. You don’t know the whole story. It’s not always as simple as we think it is. We can’t protect her by controlling everything she does.”

You swallowed, hearing the panic creeping into Caitlyn's voice. “I know. But if I can just get through to her, if I can get her to open up—”

“Then you need to back off, Cait. She’s not gonna open up if you keep trying to pry everything out of her.” Vi’s voice was steady, offering the kind of grounding Caitlyn probably needed right now. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready, but only if she feels safe. You have to let her make the choice.”

There was another pause. You could almost hear Caitlyn's thoughts racing. Her silence spoke volumes, and you knew she was struggling, torn between her protective instincts and her desire to respect your space.

“You know how stubborn she is,” Caitlyn finally murmured, her voice quieter now, almost defeated. “She won’t let me help her. I just… I can’t lose her, Vi.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Caitlyn's fear wasn’t just for your safety—it was for her own place in your life. You felt that pang in your chest, a mixture of guilt and affection. She loved you. But could she ever accept everything about you? Could she accept Jinx?

“I get it,” Vi said, her voice softening as well. “But you can’t fix her by forcing her to change. If she feels like you’re pushing her into something she’s not ready for, she’s just gonna shut you out.”

The silence that followed felt heavy. You swallowed hard, barely breathing, afraid that any noise you made might give you away. You wanted to open the door, to step into the room and end this conversation before it spiraled further. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let Caitlyn know everything just yet. Not until you figured it out yourself.

Finally, Caitlyn spoke again, her voice barely a whisper. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of her words making it harder to breathe. You knew she cared. But how could she ever understand? How could she accept what you’d gotten yourself tangled up in? How could she accept Jinx?

You turned away from the door, your heart pounding, and slowly made your way back down the hallway. Caitlyn’s words and Vi’s advice buzzed in your ears, a quiet reminder that no matter how much you wanted to protect your sister from the truth, the truth was already starting to slip through the cracks.

You sat on your bed, staring at the ceiling, the stillness of the mansion pressing in on you. 

That’s when you heard it—the softest sound, almost imperceptible. The window creaked open.

Before you could even turn, she was there.

Jinx, perched on the windowsill, her wild blue hair framing her face in the soft moonlight. She looked like a storm waiting to happen, electric energy crackling around her even in the stillness. She didn’t announce herself, didn’t need to—just slid in as if she owned the night.

Without a second thought, you shot to your feet and rushed over to her.

"Toots," she greeted you with a wicked grin, her eyes twinkling. "Miss me?"

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t need to. You just grabbed her, pulling her into a tight hug, burying your face in her shoulder as if she was the only thing that could make the world feel okay again.

She didn’t mind, of course."Whoa there" she murmured, her voice low. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in even closer, her hands rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles. 

Your eyes widened for a moment, but you quickly glanced toward the door. Caitlyn’s room was only a few doors down. If she heard any noise, if she woke up… panic flooded your chest.

Jinx noticed the shift in your expression, her lips curling into a smirk. “What’s up, toots?” she whispered, voice playful yet low. She didn’t need to say more—her eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous energy. “Scared she’ll hear us?”

You quickly nodded toward Caitlyn’s room. “She’s close… what if—what if she wakes up?”

Jinx tilted her head, the playful smirk still tugging at her lips. “She’s got her own thing, don’t worry. She won’t come barging in.”

You tried to calm yourself, but the dread still gnawed at you. Caitlyn was so close, and you couldn’t help but imagine her walking in, seeing you and Jinx, and everything unraveling. Your stomach churned at the thought.

Sensing the tension in your body, Jinx didn’t wait for an invitation. She crawled into bed dragging you beside her, her lithe body pressing up against yours as she wrapped her arms around you. She nestled into you, her cheek against yours as she whispered in your ear, her voice low and soothing, “Relax, toots. It’s just you and me. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her embrace. Her scent was comforting, her touch grounding. The fear of Caitlyn hearing you slowly began to fade as Jinx’s presence filled the space. She could make the whole world seem small, as if it was just the two of you in that moment.

Jinx’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. She pressed a soft kiss to your temple and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not gonna lose me, promise.”

You felt your muscles relax under her touch, the weight of the world, and Caitlyn’s potential judgment, slipping away for just a moment. “Promise?” you murmured, still clinging to her.

Jinx hummed in contentment, her fingers softly stroking your back. “Promise.” Her voice was almost playful, but there was something deeper in it—a quiet certainty. “Now stop worrying, toots. You’re stuck with me.”

You buried your face against her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her in return. For now, nothing mattered except the warmth of her body next to yours, the steady rise and fall of her breath. 

Caitlyn’s room, the mansion’s walls, the fear—they all seemed a distant thing.

With Jinx here, you were safe. And in this moment, it was just the two of you

You woke up to the warmth of the bed, but the space beside you was cold. You blinked, groggy from sleep, and glanced around. No sign of Jinx.

For a moment, panic gripped your chest. Had she left without waking you? But then your eyes landed on the small piece of paper folded neatly on your pillow, the edges crinkled with the telltale signs of Jinx’s handwriting.

You picked it up, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. It was so her—scrawled across the paper in jagged, playful lettering:

"Hey, toots. Had to bail. Big plans. But I’ll be back. Promise. You can’t get rid of me that easily. Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You read it over a few more times, your heart warming. But there was no time to linger. You had to get going. Jinx was already off doing her thing, and you had a million reasons to meet her at her hideout.

Just as you were about to step into the hallway, Caitlyn appeared. Her eyes caught yours, sharp and calculating.

"Going somewhere?" Her tone was casual, but you could hear the underlying suspicion in her voice.

You froze, unable to hide the tension in your body. "Just going for a walk," you muttered, but you could hear the lie hanging in the air.

Her gaze narrowed, clearly not buying it. "At this hour? Why are you disappearing. Avoiding me. What's really going on with you?"

A rush of frustration surged through you. You weren’t in the mood for this. Not now. "I’m fine," you shot back, your voice sharp. "I just need some space, Cait."

But Caitlyn wasn’t letting you off the hook. She stepped closer, her arms crossing over her chest. "Space? You’re acting like you’ve got something to hide. What is it? You’ve been distant, constantly avoiding me. Are you in some kind of gang or what?"

You could feel your chest tightening with every word she spoke. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. 

"I told you. I’m fine," you snapped, the words coming out with more bite than you intended.

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with something hurt and frustrated. "No, you’re not fine! I know you, okay? You’ve been acting strange. Something’s wrong, and I’m not just gonna sit here and pretend it isn’t!"

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the anger starting to boil over. "You don’t get it, Caitlyn!" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "You don’t understand! I don’t need you to control me, okay? I can take care of myself."

Caitlyn's eyes widened, her jaw tightening. "I’m not trying to control you!" she shouted, her voice cracking with frustration. "I’m trying to help you! But if you keep pushing me away, how am I supposed to help?"

The argument was spiraling out of control, each word cutting deeper than the last. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat, a hot surge of anger making everything feel suffocating. You were done with this.

"Stop!" you yelled, voice shaking with emotion. "I don’t need you to fix everything! I just... I just need to do this on my own!"

You turned, fists clenched at your sides, not even sparing Caitlyn another glance. You were done. The tension, the secrets, the constant pressure—it was all too much.

Before she could say anything else, you marched toward the front door. Caitlyn’s voice rang out behind you, frantic. "Wait! Where are you going? We’re not done talking about this!"

But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t listen to any more of her concerns. You couldn’t deal with her seeing you fall apart when you were so sure of one thing—Jinx was the only one who made sense to you. Jinx was the only one who understood.

You threw open the front door, not even bothering to look back as you stormed out. You didn’t care about the mansion, or the mansion’s rules, or Caitlyn's feelings right now. You needed space. You needed to find Jinx

The familiar creak of the door echoed through the hideout as you entered, your eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering lights. The place was as chaotic as ever—broken tech scattered around, wires crisscrossing like webs—but it felt like home, wild and untamed, just like her.

And there she was.

Jinx. She was perched on the edge of an overturned crate, blue hair glowing faintly in the dim light, eyes immediately locking onto you. Her grin was a mix of mischief and something deeper, something that made your chest tighten. She was trouble, always had been, but damn if it didn’t feel like you needed that trouble right now.

"Miss me, toots?" she asked, her voice dripping with playful confidence, as if she already knew the answer.

You barely heard the question. Without thinking, you crossed the room in quick, purposeful steps, the weight of everything outside—the argument with Caitlyn, the constant stress of trying to keep everything in balance—bearing down on you like a hundred-pound weight. All of it was exhausting. All of it was too much.

But Jinx?

Jinx was different.

She was already in front of you before you even realized it, her hands grabbing you by the waist and pulling you toward her with such force it made your breath hitch.

“You’re looking all wound up, toots. What’s got you so strung out?” she teased, her lips brushing against your ear. “Is it Caitlyn?” Her voice dropped lower, a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “She doesn’t get it, does she? Doesn’t get you. Doesn’t get us.”

You froze for a second, but Jinx didn’t give you time to think. She was relentless, pulling you in closer, her body pressing against yours like she was trying to erase every ounce of tension. “Don’t worry about her,” she whispered, her fingers trailing along the hem of your shirt, lifting it up just enough to send a ripple of warmth through your skin. “That’s all behind us now.”

You inhaled sharply, the proximity to her sending your mind spinning. You needed this. Needed her. The thought of Caitlyn, of everything you’d left behind, seemed so far away in this moment. It wasn’t about Caitlyn anymore. It was about Jinx. 

Without a word, you pulled her closer, your arms winding around her, your face pressing into the wild, untamed mass of blue hair. “I’m so tired of all the drama,” you murmured against her, your fingers finding their way to the back of her neck. “I just want to forget about it all.”

Her hands slid down your sides, her touch featherlight at first, teasing. “Then forget,” she whispered, lips brushing against your ear. “I’m done with all that outside bullshit. No more stress, no more worries. It’s just you and me, toots. Let me take care of you.”

Your breath caught at the intensity of her words, and before you knew it, her lips were on yours. The kiss was soft at first, almost sweet, like she was savoring the moment. But the longer it lasted, the more it deepened, turning into something more desperate, more urgent. Her hands roamed, pushing you back against the nearest crate as she pinned you with her body, her touch sending sparks of heat straight to your core.

“You need to relax, toots,” she murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “And I’m really good at making you forget everything.”

You didn’t hesitate this time, your hands slipping into her hair, pulling her back into you. She made the stress of Caitlyn and everything else vanish, just like that. All that mattered was her.

Jinx pulled you toward the couch getting on top of you, her fingers grazing under your clothes with a slow, teasing touch. She was in control now. She always had been, but tonight, it was like she was finally pushing all of your worries aside. She leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck as her hands slid lower, finding the sensitive spots she knew would make you melt.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “You deserve this. No more bullshit. Just me. Just us.”

It felt like the world outside didn’t exist anymore. No more Caitlyn. No more stress. Just Jinx, her hands, her lips, her body against yours, making everything else fade away.

The room was thick with the heat of your shared space, the world outside slipping away like a distant memory. The only thing that mattered, the only thing you could focus on, was Jinx—her lips, her hands, the way she made you feel as if nothing else existed.

Her hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing against your skin with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. Her fingers circled your nipples, pinching them under your bra. She was being playful, teasing, as if she knew exactly what it would take to undo you. And god, it was working. Every touch sent waves of warmth radiating through your body.

You moaned softly, your head tipping back as her lips kissed a trail down your neck. The sound of her voice, low and mischievous, echoed in your mind, but all you could do was hold onto her, feeling her pull you closer, needing her in a way that was raw and unfiltered.

“Relax, toots,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You don’t need to think. Just feel.”

She tugged at your shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion before her hands were back on you, tracing the curve of your back and waist, sending shivers down your spine.

You ran your hands down her arms, pulling her even closer, feeling the press of her body against yours. You needed this, needed her, more than you could put into words. The tension you’d been holding onto—everything from Caitlyn’s confrontation to the constant weight of your own responsibilities—melted away with every kiss, every caress.

“You’re mine tonight,” she muttered, her voice a mixture of mischief and desire. She pulled away just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with promise. “No more drama. No more distractions. Just us.”

The intensity of her gaze made your heart race. Her lips found yours again, harder now, more urgent, as if she couldn’t wait another second. And you didn’t want her to. You wanted this. You wanted her.

Her hands moved faster now, working quickly to undress you. The fabric was quickly discarded, and her fingertips grazed over every inch of exposed skin as she kissed you deeply. You could feel her pulse racing under her fingertips, the way her body reacted to you just as much as yours did to her.

When she pulled back for a moment, panting lightly, she let her fingers trail down your body, stopping just above your waistband. “Tell me you want this,” she whispered, her voice thick with need. “Tell me you want me.”

You gasped at the intensity in her voice, your hands moving to her waist to pull her closer again. “I want you,” you breathed, the words feeling almost too simple for what was building between you two. “I need you, Jinx. Don’t stop.”

Her grin grew wider at that, the playful spark in her eyes never fading. She leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no holding back. The kiss was all heat and hunger, the kind of kiss that made you forget everything except the electric connection between you.

Jinx’s hands were on you again, moving with purpose. She kissed you harder, more desperate. “That’s right,” she murmured, her lips never leaving your skin. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

And you did. You let go of everything—the stress, the drama, the fight. All you cared about was her, the way she made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. The way she made you forget everything that wasn’t this moment.

She kissed her way down your body, her lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin as she made her way to the waistband of your pants. You could feel the anticipation building inside you, the need for her becoming unbearable.

Her fingers dipped lower, pushing the waistband of your pants down along with your underwear, and you gasped as the cool air hit your skin. The contrast between the warmth of her hands and the sudden chill made every nerve in your body stand at attention.

Her smirk deepened as she leaned down, eyes dark with mischief and something much more primal. With a quick motion, she slid her hand down your body, her fingertips grazing over your sensitive skin. You barely had time to react before she thrust her fingers in you, quick and confident, making you gasp in surprise.

"Just relax, toots," she murmured, her lips brushing against your clit as her smirk never wavered. "I’m gonna make you feel good."

The sudden intrusion was sharp, but there was something about the way she moved that had you melting into her touch, your body arching up to meet her. Every nerve seemed to be on fire as she worked you, teasing you just enough to leave you begging for more. Her smirk told you everything you needed to know—this was her moment, and you were hers.

She set a rhythm, slow at first, watching you closely as you squirmed beneath her, unable to hide the way her touch unraveled you. She leaned down to kiss you right were you needed her, tongue sliding against your clit, you moaned, the feeling making you see stars. 

“You like that, don’t you?” she breathed against your clit, her pace picking up, more urgent now. “I could do this all night.”

You moaned, breathless from the sensation, your hands gripping her hair, needing her closer. "Don’t stop," you whispered, voice trembling.

And she didn’t. Jinx’s fingers worked with a relentless intensity, thrusting deeper, faster, at the same time her tongue was restless, sucking, flicking, you name her smirk only grew more wicked the louder you moaned. She knew what she was doing. She knew the effect she had on you. And God, you were desperate for it. For her.

The intensity of Jinx’s movements made your heart race, each shift of her body pushing you closer to the edge. She knew exactly what she was doing—her touch was confident, assured, like she was claiming something that was already hers.

You could feel her smirk against your skin, the way her lips curved into that playful, dangerous smile that made everything about her feel like a rush of adrenaline. Every flick of her tongue and every thrust of her fingers pushed you closer to the edge, but it wasn’t just the pleasure that had you unraveling. 

And then, it happened. Jinx’s fingers found just the right spot inside you, pressing in deep with a precision that stole the breath from your lungs. The way she touched you—exactly where you needed it—made your entire body jerk in response, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

It was as if the world narrowed down to that one spot, to the feeling of her fingers curling inside, hitting a place that made your legs tremble and your pulse spike. The pleasure was overwhelming, pulling you under in a way that left you breathless and dizzy, your body reacting to her touch with instinctive urgency. She felt you shudder, the way your walls tightened around her fingers, and her smirk only grew, that mischievous gleam in her eyes darkening with each desperate movement.

“Found your sweet spot, huh?” she purred, her voice low, thick with satisfaction. She didn’t stop, her fingers continuing to work you with an expert rhythm, knowing exactly how to draw out every inch of pleasure.

Her eyes never left yours, studying the way your body responded, the way you melted against her. “Don’t try to hide it,” she whispered, her fingers pressing harder, deeper, hitting that same spot again and again, pushing you closer to the edge.

Your head tipped back, a soft moan escaping you as she coaxed the pleasure from you with relentless skill. You could feel yourself coming undone, everything inside you tightening as she took you to the brink. The pressure was unbearable, but it was the good kind—the kind you couldn’t pull away from even if you wanted to.

Jinx’s fingers never slowed, working you with a steady, practiced rhythm that had you gasping for air. Every time she pressed deeper, hitting that perfect spot, your body reacted like it was on fire. It was almost too much, but you couldn’t pull away. Not when she was giving you this—showing you just how much control she had over every part of you.

Her smirk didn’t fade. In fact, it seemed to grow with every reaction she got from you. The way you shuddered, the way you clenched around her, it only made her want to push further, to make you unravel completely.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice a velvet whisper against your skin as her lips pressed against your neck. "Can’t even breathe, huh? You’re mine. Don’t forget that."

You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue. The words tangled in your throat, choked out by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Every movement of her fingers, every flick of her tongue,every suck on your clit, was a blow to your restraint. You were quickly losing yourself in her touch, the pleasure swirling inside you, coiling tighter with every second.

Her lips found your clit again, deep and urgent making out with it, as if she couldn’t get enough of you. She was everywhere—her scent, her touch, the feel of her pressing against you, pushing you further into the abyss of heat and desire.

"Do you feel that?" she breathed against your pussy, her fingers circling inside you with a teasing slowness, making you whimper in frustration. "You like the way I touch you, don’t you?"

Her voice was a low, seductive whisper, just close enough to drive you wild but not close enough to keep you from chasing after her. She had you completely under her spell, and you could feel it in the way your body reacted to her every move, every subtle shift.

The tension inside you was unbearable now. You were so close. You couldn’t stop the desperate need that was rising inside you, the way your body craved release, craving her touch more than anything else.

"Jinx..." you gasped, your hands gripping her hair as you tried to ground yourself, to hold on. But it was slipping away—slipping fast, and you didn’t want to stop it.

She responded with a deep, almost growling laugh, her fingers never stopping their relentless pace. 

You needed her, wanted her in a way that went beyond what you thought you were capable of. Her words, her touch, everything about her was pulling you under, breaking down every barrier, every thought that stood between you and the release you so desperately needed.

With a final thrust of her fingers, a quick flick of her tongue, she pushed you over the edge. It hit you like a tidal wave, crashing through every part of you. Your whole body trembled, your back arched off the bed as the pleasure flooded you in waves, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

Jinx’s smirk softened, her fingers slowing as she kissed you in the lips, this time tender, soothing. “Told you I’d take care of you,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with satisfaction.

You couldn’t respond immediately, still reeling from the intensity of it all, but the weight of her presence, her hands gently caressing your body, made everything feel right. She wasn’t just a force of chaos in your life—she was the storm and the calm, all in one.

"You’re perfect," she murmured, pulling you close and letting you rest against her chest, both of you still tangled in the aftermath.

The room was quiet now, except for the sound of your breaths coming back to normal. You didn’t need to say anything else—Jinx had always known exactly what you needed, when you needed it.

And you both lay there in the aftermath, bodies entwined, feeling the warmth of each other’s presence, the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The room was still as Jinx pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that contrasted the wildness of the moment. She kissed the top of your head gently, her lips lingering there as she breathed you in, as if memorizing the feel of you in her arms.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice softer now, the playful edge gone. "You okay?"

You nodded against her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart under your cheek. Her skin was warm, her touch soothing as she ran her fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp gently. It was grounding, calming, the contrast to everything that had come before.

"You were incredible," she added, her voice full of admiration, her thumb brushing along your jawline. "I mean it. You’re... amazing."

You looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and smiled softly, still trying to catch your breath. "You too," you murmured, your voice hoarse but sincere. "You never fail to impress me "

Her lips curved into a small smile, her eyes softened as she kissed your forehead, her touch tender as it lingered on your skin. “Good,” she whispered, her voice low but full of warmth. “Just... don’t forget that you’re mine. You hear me?”

You could hear the need in her voice, the way she craved that reassurance, and you knew it wasn’t just about the physical. She wanted to know you were here, with her, for her.

"I’m yours," you whispered back, your hand resting on her chest, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

Jinx’s expression softened, and she pulled you closer, curling her body around yours as if she never wanted to let go. The room grew quieter, filled only with the sound of your shared breaths, the soft hum of connection. She was still holding you tightly, but there was a gentleness now, a peace in the way she held you as if she were making sure you were okay, that you felt safe.

"You did so good," she murmured again, pressing a light kiss to your lips. "Just... rest, yeah? I’m here."

You closed your eyes, the weight of everything melting away in her embrace. There was no need for words now. Just the warmth of her body next to yours, the calm after the storm, and the quiet knowing that you were both in this together.

And for a while, nothing else mattered

The mansion felt empty, the stillness wrapping around you as you stepped through the door. The fire crackled in the corner, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Caitlyn and Vi sat in the living room, both tense, eyes fixed on you as you walked in. Vi didn’t speak, but her presence was enough—silent support, waiting for Caitlyn to take charge.

As soon as Caitlyn saw you, her eyes narrowed, and she stood up. “Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was sharp, more demanding than concerned.

You let out a short breath, avoiding eye contact. “Out,” you muttered, shrugging off your jacket, your pulse already picking up. You didn’t need this right now.

“Out?” Caitlyn's voice rose, frustration building. “You’ve been vanishing for days. Coming back late at night, like everything’s normal. What’s going on?”

You stared at her for a long moment, your chest tightening. You weren’t ready to explain, not like this. “What’s going on?” You laughed, though it was harsh, bitter. “You don’t know anything. You don’t have any idea what’s really happening.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with disbelief, taking a step forward. “Then why don’t you enlighten me? Because right now, it looks like you’ve lost your damn mind. Running around, hiding away—what is this?”

You could feel your temper rising, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Cait. You don’t get to tell me how to live my life.”

Her expression darkened, her fists clenching at her sides. “I don’t need to tell you, but I’m damn well going to ask,” she snapped. “Because this—this is not you. You’re acting like you don’t care, like it doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna sit back and watch you destroy yourself without asking why.”

“I’m not destroying anything,” you shot back, your voice low but intense. “I’m protecting what matters. You don’t understand any of it.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath, trying to rein herself in, but her frustration was palpable. “Protecting what, exactly? Yourself? You think running away from everyone, shutting people out, is gonna fix anything? That’s not how it works.”

You felt the heat rising in your veins, every word coming out faster, more defensive. “You think I don’t know that? You think I want to be like this?” You paced, the anger seeping through every step. “I’m doing what I need to do. You have no idea what’s at stake.”

“Then make me understand,” Caitlyn demanded, her voice quieter now, though it carried an edge of urgency. “Because right now, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m worried about you. You’re shutting everyone out, and I don’t know if I can just stand by and let you destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying anything,” you repeated, the words feeling heavy, almost too much to say aloud. “You don’t get to dictate what I do, Cait. Not now, not ever.”

The room seemed to grow colder, tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. Vi shifted on the couch, but she didn’t say anything—just waiting, silent but present.

You could feel Caitlyn’s gaze on you, her concern still there, but you didn’t want it. Not now. “I don’t need your help,” you muttered, your voice cold. “I don’t need anyone’s help. So just... back off.”

There was a long silence between you, Caitlyn’s eyes searching yours for any sign of the person she used to know. But you were too far gone, too protective of your own choices, your own reasons. You didn’t owe her an explanation. You didn’t owe anyone one.

Without saying another word, you turned toward the stairs, brushing past Caitlyn and Vi without a second glance. You didn’t care if they understood. You didn’t care if they were pissed.

You were done trying to explain yourself to them. of making up lies and poor excuses.

It was the day after the fight, and everything still felt like it was on the edge of breaking. You could still hear Caitlyn’s words echoing in your head, the hurt in her voice cutting through you like a knife. The argument had been brutal—words thrown like weapons, accusations you couldn't escape. You didn’t want to confront Caitlyn. Hell, you didn’t even want to deal with any of it, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized you were being pulled in two directions. One part of you was holding onto what was familiar—what was safe. The other part was ready to burn it all down just to feel something real.

That something real was Jinx.

You'd spent the night restless, your thoughts a whirlwind of guilt, frustration, and the constant pull toward the chaos she brought. So here you were now, slipping through the winding alleys of Zaun, where the grime and industrial decay hid you from the world. 

You'd barely registered how you ended up here—at the alleyway where Jinx always seemed to show up at the right moment. The dim glow of a flickering neon sign illuminated the darkness ahead, and you knew she was there. Jinx’s world didn’t follow rules. Everything she did was messy, raw, and chaotic, but that was where you wanted to be right now.

You turned the corner, your pulse racing. And there she was, hanging upside down from a rusty fire escape, laughing to herself as she spun around, her wild blue hair catching the light like a comet streaking across the night. She looked alive—reckless, untamed—and the sight made something inside you settle, as if you’d found your anchor in the madness.

When she saw you, her eyes lit up like fireworks. “You came!” she squealed, flipping down from the fire escape and immediately running toward you. She didn’t stop when she reached you—she wrapped her arms around you in a tight, playful hug, her body pressing against yours as if she couldn’t wait to be close.

“Of course I did,” you replied, smiling softly as you hugged her back. It was a relief to feel her warmth, her energy. “You okay?”

Jinx pulled back just enough to look at you, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Me? I’m okay, just like most of the time. But you…” She tilted her head, her fingers brushing against your arm. “You look like you’ve been thinking too much again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing in your chest. “Maybe a little.”

“Then stop thinking,” she said, voice soft yet playful, her eyes searching yours. “Let me fix that.”

Before you could say anything else, Jinx leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was gentle at first, almost hesitant—like she was testing the waters, giving you a moment of comfort. Her lips moved slowly, sweetly, as her hand cupped the side of your face, her thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

Your heart fluttered at the softness, the way she was taking her time, and for a moment, it was just you and her, wrapped in something sweet and simple. But then, as if a switch had flipped, the sweetness gave way to something deeper.

Jinx’s fingers tightened slightly on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss grew hungrier, more intense. You responded without thinking, parting your lips as her tongue slid against yours, coaxing you into a messier, wilder dance. The fire in her kiss ignited something inside you, something raw and reckless that matched the chaos she brought into your life.

You let out a breathless laugh against her mouth, and Jinx took it as an invitation, deepening the kiss with a mischievous grin. Her hands tangled in your hair as she pulled you even closer, her kiss growing more insistent, more passionate. It was as if the world around you had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in this whirlwind of heat and desire.

Jinx’s hands found your waist again, her fingers digging in as she pressed her body tighter against yours. Her lips parted, coaxing yours open as her tongue teased you in a way that was both playful and intense. Every inch of you seemed to burn where she touched, where she kissed, and all the tension from before melted away into this one moment of pure chaos and need.

You responded in kind, your hands tracing the curve of her back, pulling her against you until there was no space left between your bodies. She let out a soft sigh, pressing you into the wall beside her as she kissed you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

It felt like everything outside of this moment didn’t matter. The guilt, the confusion, Caitlyn’s hurt—nothing compared to the way Jinx made you feel. Alive. Wanted. Like you could forget everything else and just exist in this space with her.

But then the harsh sound of footsteps interrupted the perfect storm of chaos you’d created.

"What the hell is this?"

Caitlyn.

Jinx stood still for a moment, taking in Caitlyn’s reaction before a slow smirk spread across her face. “Well, well, if it isn’t big sis,” she purred, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. “Guess the cat’s outta the bag now, huh?”

“Cait…” you started, stepping away from Jinx, but the damage was already done.

Caitlyn’s gaze flickered between you and Jinx, her face a mix of disbelief and anger. “Is this what you’ve been sneaking off to Zaun for? To be with her?” she spat, her voice full of accusation. “You know what she is, what she does, and you still—"

“Whoa, hold up,” Jinx interrupted, taking a casual step forward, placing herself between you and Caitlyn. “Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not like she’s committed some huge crime—unless kissing me and having sex with me is suddenly illegal.” Her grin widened, her eyes sparkling with mischievous glee. 

Caitlyn’s face contorted with fury as she shot a cold look at Jinx. “You think this is a joke, don’t you?” she snapped. “You’re a ticking time bomb, Jinx. A dangerous, reckless maniac with nothing but destruction in your wake. She’s nothing but another one of your toys to break.”

The words hit like a knife. Jinx froze, the grin dropping from her face as Caitlyn’s harsh accusations settled between you all.

Your heart clenched at the sight of the hurt that flickered across Jinx’s features, even though she tried to hide it. You couldn’t let it go on. “Cait, stop!” you interrupted, stepping forward, your voice stronger now as you positioned yourself beside Jinx. “She’s not your enemy.”

Caitlyn’s eyes darted toward you, disbelief mixing with the anger. “She’s using you! Can’t you see it? She’ll destroy you like she destroys everything she touches.”

“I love her,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through Caitlyn’s accusations.

Caitlyn blinked, her eyes searching yours for something—anything that could explain why you were making this choice. But there was nothing. Her gaze hardened, turning cold. “You love her?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt, rage, and heartbreak.

“I do,” you said firmly, not backing down.

For a moment, Caitlyn stood frozen, processing the words, the weight of them sinking in. Then, her lips curled into a bitter, angry sneer. “You’re choosing her over me? After everything I’ve done for you?” She shook her head, disbelieving. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms, unfazed by the venom in Caitlyn’s tone. “ Jinx stepped forward again, a little of her old spark returning. “Oh, come on. You don’t own her, Caitlyn. She’s here because she wants to be.”

Caitlyn's jaw clenched. "You're dangerous. You're going to get her killed. She deserves better than you."

Jinx’s grin twisted into something darker, her gaze not leaving Caitlyn’s. “She’s with me because she wants to be, I didn’t drag her here kicking and screaming,” she said, each word punctuated with a dangerous edge. “And if you think you can just waltz in and control her, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Caitlyn’s anger burned in her eyes, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something else—fear, maybe, or desperation. But then, Caitlyn took a step back, her face contorting with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “If you think I’m going to just stand by and watch you drag her down with you,” she spat, “you’re wrong.”

Her voice dropped, the edge of it becoming cold and hard. “I’ll make sure the Enforcers know what you’ve done. I’ll see you locked away in Stillwater before I let you drag my sister down with you”. The threat landed with a chilling weight. Jinx didn’t flinch, but her expression shifted. There was no hesitation in her eyes. “You think the Enforcers are gonna stop me? You think they’re gonna “save” her from me?” Her voice was low and dangerous now, the spark of mischief fading for a moment, replaced by something darker. “You really don’t know who you’re messing with.”

Caitlyn’s lips curled into a tight smile, her voice trembling with fury. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from tearing my sister apart.”

Jinx’s laugh was sharp, unbothered. “You’re already too late for that.” She took a step forward, closing the gap between her and Caitlyn. “She’s mine now.”

The words were final, like a declaration that sealed the fate of everything in the room. Caitlyn’s eyes hardened, her shoulders tensing as if preparing for something more. But then, she turned on her heel, her back stiff and her fists clenched at her sides.

“Don’t think this is over,” Caitlyn hissed, her voice dripping with menace. “You’ll regret this.”

She turned on her heel, disappearing into the darkness of the alley, leaving only the sound of her footsteps to echo in the tense silence that followed.

Jinx let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the confrontation with Caitlyn came to an end. 

The silence that followed was heavy, but Jinx’s hand found yours, her touch gentle despite the tension. She turned to you, her voice low and vulnerable. “Hey… you okay?”

You nodded, your chest tight from the confrontation. “I’m okay,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “And I’m with you.”

Jinx’s eyes softened, her usual bravado replaced by something more tender as she leaned in, cupping your cheek gently. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead. “You’re not alone in this.”

You leaned into her touch, finding comfort in her presence, the intensity of the moment fading into something warmer. "I know," you whispered back. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Jinx’s smile widened, her hand still cradling your face as she kissed your forehead again. “Good,” she whispered. “Because neither am I.”

Jinx’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, her purple eyes searching yours as a small, teasing smile crept back onto her lips. “You love me, huh?” she asked quietly, her voice a mix of playful disbelief and genuine curiosity.

You felt your cheeks flush at the question, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Jinx’s smirk softened into something warmer, more real. She leaned in closer, her forehead gently resting against yours as she let out a quiet chuckle. “Damn,” she murmured. “I never thought I’d hear someone say that to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile wider at her vulnerability, reaching up to cup her face in your hands. “Get used to it,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Jinx closed her eyes for a moment, taking in your words like they were something precious. When she opened them again, they were filled with a kind of warmth that made your heart ache in the best way. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

For a moment, everything else faded away—Caitlyn’s harsh words, the tension, the world around you. It was just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet moment of sweetness, a rare peace in the chaos of it all.

And as Jinx pulled back slightly, her fingers still intertwined with yours, she grinned. “Guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

You laughed softly, nodding. “Guess so.”

“Good,” Jinx murmured, her voice full of affection. “Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[keraawrites]

Every good girl needs a lil thug 𝜗𝜚

Summary: Dealer Eren AU, Eren tells everyone your his woman, even if he never officially asked you and maybe your getting tired of the uncertainty. ۶ৎ Eren x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: A little angsty, use of the word nigga, pet names (Daddy, baby, mama, ma etc) drug use, alcohol use, car sex, cowgirl, make up sex, choking,kind of possessive Eren (?)

Word count — 6.4k {I didn't expect it to be this long}

Your nails tapped against the keys of your MacBook, the soft clack filling the quiet of the library. Your black-rimmed glasses sat perched on your nose as you switched between your textbook and the half-written essay on your screen, perfectly focused.

It was a early Friday evening, and most students were already slipping into weekend mode—either scrambling to finish assignments last minute or just skipping the effort altogether. But you were different. You had goals. A full-ride scholarship didn’t keep itself, and you weren’t about to start slipping now.

Everyone on campus knew you were that girl—the straight-A student, always turning in assignments early. The type who had professors wrapped around her finger and a résumé that could humble anyone.

So, naturally, it surprised people when they found out who you spent most of your time with.

Because if you were the campus good girl—the golden standard—then Eren Yeager was the opposite.

He was that guy. The one who had been selling on campus since freshman year, the one who professors side-eyed but never caught, the one who moved through life like it was his for the taking. A bad habit you never could quite shake.

And yet, despite all of that, everyone knew what it was.

You belonged to him. Even if he’d never said it.

The iced pistachio latte sitting next to you had long since watered down, forgotten in favour of deciphering the never-ending debate between nature and nurture. But just as you started getting in the zone, your phone buzzed against the desk.

Then it buzzed again.

And then, the real interruption—your phone started ringing.

You sighed, already knowing who it was before you even looked at the screen. A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips as you picked up.

"Yes Eren."

“Where you at?” His voice came through the speaker, smooth but with that usual edge of impatience. You could hear the low hum of music in the background.

“The library,” you replied, stretching your arms over your head. “Some of us actually care about midterms, you know.”

Eren chuckled, deep and amused. “Damn, you always tryna make me feel dumb or somethin’?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “I’m just saying, you could be studying too instead of—”

“Instead of making money?” he cut in, voice teasing but smug. “C’mon, princess, you know that essay ain’t finna keep you warm tonight.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Eren had this way of slipping into your head, making you forget whatever self-discipline you were trying to cling to. You and Eren had this thing going since Freshman year, you both juniors in college now and even though he wasn’t technically your boyfriend and you weren't technically his girlfriend, he was your man as much as you were his woman.

“I need to finish this paragraph at least,” you muttered, already knowing you’d fold.

Eren hummed like he wasn’t buying it. “Mmm. I'm outside.”

And with that, he hung up. No goodbye, no waiting for you to agree—because he knew you would.

You exhaled sharply, shutting your laptop with a soft thud. Sliding your glasses off and packing up your things, you tossed your cold latte in the trash and slung your coach tote over your shoulder.

When you stepped outside, the fall air was crisp, wrapping around you as your eyes scanned the parking lot. Sure enough, there he was—leaned against his black Charger, a joint tucked behind his ears.

Eren's eyes watched as you walked out of the library, your purple juicy couture tracksuit hugged your curves nicely, the colour blending in perfectly with your mocha skin tone, your bag slung over your shoulder as your hair was pulled into a slick back pony.

Eren loved it when you wore the things he got you, yes you had your own money but that didn't mean he couldn't spoil you every now and again.

"I like spoiling my woman" he always told you and you always hit back with a "Technically not your woman'. He would always kiss his teeth when you told him some shit like that always telling you not to play with him.

Eren smirked down at you, his 6 foot 3 frame towering over you as you tiptoed up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. Sliding into the passenger seat of Eren’s Charger as he opened the door for you, like he always did. You got comfortable as he flicked his lighter, taking a slow drag from his joint before passing it to you. The familiar scent of weed and his cologne filled the car, wrapping around you like a second skin.

His hand sliding up your thigh before shifting gears and pulling off. The drive to your apartment was quiet, save for the low bass of his playlist and the occasional back-and-forth about your classes, which he only half-listened to. He always did that—acted like he didn’t care, but asked just enough questions to let you know he was listening.

Once you stepped inside your apartment, the familiar warmth of your space wrapped around you, the scent of vanilla candles lingering in the air. You tossed your bag onto the couch and flopped down, stretching across the cushions. Eren sat on the floor between your legs, leaning against the couch as he started up his PlayStation.

He always left it there like he owned the place. In a sense, he did; he always gave you money for your bills even when you told him that you could pay your own way, but again, that didn't stop him.

The air around you two was calming, your fingers traced lazy circles against his scalp, your fresh set dragging lightly as he focused on the game. The room was dim, the soft glow of the TV flickering across his sharp features. He was so at ease like he had all the time in the world.

Meanwhile, you could feel everything.

Weed always had you feelin’ soft, needy in a way you couldn’t ignore. It had you noticing the warmth of his skin, the way his hoodie had bunched up just enough to expose his toned stomach, the way he sat between your legs like he belonged there.

Without thinking, you leaned down, pressing your lips against the side of his neck.

Eren’s fingers froze on the controller. "Damn, ma," he muttered, tilting his head slightly to let you in. "Now you wanna act up?"

You hummed against his skin, your lips traveling lower, kissing along his jaw. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t stop you. He never did.

His hands slid up your thighs, gripping gently as you moved lower, biting at his pulse point. "You high high, huh?" he teased, voice rougher now.

"Maybe," you admitted, your fingers slipping under the hem of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Eren exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep his composure. But the way he gripped your legs told you he wasn’t unaffected. "You always do this," he murmured, voice low. "Get a lil' faded, start actin’ like you can’t keep your hands off me."

You smirked, as you continued your work. His groans becoming more vocal as your lips made the way to the sensitive part under his ear. His fingers world against your legs, sliding higher and higher, and just as he turned slightly to pull you fully into his lap— His phone buzzed. Again. And again.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on the warmth of his skin. But his phone continued to go off, kissing his teeth he sat up, sighing through his nose, you already knew what was coming.

You exhaled sharply as he reached for his phone, your fingers slipping from beneath his hoodie.

"Who is it?" you asked, even though you already knew.

“Gotta make a stop,” Eren muttered, rubbing his thumb over his lip as he read his messages. “Some people want a pick-up at that party over on 5th.”

The warmth from moments ago cooled instantly. You leaned back against the couch, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the tv, screen paused on the game he was playing.

Eren noticed the shift in your mood immediately. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Nah, don’t do that," he muttered, twisting to look at you.

You sighed, picking at your nails. "I just… thought we were gonna chill."

He frowned slightly, like the thought genuinely hadn’t crossed his mind. "I was chillin’—you’re the one who started somethin’." His lips curved slightly. "Not that I’m complainin’."

You shot him a look, unimpressed. It wasn’t even that you were mad, exactly. You knew who he was, what he did, and what came with it. But still, it stung a little that he was so quick to get up and go when you barely had any time together.

Eren sighed, stretching as he stood up. "Look, come with me. Party’s probably lit. You might as well."

You hesitated but ultimately shook your head. "Nah, I’m good."

Eren studied you for a second, he leaned down to give you a quick kiss. Feeling sour, you turned your head but that didn't stop him. Gripping your cheeks tightly, he brought your face close to his.

"Stop with the attitude, I'll be back soon." He kissed you, giving your face another quick squeeze before he was out the door.

You didn’t even realise how much time had passed. The blunt you had smoked, long forgotten as your eyes laid heavy, the soft base of your R&B mix playing in the background.

Before you could get to the point of your high paranoia, the sound of your phone vibrating against the coffee table broke your thoughts.

You grabbed it lazily, assuming it was Eren texting some half-assed “be back soon” message. But instead, the group chat with Mikasa and Sasha lit up your screen.

📲 Mikasa: Heard Eren left your ass again.

📲 Sasha: LMAOOO figures.

📲 You: Can y’all be serious for ONCE.

📲 Mikasa: We are serious. You’re sitting in your apartment pissed off and high while he’s at a party.

📲 Sasha: And you know he’s gonna be getting hit on.

You rolled your eyes, even though you had thought about that part.

📲 You: What do you bitches want?

📲 Mikasa: We’re outside.

📲 Sasha: Open up.

Your eyebrows shot up. You tossed your phone onto the couch and rushed to the door, pulling it open.

Sure enough, Mikasa and Sasha were on your doorstep, looking smug as hell.

"Y’all are insane," you said, stepping back to let them in.

Mikasa barely glanced at you as she walked inside, her tight black leather pants fit her like a glove and she paired it off with a black plunge crop top.

"We’re getting you out of here."

Sasha grinned, already making herself at home on your couch, the doughnut in her hand didn't go unnoticed as you gestured for her to give you a piece.

"You don’t really wanna sit here all night, do you?"

You grumbled as you took another bite from the sweet treat. "I wasn’t gonna—"

"Please." Sasha waved you off. "You were about to scroll TikTok and fall asleep."

Mikasa smirked. "Meanwhile, Eren is at a party, surrounded by girls who don’t care that he’s technically yours."

Your jaw clenched. Technically.

"This is your brother we're talking about." You had met Eren originally through Mikasa; she was your roommate freshman year and introduced Eren to you as her brother. The dark haired girl quickly told you how she was adopted into the family when they were young and has referred to the green-eyed boy as her brother ever since.

"Yes and if my brother doesn't know that when he has a good girl he must keep her then I don't know what our parents taught him."

Sasha clapped her hands. "Soooo, let’s remind him exactly who you are."

You rolled your eyes at the two before heading up to your room, the speakers began blaring with Doechii as the two sorted through your wardrobe.

You perched yourself on the ottoman in front of your vanity, your hair, already straightened from earlier was easy to style. In no time it was in a half-up, half-down pony, the lace of your frontal melting into your skin.

You gathered your makeup, taking your time as you started with your base. The foundation melted into your skin like butter, smooth and effortless, enhancing what was already there.

You quickly finished up, dousing yourself in that vanilla spray that always drove him wild before you turned to your bed, an outfit waiting for you.

Your brows rose as you noticed the dress that lay against your sheets. "He's never seen me in this."

Mikasa scoffed, "Figured, seeing as it's still got the tag on it and how short it is."

You remembered when you bought it; Eren had given you money for your nails and a mini shopping spree a couple weeks ago. The dress was gorgeous and you wanted to surprise him in it but never got the chance.

"So what'd you think?" You bit your lip, trying not to ruin your gloss as your thoughts raced through your head.

"Why the fuck not."

The house was packed.

Music rattled the floors, bass shaking the walls as bodies pressed together in the dim, neon-lit space. The air was thick with weed and cheap booze, the kind of mix that blurred the edges of the night, made everything feel a little slower, a little easier.

Eren leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the couch, fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. The notifications on his screen were meaningless. Random names, new orders, people trying to talk to him. But not you.

The last time he saw you, you were warm and needy in his lap, nails dragging over his chest, lips soft and sweet against his jaw, begging for his attention.

And he left.

Not because he wanted to.

But because when people hit his line, he handled business. That’s just how it was.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about you.

Eren barely registered Connie saying something next to him, some joke that made the others laugh. He forced a small smirk, flicking ash from his blunt as he exhaled a slow, heavy cloud of smoke.

But his mind was elsewhere.

"Hey, Eren."

The voice was familiar, laced with an unwelcome sweetness that had him clenching his jaw before he even turned his head.

Historia.

Connie smirked knowingly from beside him, shaking his head like he had front-row seats to the bullshit that was about to unfold.

Eren sucked his teeth, dragging from his blunt before exhaling slow. "Historia."

His eyes barely flickered in her direction, just enough to take in the skimpy outfit—the clear attempt at getting his attention. He was unimpressed.

Didn’t matter how much she tried.

Didn’t matter that they had one night together at some party years ago before he met you.

Historia never really understood that he wasn’t interested. And worse? She refused to take the hint.

She perched herself onto the couch beside him, leaning in a little too close, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her fingers like it was some cute little accident.

"You’ve been busy," she purred. "Haven't seen you in months."

Eren exhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his blunt over the ashtray. "You don’t need to see me."

The blonde giggled, ignoring the obvious dismissal. "Oh, come on. You’re not still mad about all that, are you?"

"Mad?" Eren smirked, finally turning to her. His green eyes were sharp, a dangerous kind of amusement flickering behind them. "I don’t think about you enough to be mad."

Historia’s smile wavered. Just slightly.

Connie stifled a laugh beside him.

Eren barely paid her another glance, before Connie got his attention.

"Oh, you're not gonna like this," Connie muttered, nudging him.

Eren’s brows furrowed. "The fuck you talking about?"

Connie didn’t answer. Just tilted his chin toward the kitchen, toward the center of the attention shift that had swept through the room.

Eren followed his gaze—

And his stomach fucking dropped.

Fuck.

There you were.

Looking so goddamn good it made his jaw tighten, made his grip flex around the blunt between his fingers.

You were perched against the kitchen island, head tilted back, laughing at something Jean was saying—his hand way too damn close to your hip for Eren’s liking.

And the dress—where the fuck did you get that dress?

Fuck, fuck, fuuckkkkk.

It was short. Short enough to make his chest tighten, to make his blood boil. It hugged every inch of your body in a way that had heads turning—too many heads.

Eren bit down on his lower lip, tongue flicking over his teeth as he felt something hot and possessive crawl up his spine.

He could already hear the shit he was about to say to you when he got you alone. Could already feel his hands on your hips, gripping, marking, reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

"You're still dealing with that slut?"

The sound of Historia’s voice snapped his attention back, sharp and sudden.

Eren kissed his teeth, his jaw going tight as he turned toward her, gaze dark.

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Historia shrank back slightly but rolled her eyes, mumbling something under her breath. Eren was already over it.

He pushed himself up from the couch, blunt still balanced between his fingers, but he didn’t head toward you just yet.

Because he was pissed.

But he was also intrigued.

You were playing with him.

That dress. The makeup. That perfume he knew you were wearing—the vanilla one he fucking loved. Here, surrounded by guys who had way too much confidence in his absence.

Your glittery lip gloss caught the low light of the room as you took a slow sip of your drink, lashes fluttering as you side-eyed him through the crowd.

His fingers twitched.

He wanted to let his hands wander, drag up your thighs, lift that stupidly short dress just to prove a point—

Jean leaned in a little closer, saying something low in your ear.

Eren saw the way you smiled, soft and teasing.

And that was it.

The brunette pushed off the wall, exhaling sharply as he made his way toward you.

He barely heard Jean still talking beside you. The other man was laughing, leaning in close, and that—that was already too much.

"Erm, sir, you better behave yourself, or Mikasa will string you up."

You laughed, shaking your head at Jean’s attempt at flirting—his well-practiced, half-serious effort. You knew damn well his heart was set on Mikasa, had been for years, but he just couldn’t bring himself to make a move.

Jean grinned, opening his mouth to reply—

But he never got the chance.

Brushing past him, Eren slammed his shoulder into Jean’s so forcefully it nearly knocked him off balance.

"Hey, man, what the—”

Jean barely got the words out before Eren’s presence swallowed the space between you.

That scent—his scent—hit you before you could even turn your head. The familiar, dangerously intoxicating mix that smelled like home. It was the same scent that lingered on your pillows, in the oversized hoodie he left behind, the one you swore you weren’t attached to—but never gave back.

Your heart stuttered.

Standing in front of you, towering over you, broad shoulders squared, muscles tense beneath his fitted black tee. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together in that signature Eren scowl.

But it was his eyes that got you.

Darkened, sharp, the color of a sea before a storm.

They didn’t just look at you—they devoured you.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning complete oblivion to the tension crackling between you.

Raising a brow, you spoke first. "Hey."

Eren didn’t blink. "What you doing here?"

You tilted your drink to your lips, taking a slow sip, letting the seconds stretch.

Then, with a shrug, "Having a good time, obviously. You were right, party is lit.”

You felt the tick in Eren’s jaw before you saw it. His eyes flickered, dropping down to your thighs.

"Yeah?" His voice was deceptively calm, but the way his fingers flexed at his sides told another story. "With him?"

His chin jerked slightly toward Jean.

Jean, to his credit, held his ground. He didn’t back away, didn’t fold, but you could feel the shift.

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "You left, didn’t you?"

Eren's eyes narrowed. "You know why I left." Yeah, to sell drugs, which seemed to be more important than you, so you weren't gonna make it easy for him.

"Don't you have some people to sell to?" You didn't give him a chance to reply because you were already off, the announcement of beer pong was made and you dragged Sasha with you.

Eren felt his eyes twitch, his blood boiling as he watched you walk away from him in that damn dress.

You felt your heart beat against your chest, the adrenaline from the blunt you guys had smoked on the way still coursing through your veins.

You had left Eren to stew in his feelings. You knew you would fall into his arms later tonight but not without making your point-- you weren't gonna be just a ‘technically’ anymore, and he better know it.

The laughter left your lips, your high making you feel like you were on top of the world as you and Sasha won the round of beer pong. Your eyes searched the crowd unconsciously for him and it wasn't hard for you to find his piercing green eyes already watching you.

You felt the dip in your stomach, his eyes watching you before he gestured for you to follow him. He got up, brushing past people who tried to get his attention but he was already out the door.

You felt hot, you swallowed softly before downing the tequila shot that Sasha had left for you. You brushed and weaved between drunken bodies, you couldn't subdue the underlying feelings of anxiety that swelled in your chest. You didn't know what to expect, but you knew one thing for certain, you were gonna give Eren a piece of your mind tonight.

You finally made it outside, your eyes landing on Eren who leaned up against his charger. You released a breath you didn't even realise you were holding, shaking yourself of your jittery nerves as you approached him.

Rolling your eyes, you climbed into his Charger, the familiar scent of cologne, weed, and leather swallowing you whole.

The tension inside the car was thick, suffocating.

You weren’t looking at him. Not even a glance. Instead, your fingers tapped aimlessly against your phone screen, scrolling through nothing just to keep yourself busy. Just to keep yourself from breaking first.

You barely heard him kiss his teeth before the phone was snatched from your hands.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Your head snapped toward him, fire instantly flaring in your chest. “Nah, don’t do that shit. Don’t sit here acting like you got a reason to be mad when—”

He cut you off, voice sharp. “You really gon’ come here, dressed like that, act like you don’t see me, treat me like I’m one of those little boys?”

Your blood boiled. "Eren—"

“Nah, fuck that.” His fingers flexed tighter around your phone like he was this close to throwing it out the damn window. “You know damn well not to play me like that.”

“And you know damn well not to talk to me like that, Eren.” Your voice was low, firm, laced with the anger that had been simmering in your chest all damn night.

His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white as he pulled away from the curb, driving with that reckless kind of speed that mirrored exactly how he was feeling.

But you weren’t scared.

You were tired.

Tired of this damn game.

Tired of the way he made you question everything.

Tired of knowing what this was, feeling what this was, but never hearing it from him.

You stared out the window, arms crossed over your chest, heart pounding. You didn’t even know where the hell he was driving—somewhere dark, somewhere quiet, away from the house party and the bullshit.

Then, he was pulling over. Throwing the car into park, exhaling sharply like he was trying to get himself together but failing miserably.

Silence stretched between you.

“…Mama.”

His voice was different now. Softer.

Your breath hitched.

Your throat tightened.

You sniffed, and that’s when you realised—fuck. You were crying.

You hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t felt the tears until they were already sliding down your cheeks, hot and angry and full of everything you’d been trying to hold in.

Eren cursed under his breath. “Shit.”

You turned your head, wiping at your face quickly, trying to hide. But Eren wasn’t having it.

He reached over, unbuckling your seatbelt, his touch surprisingly gentle for how frustrated he’d been just moments ago. Then his hands were on your face—thumbs brushing over your cheeks, wiping away the tears like it hurt him to see them.

He hated himself for putting them there.

“Baby,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Talk to me.”

You wanted to.

Wanted to lay it all out, make him feel every ounce of the doubt, the hurt, the longing you felt every time he left you in limbo. Every time he acted like he owned you, but never actually claimed you.

But your voice wouldn’t work.

Wouldn’t come out past the lump in your throat.

Eren’s breath was heavy, his fingers gripping your jaw as his forehead pressed against yours. “I got you, aight? Always.”

And for once, you needed to hear more.

Because that wasn’t enough anymore.

"Didn't think this shit would get to me, Eren, but it is—"

Your voice broke mid-sentence, frustration bubbling over as your hands curled into fists on your lap.

Eren's face was tight, his breath uneven as he leaned in closer, eyes searching yours. “What, baby? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

"Us, Eren!" Your voice cracked. “If you could even call it an ‘us.’”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening like he already knew where this was going but still wasn’t ready to hear it.

“I haven't looked at another nigga since I met you," you continued, voice shaking. "And I know you don't fuck with these other hoes, but Eren, it hurts."

His chest rose sharply at that.

"It hurts that I'm still questioning if we're solid,” you pressed, voice thick with emotion. “It hurts that I don’t even know where I stand with you. It hurts that you’d rather do drops than spend time with me—”

"That's not true, Y/N—"

"Isn't it?" you snapped, eyes shining as you met his gaze.

Eren fell silent.

You let out a choked laugh, shaking your head as you wiped angrily at your face, black mascara smearing against your fingers. Your lips trembled, the weight of everything crushing down on you all at once.

“I be defending you like a dumbass, making excuses for you,” you sniffed, voice quieter now, “telling myself you’re busy, that you got shit to handle—but you always got time for them fucking drops, don’t you?”

Eren inhaled sharply, fingers curling into his hoodie.

You exhaled shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “I just—I don’t know if you’re ever gonna choose me, Eren. Not just when it’s convenient, not just when you’re in the mood—but really choose me.”

Silence.

Thick. Heavy.

“Fuck.”

Eren’s voice was strained, barely audible. His head dropped for a second, fingers gripping the back of his neck like he was trying to hold himself together.

He turned to you. Hand cupping your cheek, fingers sliding beneath your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Nah, baby, don’t say that,” he murmured, voice raw. “You are my choice. You been my choice.”

Your breath hitched.

“I was just too fuckin’ stupid to say it,” he admitted, shaking his head, green eyes dark and serious. “Too fuckin’ comfortable thinking you already knew.”

Your lashes fluttered, heart squeezing as his thumb brushed away the mascara streaks on your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’re my world,” he murmured. “All this shit? This hustle? It don’t mean shit without you. I was out here moving like I had all the time in the world to show you, when really?” His breath came out heavy. “I shoulda been making it clearevery fucking day.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“I shoulda told you from jump,” Eren continued, leaning in until his forehead was nearly against yours, his hand warm against your face. “You are my girl. You been my girl. No more guessing, no more waiting, no more thinking I’ma let you go ‘cause that shit’s never happening.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, for a different reason.

“Baby,” he breathed, fingers sliding down to your chin. “I got you. I see you. And I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Eren pulled back just enough to search your face, his own filled with an aching kind of sincerity. “Say something, ma. Please.”

Your lip quivered. "You love me?"

He let out a low chuckle, the sound soft, almost disbelieving. “Yeah, baby. More than you fucking know.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

And that’s when you lost it.

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t let another second pass where you weren’t on him.

You surged forward, crashing your lips against his, hands threading into his soft brown hair, tugging hard.

Eren groaned into your mouth, his hand immediately gripping your waist, his other palm cupping the back of your head as he yanked you even closer.

The kiss was everything.

Soft, but desperate. Sweet, but needy.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, making you gasp, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as his fingers flexed against your skin.

You shifted, moving up onto your knees in the passenger seat, pressing your body against his, feeling his warmth, his presence everywhere all at once.

Eren groaned, his hands sliding down to your thighs, gripping them tight before slipping beneath your dress, fingers pressing into your soft skin.

You whined against his lips, pressing yourself harder against him, needing more.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough, almost strained. “You tryna kill me?”

“Love you too Ren,” you breathed, dragging your lips along his jaw, your kisses turning messy, wet, needy.

Eren’s grip tightened on your thighs, his breath heavy as he let you have your way with him. Let you take what you needed from him.

Because God, he owed you that much.

His tongue parts your lips, exploring the warm cavern of your mouth with a passionate intensity. His hands roam freely over your body now, one tracing delicate patterns on the inside of your thighs.

Every touch is filled with desire and love, Eren had always made you feel special when you guys had sex but this time was different.

“Fuck, baby, wanna do this in your bed—show you how much I love you,” Eren murmurs, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your lips trail down his jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of his throat, leaving faint marks as you shake your head. “Can’t wait, Renny,” you whisper, your voice breathy and filled with need. Your nails scrape against his belt buckle, the sound of metal clinking in the quiet car. “You can show me again later. Need you now. Please, Daddy.”

Eren groans, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through his chest as his hands move to adjust the seat. With a quick press of the button, the seat reclines, and you giggle softly as he maneuvers you both as you help take off his trousers.

"Anything for you, baby. Take what you need," Eren breathes, his eyes dark with desire as they roam over your form. Your dress rides up your thighs as you roll your hips against him, the deep brown of your skin contrasting beautifully against his pale chest as you bunch up his shirt. Your hands press firmly against his muscles, feeling them flex beneath your touch as you begin to rock against him.

Tiny whimpers left out lips as your clothed clit rocked against him. His hands find the blunt from the cup holder, lighting it up. The smoke curls lazily in the air as he watches you move, mesmerised by the way your body rolls against his, the way your lips part with each breath.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmurs, his free hand sliding up your thigh, disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers find the delicate lace of your thong, pulling it aside as he taps your thigh gently. You lift yourself up, the fabric of your dress bunched up around your waist as you guide yourself down onto him.

A deep moan escapes your lips as you take him in, your walls stretching to accommodate him. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as you adjust to the feeling of fullness.

"That's it, ma," he groans, watching as you begin to move, setting a rhythm that has both of you gasping.

The feeling of your walls clenching around him has Eren shuddering, his head falling back against the seat as he groans deeply. His hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he tries to steady himself. The sight of you above him—your dress bunched around your waist, your dark skin glowing in the dim light, your lips parted as you adjust to him—has him on the edge already.

You lean forward, your hands pressing against his chest for balance, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. Slowly, you begin to move, rolling your hips in a deliberate rhythm that has both of you gasping. Eren’s hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm yet reverent, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with need. “You feel so good.”

You bite your lip, swiveling your hips to take him deeper, the stretch of him making you shiver. His emerald eyes flutter shut for a moment, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold himself back, but the way you move—so confident, so in control—has him unraveling beneath you.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice low and guttural, as you pick up the pace.

The sound of your bodies moving together fills the car, the leather seat creaking beneath him, the windows fogging even more. His hands slide back to your hips, guiding you as you ride him, his grip firm but not controlling, letting you set the pace.

"So good, fuck," You gasp, each roll of your hips sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your thighs tremble as you ride him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs fills the car along with your moans. Eren's hands grip your waist tighter, guiding your movements as you take him deeper.

"Shit, baby," He groans, his voice rough with need as he watches you move above him. The sight of you—lost in pleasure, taking what you need—has him close to the edge. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with just the right pressure.

"Right there, Renny, please!" Your walls clench around him as the pressure builds, your movements becoming more erratic. He took one more drag of his blunt before his other hand slid up your back, pulling you down to shotgun.

He groans as you take what he gives you, moaning softly as you let out the excess smoke before his hand wraps around your throat, bringing your lips down to his.

You squealed into the kiss as his arm wrapped around your waist, his feet planted firmly as he drove up into you with vigour.

"Don't want you to ever question us again. You are mine, gonna get your name on my chest."

"E-eren please."

"Everything I do is for you, will prove it to you for the rest of your life. Never wanna make you cry again unless-- fuck-- unless it's like this." You nodded aimlessly to everything he was saying, your teeth buried into his neck as you approached your orgasm.

"Eren, I'm gonna cum."

You felt his hand tighten around your neck, a silent scream drew past your lips as you felt yourself cum around him.

"There you go mama, fuck-- doing so well for me." He hisses as he still drives up into you. His hands now on your ass as he continues to guide you on his dick.

"Eren." You whine as your hands try to push off his chest. He quickly hand your wrists behind your back, kissing the side of your neck as he chased his own orgasm.

"Just a little more baby, please," he pleads, slowing his thrusts as he knows how sensitive you are after cumming but it still doesn't stop him. He groans from the feel of your pussy constricting, practically begging to swallow him deeper.

The lewd sounds of your pussy fill the car, the tip of his dick kissing that spot before he’s shoving it back in.

"'So fucking good," you moan, your voice a hazy drunken mess as you feel another orgasm approaching.

With a final thrust, you both reach your peak together. Your walls clench around him as pleasure courses through your body, your thighs trembling as you mould into his body. Eren holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple as you both come down from your high, your breathing slowly returning to normal.

"You mean it?"

Eren chuckles, his fingers running along the bare of your back. It takes everything in you to lift up your head to meet his eyes but boy are you glad you did.

"Every fucking word. I'm so fucking sorry, you are 100% mine, I love you, everything I do and will do is for you baby. I will never stop telling you." You smile, leaning in to kiss him, hands pressed tightly underneath his shirt.

"You really gonna get my name tatted?"

"Yup, and get you a big 'ol chain with my name written in gold."

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

[issues4him]

riding blue collar!rafe while he mows the lawn!

cw: smut, 18+, riding, outdoor sex

IT WAS HOT AS HELL OUTSIDE—the kind of heat that made the air thick and heavy, where the sun was mercilessly bright, and the only sounds were the steady hum of the insects and the low rumble of the lawn mower.

rafe was perched on the ride-on lawn mower, his long legs spread wide, boots planted firmly on the metal footrests, his bare chest glistening with sweat beneath the relentless sun.

every muscle flexed and shifted as he gripped the steering wheel, maneuvering the massive mower across the yard, his tan skin slick with sweat, his baseball cap pulled low over his squinting blue eyes. he kept wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, his abs contracting with every motion, his jeans hanging low on his hips, his belt loose from where he had tugged it looser earlier for comfort.

you’d been watching him from the window, bottom lip caught between your teeth, pressing your thighs together as the familiar ache pooled low in your belly. the kids were at their grandparents. the house was completely empty. and right now, you had one thing on your mind—getting in that man’s pants.

with a smile, you slipped on a thin, yellow sundress, the fabric soft and weightless, falling just below the tops of your thighs. no bra. no panties. just bare skin and temptation.

then, with a cold glass of iced tea in hand, you stepped outside, walking toward him with a slow, deliberate sway of your hips.

he saw you immediately. you could tell by the way his grip on the wheel tightened just slightly, the way his head tilted, the way his tongue ran across his bottom lip before he even realized he was doing it.

he kept on mowing, watching you with that signature cameron smirk as you stepped closer.

when rafe finally got within reach, you handed him the iced tea, watching as he tipped his head back, swallowing deep, throat bobbing as he downed the whole thing. his adam’s apple moved, the way a bead of sweat trailed slowly down his collarbone, disappearing into the dip between his pecs.

shit, even that was sexy.

he set the glass in the cup holder, reached for you, placing his hand on your waist, pulling you in for a deep kiss.

“you spoil me, sweetheart, thank you.” he murmured against your lips. instead of responding, you just smiled, stepping up onto the mower, swinging your other leg around him, placing yourself right onto his lap. he smirked, although caught off guard.

“th’hell you think you’re doin’, darlin’?” he had to raise his voice over the mower’s rumbling engine, but his words were lazy, amused—his smirk widening as his rough hands smoothed over your hips.

his hands gripped your thighs, sliding under your sundress, fingertips dragging along bare skin.

when he realized there was nothing else beneath it, his smirk faltered just slightly. a deep, primal groan rumbled in his chest, his grip tightening.

you just smirked, trailing your fingers down the damp heat of his chest. “didn’t feel like waiting for you to be done mowing.”

his chuckle was deep, rough. “you just wanna sit pretty on my lap while I finish mowin’?”

but even as he said it, his hips pressed up slightly, a firm, teasing grind that made you shudder against him. and fuck, he was already so hard beneath his jeans. you leaned in, lips grazing his ear, voice sweet as honey. “not exactly,” you giggle against his jaw, lips barely touching his sweat-slick skin, “you just look so good while you work.”

“you been spyin’ on me, baby?” he grinned. his grip was firm, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, your waist, pulling you down tighter against him, forcing you to feel just how hard he was. the heat between you was unbearable. the mower still humming on idle, the slight breeze doing nothing to cool the fire licking up your spine.

“maybe.” you bite your lip to contain your smile, toying with his big, oval belt buckle.

“you really came out here with no panties on?” his voice was strained, rough, already wrecked.

you just smirked against his jaw, pressing a kiss there. “knew i wouldn’t need ‘em.”

rafe laughed, “are you tryin’ to kill me lady?” then with one hand still gripping the wheel, he used the other to shove his belt open, his jeans loose enough that he could free himself, his cock pressing against the slick warmth between your legs.

“shit, baby,” he murmured, grinding you against him, dragging the thick length of himself over your folds. “you’re this wet just watchin’ me mow the damn lawn?”

your cheeks flushed with red, that being enough of an answer for him. he lifted your hips just enough to let his thick dick slide in almost effortlessly from how aroused you were. your gasp got lost in the sound of the mower, but rafe heard it—felt it in the way your nails dug into his shoulders, the way your breath stuttered against his neck. his grip tightened on your hips, guiding you all the way down until he was buried inside you, stretching you open, filling you completely.

“fuck,” he groaned, “sweetest fuckin’ thing.” His grip on your waist was bruising, his hands guiding you, dragging you over him, setting a lazy, teasing rhythm that had you both spiraling. the heat between you was unbearable. the friction was everything.

you bit your lip, barely holding back a moan, hands fisting in his sweat-soaked hair. the lazy, teasing grind wasn’t enough. you needed more. needed him to fuck you. and rafe knew it.

you whimpered, rocking against him, your body burning with need, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable. rafe’s grip tightened. "this what you needed, baby?" his voice was gritty, full of lust, full of control. "you needed me to fuck you right here in the middle of the damn yard?"

you nodded eagerly, moaning into the sound of the mower's engine. his hands planted you firmly in place, hips snapping up to meet every roll of yours, his cock hitting so deep you saw stars. the mower vibrated beneath you, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure building, the absolute devastation he was wrecking on your body.

"goddamn, baby," he groaned, his forehead pressing to yours, sweat dripping down his temple, " 'm gonna fill you up right here. make sure this whole fuckin’ yard knows who ya' belong to."

his hands moved your hips up, harder, rougher, sharper, the mower still humming beneath you, his foot still on the brake, the world spinning, the heat thick and suffocating. but nothing compared to the heat between your bodies, the friction, the unbearable build reaching its peak. then his pace faltered and his grip on your hips turned bruising. his breath stuttered. his entire body shuddered, tightening, tensing—and with one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep, letting out a wrecked, guttural groan as he spilled inside you.

his cum felt hot, thick, endless, inside you. his entire body twitched beneath you, his head falling back, jaw clenched, veins bulging in his neck. his eyes squeezed shut, fingers twitching against your waist, trying to pull you even closer, even deeper, as if he could fuse you together. his chest heaved against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his lips parting against your damp skin. "holy shit," he rasped, voice wrecked, completely spent. he let out a slow, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head. "fuck, baby." his head tilted back, gazing up at the sky like he was thanking god himself for what had just happened. "you’re gonna be the damn death of me, woman."

you smirked, cheeks still flushed, body still tingling, completely satisfied. “wasn’t my fault,” you murmured, rolling your hips just slightly, teasing his cock that was still buried deep inside of you.

rafe groaned, both hands flying to grip your ass, stilling you. "don't. you. fucking. start," he gritted out, eyes fluttering shut for a second, chest still heaving. "baby, i ain't got anotha' round in me right now. shit--'m 'bout to have a fuckin' heat stroke."

[reilemon]

Sweet Stardust

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: You'd never expect to be set up on a blind date with Xavier - the one man you’ve been hopelessly crushing on for months.

♡︎ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, smut, use of 'sweetheart' 'princess' 'honey', reader has hair (at least shoulder length, didn't specify texture), fingering, creampie ofc

♡︎ word count: 6.1k

♡︎ a/n: written for @who-mentioned-rhys-larsen ♡ this fic is part of the Blind Date Matchmaking event by @unintentionalseductress

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @/anitalenia

You take a slow sip of your iced tea, the coolness doing nothing to soothe the warmth creeping up your neck.

Why did you think this was a good idea?

Your fingers find the edge of your star-shaped earring, tracing the smooth metal absentmindedly as you glance around. The restaurant is elegant but cozy, the kind of place that requires a reservation but doesn’t suffocate you with formality. Secluded tables nestle in private corners, the polished dark wood of the bar offering a sense of quiet luxury. It’s nice— a perfect spot for a first date.

The thought only makes your stomach twist tighter.

You arrived earlier than planned, too anxious to sit alone in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts. Now, perched on a barstool, you’re starting to question every decision that led you to this moment.

The worst part? You don’t even know what your date looks like.

Tara assured you she’d pick someone good. And you trust her—she’s not just a colleague but a close friend, someone who knows you well enough to understand your type, your standards, your... predicament. That is, your utterly hopeless crush on Xavier.

Your gaze drops to your lap at the thought of him, an old ache stirring in your chest. You’ve spent months pining for him—your colleague, your neighbor, the man who has occupied far too much space in your head. But nothing has ever come of it. No flirty advances, no subtle signs that he might see you as anything more than a friend and coworker. And you’ve grown tired of waiting.

So, you let Tara set you up. Maybe this mystery man will be exactly what you need—a good distraction, someone to help you move on. If that’s even possible.

Still, one small consolation eases your nerves - you know you look good. The sweater dress you chose hugs your curves just right, soft and warm, the cleavage dipping just low enough to be tempting. Your heeled boots elevate your outfit, and, miraculously, your hair cooperated today, falling just the way you like it.

Tara instructed you to wear a recognition piece—something star-shaped, she had said. You thought it was too subtle, but you were relieved you had control over your outfit. Now, though, as you anxiously toy with your earring, you wonder if your date will even notice it.

What if he saw you already and decided to leave?

Your grip tightens slightly around your drink, your pulse stuttering at the humiliating thought. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe—

A small speck of light floats in front of you, pulling you from your anxious thoughts. You can’t help but associate them with him, as they always appear -

“Hey.”

The soft, familiar voice shifts your attention.

You turn, blinking in surprise, and your heart nearly stumbles out of your chest.

Xavier is sitting next to you.

When did he even get here?

He’s propped against the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood, his cheek lightly pressed against his hand. The dim glow of the restaurant catches in his deep blue eyes, glinting with something unreadable as he watches you.

Your breath falters for just a second, heat creeping up your neck. “Hi.” you manage, offering a sheepish smile, your fingers still toying with your earring.

His gaze flickers down, catching on the star-shaped piece before shifting back to your face. “Are you waiting for someone?”

You straighten instinctively, forcing yourself to stop fidgeting. “I am,” you say, glancing toward the entrance. “But I’m not sure what he looks like.”

His brows lift slightly. “A blind date?”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Yeah.”

You glance at your phone. You exhale sharply, shifting in your seat. “But I’m starting to think he won’t show up.”

Xavier hums, the sound low and thoughtful. “Maybe he’s just running late.”

You look back at him then, finally taking in the details of his outfit—he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, paired with light-colored slacks that somehow make him look even taller, more put-together, but still effortlessly him.

Your stomach twists with an uneasy realization —what if he’s waiting for someone? Swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat, you force yourself to ask, keeping your voice as casual as possible. “Are you waiting for someone?”

His eyes linger on yours for a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “Not really.”

You barely have time to process that answer before he turns his attention toward the softly lit dining area. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat, and then—he extends his hand toward you.

“Our table is ready.” he murmurs, his voice smooth, a soft smile curving at the edges of his lips.

Your breath catches.

Oh -

He’s your date.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

After settling into a table tucked in a cozy corner, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, you and Xavier placed your orders—drinks and appetizers to start. But your mind was spinning too fast, so you excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to breathe.

Inside, you grip the edge of the sink, inhaling slowly as you pull out your phone.

"Tara, did you bribe Xavier into being my date?" Your heart hammers in your chest as you type the next part. "Please tell me you didn't tell him I have a crush on him!"

Within seconds, a text pops up:

"Of course not!"

You wait, staring at the screen. Then a voice note appears.

You tap play, Tara’s familiar voice filling the quiet space of the restroom.

"He immediately refused when I asked him if he wanted to be set up on a blind date." You can hear her dramatic pout, but then it shifts—lighter, giddy. "But when I told him you’d be his date, he accepted. Anyway, have fun!"

You blink.

Your reflection in the mirror catches the exact moment your anxious frown softens into something else entirely—a shy, almost disbelieving smile creeping across your lips.

He accepted because it was you.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads down to your fingertips. You clutch your phone, staring at yourself, trying to tamp down the hopeful little spark.

Does this mean he likes me?

You bite your lip, willing yourself to stay grounded, to not jump to conclusions. It just means he didn’t hate the idea. That’s all. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Still, as you slip your phone back into your purse and wash your hands, your movements feel lighter, less burdened by nerves. By the time you push open the bathroom door and step back into the dinning area, that giddy warmth is still lingering in your chest.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You step into your apartment, and turn to lock the door after Xavier enters. It feels surreal. Xavier is standing in your entryway. In your apartment. Slipping off his shoes, asking where the guest slippers are. He shrugs off his coat, and before you can even think to reach for it, he’s holding out his hands—first to take the bouquet of flowers he bought for you on the walk back, then to grab your coat.

The bouquet is filled with your favorites. Did he ask Tara? Did he just… know?

You clear your throat, mumbling a quiet thanks, and step into the kitchen to grab a vase. The sound of running water fills the space as your mind is stuck on the simple, surreal fact that he’s here. Xavier is standing in your kitchen, looking around with quiet interest, his gaze flickering over little details—your recipe books stacked on one counter, the aprons hanging next to the fridge, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

“Cozy.” he comments, his voice warm.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

You cover your lips as a chuckle escapes you, shaking your head. “I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at Xavier with an apologetic smile, “I just always assumed you were bad at cooking since there’s burning smoke coming from your apartment almost every week.”

Xavier exhales a quiet laugh. “It’s not that I’m bad,” he muses, “I just have a bad habit of dozing off while waiting for something to cook.”

The low rasp in his voice makes your stomach flutter. You’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, how his knee has brushed against yours too many times to be an accident.

You clear your throat, scrambling for something to keep the conversation flowing. “I have dough at the apartment.” The words slip out. “I’m not sure what to make with it yet. Do you have any ideas?”

Xavier leans in slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he contemplates, but his eyes never leave yours.

“I bought strawberry jam today,” he murmurs. “It would be perfect with homemade bread.” His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest second before it settles again on yours. “I could help you with it—if that’s okay with you?”

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Your cheeks burn at the memory.

Just a few hours ago, you thought Xavier wasn’t interested in you at all. That your feelings were nothing more than a hopeless crush. But now—he’s here. He’s helping you find the perfect spot to set the vase, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

And you know - he does like you.

You saw it in the way he looked at you at the restaurant, in the way his usually distant, unreadable gaze softened, locked onto you. It wasn’t the casual attention he gave to others, the absentminded focus of a man who was simply being polite. No—this was different. His eyes had lingered, had traced the curve of your lips between words, flickering down for just a second too long before finding yours again.

And you felt it, too. In the way his knee brushed against yours beneath the table. In the way his fingers found yours by the end of the night,the touch tender and grounding.

And now, here you are—just the two of you in your cozy kitchen, setting everything up to prepare homemade bread.

You move around the space, trying to keep your hands busy, trying not to focus too much on the man leaning against the counter. You reach for the aprons hanging by the hook, and a playful smile tugs at your lips as you hand Xavier the one with the bunny print. He raises an eyebrow at the design before letting out a low chuckle, shaking his head in amusement but accepting it anyway.

"You picked this on purpose, didn’t you?"

"You’ll look cute in it," you tease, already tying your own cherry-print apron around your waist.

But before you can secure the knot, his fingers brush over yours. "Let me."

His breath against the shell of your ear makes goosebumps bloom along the side of your neck. He steps in behind you, his fingers tying the knot — but he doesn’t move away immediately. For a lingering moment, his hands rest on your hips, fingers splayed lightly over the fabric of your dress, and your breath catches. It’s so subtle, so fleeting, but the touch lingers even as he steps back and moves to stand beside you.

You exhale slowly, turning your attention back to the dough in the bowl.

Xavier rolls up his sleeves, the fabric sliding up his forearms, revealing the sculpted muscle, the veins subtly lining his skin. His hands flex as he reaches for the dough, fingers sinking into the soft mixture.

"I can handle the kneading," he offers, his eyes flicking to you. "Just instruct me."

You nod, too distracted to say anything.

Xavier’s hands press into the dough with steady, practiced motions, fingers flexing as he pushes forward, the soft mixture stretching and folding beneath his palms. You watch, transfixed, as the muscles in his forearms shift with each movement, flexing beneath his skin. The dough yields to his touch, stretching between his fingers before he folds it over itself again, his knuckles pressing in, wrists rolling as he coaxes the mixture into the perfect consistency. It shouldn’t be mesmerizing. It shouldn’t be distracting. But it is.

You swallow, completely absorbed in the way his hands work—the slow push, the press, the stretch, the way his fingers curl just slightly as he pulls the dough back. Heat pools in your stomach, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

And then he stops.

Your gaze snaps up from his hands to find his face already turned toward you, amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.

"Can you sprinkle more flour? Or are you just gonna keep staring?"

Your stomach flips.

Oops.

Heat spreads over your cheeks as you realize he caught you shamelessly ogling his arms like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. You scramble to gather yourself, clearing your throat as you quickly grab the flour.

"I was just making sure you were doing it right." you lie, voice slightly higher than normal as you sprinkle a light dusting over the dough.

Xavier hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he kneads again, the fresh coating of flour making his hands glide easier. But just as you think you’ve escaped the moment, he shifts—his hands no longer sticky with dough, moving faster than you can react.

A soft swipe of flour brushes against your cheek.

You blink, stunned. Xavier pulls his hand back, his smirk widening, too pleased with himself.

"Focus." he teases, the mirth in his eyes makes your stomach flip all over again.

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, so you grab a pinch of flour, and tap the tip of his nose. The faint layer of white settles on the tip of his nose, an almost comical touch against his usually composed expression. His gaze locks onto yours, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then—

A low chuckle spills into a soft, genuine laugh. Your heart stumbles over itself at the sight of him like this— warm and sweet, no longer distant. The sound of it makes you grin wider, but you don’t miss the way his eyes gleam with mischief. The playful glint is all the warning you get before his hand moves as he smears another streak of flour along your cheek.

“You should really focus.” he teases, voice rich with amusement, tilting his head as if inspecting his work.

You gasp, feigning an appalled expression. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

But you don’t get a chance to launch another attack, because he moves swiftly, catching your wrist in his hand. The contact sends a small jolt through you; it’s soft but firm enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your skin, holding you in place. You expect him to smirk, to tease. But instead, his expression softens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as he lifts your hand. And then—he presses a kiss to your knuckles. His lips linger for only a second, the warmth of them seeping into your skin, before he pulls away.

Your pulse is fluttering, your cheeks heating, and silence settles between you, stretching for just a beat too long.

You clear your throat, glancing toward the dough still resting on the counter, and force your voice to sound as steady as possible.

“So, what do you like to cook the most?”

Xavier hums in thought. “I like trying new things,” he muses, rolling his shoulders slightly, easing some of the tension in his muscles. “It doesn’t always turn out great, but I like the challenge.”

You tilt your head, intrigued, and then smirk. “So, you like torturing yourself with hard recipes?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Something like that.” His voice is a little quieter as he continues. “You make it look easy. Thought I’d try my hand at a few things.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if you heard him correctly. “Wait - have you been trying to remake my recipes?”

His fingers falter for just a second before he smooths his expression into something neutral. “Maybe.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “Xavier.”

He exhales, shaking his head like you’ve caught him in something ridiculous, but the corners of his lips twitch. “You make good food,” he mutters. “I wanted to see if I could make it too.”

You fight the urge to squish his cheeks that have flushed a tiny bit at the revelation. He actually remembers the things you’ve brought him, the little baked goods and dishes you’d made. And not only does he remember—he tries to recreate them.

His gaze flickers to you. “Maybe you should teach me.”

It’s a casual request, but you hear what he isn’t saying. He wants to see you more, and it sends another rush of giddy warmth through you.

“Okay,” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t doing flips. “What do you want to learn?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Egg tarts.”

The answer is so unexpected that you blink, then laugh. “Really? Out of everything?”

He nods. “They’re delicious.”

Finally, the bread dough is prepped, shaped, and ready for the oven. You slide the tray inside, and after cleaning up the counter and your hands, you remove the aprons and put them back on the hook.

As you turn to face Xavier again, you catch him watching you, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, leaning against the counter.

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the way his gaze makes your stomach tighten. Then, with a teasing lilt to your voice, you ask, “Should I go get you a blanket? Since you might doze off.”

His brows lift slightly, and then he huffs a short laugh.

But then, his voice drops, smooth as silk. “I think we can find a better way to pass the time.”

A soft laugh spills from your lips at first, but as soon as you catch the look in his eyes, the warmth in your chest falters, the laughter dying on your tongue.

The teasing spark in his eyes is nowhere to be found. Instead, a soft blush dusts his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. Then—he moves.

One step, then another, the space between you disappearing, inch by inch. The edge of the counter presses into the small of your back as he approaches, your body instinctively leaning away. His hands rest on either side of you, palms pressing flat against the cool surface of the counter.

His breath is soft, ghosting over your lips. The sheer weight of his attention wraps around you like a second heartbeat, syncing with your own, pulsing through your veins. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something—him, the counter, anything to steady yourself.

The rest of the world fades into nothing, and all that exists is him.

His lashes lower just slightly, his lips parting as he leans in, his gaze holding yours the entire time. He’s waiting, offering you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before the moment tips over into something neither of you can take back.

Then, barely above a whisper - “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t say a word.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, closing what little distance remains between you, and press your lips to his. Xavier exhales softly against your lips, the sound breaking somewhere between relief and disbelief before he finally moves.

His mouth presses more firmly against yours, molding to the shape of you, learning the way you taste, memorizing the way you feel beneath him. His fingers twitch against the counter, like he’s restraining himself from reaching for you, from pulling you against him, from letting his hands wander to the places he’s only ever dreamed of touching. But he lingers, soaking in every moment, every detail, every sigh and shiver you give him. You melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

Xavier pulls away for a moment, his breath warm against your lips. "Can I touch your hair?"

It’s such a simple question, yet it sends comforting warmth through you, and it makes you fall for him even more. You nod, your heart hammering in your chest as you tilt your head slightly in invitation. You press your lips to his again, needing to feel that warmth, needing to drown in the way he kisses you. The moment his hand settles on your hair, a slow shiver rolls down your spine. His touch is reverent, the slightest tug at the roots sending small tingles all the way down your neck. You sigh into his mouth, the sound soft and almost dazed, relishing in the way he handles you, like he wants to learn the texture of every strand under his fingers.

And then he steps closer, pressing his body fully against yours, erasing the last inch of space between you. His firm muscles shift slightly against you, the warmth of him seeping through his clothes, through yours, until you feel surrounded, consumed. And lower, against your hip, there’s something else—something hard and pressing insistently, showing just how much he wants you.

Your breath catches, your fingers faltering where they rest against his jaw.

Just a small movement—that’s all it takes, the softest drag of your hip against the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, to draw out a reaction from him.

Xavier’s body tenses, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers twitch against your hair, tightening slightly before loosening, as if he’s reminding himself to be gentle. His jaw clenches, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest second before they open again, darker now, heavier.

He whispers your name. "If you keep doing that—"

But you don’t move away. Instead, you lift your gaze to his. "Do you want to stop?" you whisper.

The moment hangs between you, before he exhales.

"No," he murmurs, "But if we do this, I need you to be sure."

And you are sure. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, feeling the pulse thrumming just beneath your fingertips. You guide his hand from your hair down to your waist. "I want this." you whisper, your heart pounding so violently you wonder if he can hear it. "I want you."

The tension in his body dissolves, his grip tightening at your waist, holding you there, against him. His breath stutters for just a moment, his nose brushing against yours, and then he kisses you. His lips move over yours with such aching tenderness that your knees almost buckle. His hands smooth over the curve of your waist, fingertips trailing lightly along your spine, sending shivers down your back, making you arch into him. Your fingers find the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric, gripping tighter as your body melts further into his.

Then he pulls away just enough to wrap his arms around you and effortlessly lift you off the ground. You gasp softly as he positions you carefully on the counter, ensuring you're comfortable. His fingers slip beneath the soft fabric of your sweater dress, and instinctively, you part your legs in silent invitation. He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, pressing into the space between your legs, his body crowding against yours. Then his hand ventures further, toward the ache pooling between your legs.

He pulls back just enough to watch you, his lips parted, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes flicker between your gaze and where his fingers now hover. Then—his fingertips graze over the damp fabric of your underwear and a sharp breath escapes you.

His voice drops to a husky murmur. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, not just from the way he touches you, but from the way he looks at you—devouring, mesmerized. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping up your neck, your ears. Your grip on his shirt tightens as his touch grows bolder, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your folds, teasing, coaxing.

Your lips part on a quiet whimper, and he catches it, swallowing the sound as he leans in again, capturing your mouth in another slow, intoxicating kiss. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing scrape that makes you shudder against him, makes your body arch instinctively. His fingers press firmer, brushing up, down—catching against your clit with just enough friction. You gasp softly, tightening your grip on him, your hips shifting involuntarily.

Then, his fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear, and you rest your hand against his shoulder, lifting your hips to help him slide the fabric down your legs. Heat blooms across your cheeks when you catch him tucking the lace into his pocket, and you’re even more flustered when you see the mischievous smirk on his lips.

His fingers trail back between your legs, but the first brush of his fingers against your bare folds makes you jolt.

"Relax for me, honey." His voice is soft, soothing, his lips just a breath from yours.

You nod, your breath shaky as you let your body give in. His fingers slide along your wet heat, teasing and exploring in slow, tender strokes. Your grip tightens on his shoulder as one finger circles your entrance, prodding and testing you. A quiet gasp escapes you as you tug at his shirt, pulling him closer—and you press your lips to his, your tongue tangling with his.

Then his finger pushes in slowly, making you feel every inch of that delicious stretch and every slick, teasing glide. He finds that sweet spot with ease, the one that makes your breath hitch and your toes curl. A soft curse slips from your lips as he strokes it again and again, spreading tingling warmth through you.

He savors your soft, breathy whimpers as he slides a second finger inside, curling them just right and moving them in deep strokes.

"Does that feel good?" he murmurs, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

You can only nod, unable to form words when he’s touching you so perfectly. Your gaze flickers downward—between your legs, where his fingers move, where his hand glistens with your arousal—and the sight alone sends another pulse of heat through you.

Xavier’s lips curve in a soft, knowing smile as he takes in your expression, your half-lidded eyes, your parted lips. His free hand lifts, cradling the back of your neck, tilting your head to expose your neck to him. His lips graze your skin, teasing at first, before his tongue flicks out, dragging a wet trail along the sensitive slope of your neck.

A sharp gasp escapes you as his thumb presses against your clit. He circles it in slow, lazy swirls, the pleasure deepening, pooling low in your stomach. Your thighs tremble, hips shifting involuntarily, chasing more, needing more.

"That’s it, honey." he breathes against your throat, his fingers plunging deeper, working you open. He latches onto your skin, sucking gently, his breath fanning over the damp spot.

The hand on his shoulder moves to hold onto his forearm, each precise stroke sending jolts of pleasure through you, winding that coil in your belly impossibly tight. You’re right there, trembling on the edge, every breath a shaky, desperate gasp. If you had any control left, you would be embarrassed by the broken sounds spilling from your lips—whimpers, soft cries, the only thing you can manage being his name, over and over like a plea.

Xavier groans low in his throat. “You sound so fucking beautiful,” he rasps, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me, princess. I’ve got you.”

His control is slipping—you can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his hips press forward, seeking friction against your thigh. He’s trembling, barely holding himself back, and the thought alone sends pleasure ripping through you. You shatter against him, burying your face in his neck as your release crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers, slick dripping down his hand. He holds you through it, his grip firm, his breath ragged, whispering praise into your hair, your pleasure undoing him just as much.

Your lips press against his throat, muffling the last of your cries as your body trembles against him, and he’s not so sure he can hold back any longer. His hand catches your chin, tilting your face toward his. His thumb brushes along your jaw, eyes locked onto yours, dark and desperate. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“I need to feel you.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, trembling. “Please.”

Your body is still pulsing with the aftershocks of release, but you know you need more.

"Yes." You whisper, wasting no time to slip one hand between your bodies, trembling slightly as you reach for his pants.

Xavier groans softly, helping you with the belt when your hands fumble, his own need evident in the way he works quickly to unfasten it. The moment he pulls himself free, your breath catches—he's so hard, flushed and aching, the sight alone making you even more wet. You can’t help but wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight, the heat, the pulse beneath your touch. When your thumb glides over the bead of precum on his tip, smearing it over the sensitive skin, a sharp hiss leaves his lips, his grip tightening on your waist.

"Fuck—" he exhales, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, stilling your touch before he brings your hand up, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of it. Then, as he lowers his gaze, positioning himself between your legs, his breath stutters again. His tip nudges against your soaked entrance, and just before he presses forward, his eyes flick back up to yours.

"I don’t have— Do you—?"

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you cradle his cheek, your thumb stroking along his jaw. "I'm covered," you murmur, brushing your lips over his. "And I trust you."

His exhale is shaky, his forehead pressing to yours before he finally moves. Carefully, the thick head of his cock begins to ease in, parting you with an aching stretch that has your body tensing before melting, your nails pressing into the firm muscles of his shoulders. You’re already so sensitive, still pulsing from his fingers, and this only adds to your dizzying arousal.

"Fuck," he grits out, his jaw clenching as he inches deeper. "You're so—"

The words die in a low groan as he bottoms out, pressing flush against you, his pelvis catching on your clit in a way that sends sparks through every nerve in your body. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him so tightly that he shudders, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Are you okay?" he breathes against your hair, his arms tightening around you.

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding as your body adjusts. Your lips part against the crook of his neck, sucking lightly on the skin there, grounding yourself in the feel of him. His first thrust is slow, dragging — so controlled it’s almost torturous. You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the way his breath shakes as he exhales through gritted teeth.

"Look at you—so beautiful." A deep groan rumbles in his chest as you clench down around him, your walls gripping him so tight it makes his thrusts falter, his cock stroking against that perfect spot over and over.

Your hands slide up, fingers curling in his hair, tugging gently as you tilt your face up, finding his eyes.

"Xavier—ahh—" your voice is soft, pleading, "I’m so close. I need you—"

His cock twitches inside you, throbbing against your walls, slick and tight and perfect. His fingers dig into your hips, trying to hold back, but it’s no use. A desperate moan spills from your lips as his thumb returns to your clit, pressing, circling, matching the frantic stutter of his hips.

"You feel so fucking good," he rasps, voice wrecked, hoarse. "Taking me so well, honey."

Pleasure crashes into you, shattering, overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him, pulsing, gripping, and Xavier curses under his breath, arms locking around you, holding you through it.

"That’s it—fuck—just like that,” he pants, breath shaky. “I’ve got you—haah—I'm so close."

His rhythm stutters, his hips grinding deeper, erratic, chasing the high. You’re still trembling, still lost in your high, but you don’t want him to stop—not with the way his cock throbs inside you, not with the way his breath stutters.

You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper. That’s all it takes.

Xavier chokes on a groan, his hands gripping you so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow. His cock pulses, his entire body tensing as his release crashes into him, his hips pressing flush against yours as hot spurts of cum spill deep inside you. His breath breaks into uneven gasps against your ear as he grinds through it, his cum slipping out, messy and warm between you.

"Can’t get enough of you," he mutters, almost delirious. His lips brush your temple, his hands roam over you, slow, reverent. Even spent, his cock twitches inside you, hips rolling in lazy, absent thrusts, as if he’s already craving more.

"Never gonna get enough of you," he breathes.

Xavier doesn’t move for a while, and you don’t want him to. His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest as his breath evens out, warm against your hair. His fingers trace light, absentminded patterns on your back, his other hand smoothing over the side of your waist, as if he can’t stop touching you. You sigh into him, boneless, completely melted in his hold, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied hum in response, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

His lips graze your forehead before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze is warm and tender as he takes in the sight of you in the afterglow, "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulder, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to say anything when all you want to do is hold onto this feeling forever.

So instead, you just nuzzle closer, in the crook of his neck where small, faint marks are forming on his skin. He smiles against your cheek, squeezing your waist before he loosens his hold, letting you shift against him.

And then your nose reminds you of something. Your eyes snap open, panic flashing through you as you sit up straight, hands flying to Xavier’s chest.

“Oh no!”

His brows furrow, confused at the sudden change. “What?”

“The bread!”

You scramble off the counter, adjusting your dress as best as you can, legs still shaky, as you rush to the oven, already bracing yourself for disaster. But when you peek inside, miraculously, the bread is still perfect. Golden brown, fluffy, not even close to burnt.

You let out a deep, relieved sigh.

As you take off the oven mitts after placing the bread on a cooling rack, you turn back to Xavier. He’s leaning lazily against the counter, pants in place, but his shirt still rumpled, his hair thoroughly disheveled. He looks impossibly handsome like this. But instead of letting yourself get distracted, you cross your arms, feigning a small pout. "You’re bad luck in the kitchen."

"Bad luck?" He tilts his head, and you instantly regret saying anything.

He pushes off the counter, strolling toward you with that confident ease, stopping just shy of pressing against you. "Didn’t seem like you minded the distraction."

Your face burns.

You could argue. You could roll your eyes, huff, tell him off for that smug little look he’s giving you. But what’s the point? He knows he’s right. And you’re too warm, too utterly spent to even deflect.

Before you can decide on a response, he moves.

One second, you’re standing there, legs still a little wobbly, and the next—Xavier scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. A startled yelp slips past your lips, but it dissolves into breathless laughter as you grab onto his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

But he only gives you a soft smile, before pressing his lips to yours.

By the time he pulls back, your head is spinning all over again.

He smirks down at you, adjusting his hold. “Come on, princess,” he murmurs, walking toward the bathroom. “We made a mess.”

As you gaze at his face, you muse how the once-distant, untouchable Xavier—the man who felt like a star too far away—has somehow become warm and steady and impossibly close.

And you’re just a giddy, melted puddle in his arms.

[prettymfwrites]

Wifey🤰🏾💍

Mom Paige bueckers x influencer mom female reader

Summary: You and Paige are married and have three kids... Which as quickly become a running joke.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The cozy hum of family life filled the kitchen as you set your phone up against the countertop for an impromptu Instagram Live. Parker was perched on your hip, her chubby hands fiddling with the strap of your tank top as her big brown eyes darted around with curiosity. Her soft coos melted your heart as you adjusted the angle of the phone, your face lighting up when the viewers started rolling in.

“Alright, y’all, don’t come for me about how tired I look,” you teased, glancing at the comments scrolling quickly on the screen. “This is mom life, okay? Three kids in five years. I’m running on iced coffee and vibes at this point.”

Parker gurgled, and you kissed her cheek softly. “Parker says hi, by the way. Say hi, baby,” you encouraged, lifting her tiny hand to wave at the screen.

The comments were already flying in:

“Y’all had another kid?!”

“At this point, Paige needs to chill.”

“Mama stays busy fr.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I swear, y’all love dragging Paige. She’s somewhere around here, probably eating something she didn’t ask me if she could have.”

Right on cue, you felt familiar arms slide around your waist from behind. Paige’s taller frame towered over you, and you felt her chin rest lightly on top of your head. She pressed close, her warmth immediately grounding you.

“There she is,” you said, laughing softly as the comments exploded. “And here comes the culprit.”

Parker lit up when she spotted Paige, letting out an excited squeal. Paige peeked down at the baby, grinning ear to ear. “Hi, Mama,” she cooed, her voice soft and playful as Parker reached out for her.

“Here, take her,” you said, passing Parker to Paige, who immediately kissed her baby’s cheek. The sight made your chest warm. Seeing Paige with your kids always hit you in a special way.

“Look at these two,” you said to the camera, your voice tinged with affection. “They look like twins.”

Paige stayed behind you, holding Parker with one arm while keeping the other securely around your waist. Her grip was gentle yet firm, a silent reminder of how much she adored you. You glanced at a comment that caught your eye.

“Let us see the nails.”

“Oh, okay!” you said, holding up your hand to the camera. Your fresh set gleamed, and the delicate cursive "P" on your ring nail caught the light. “What do y’all think? I wanted something simple this time.”

Before you could pull your hand away, Paige leaned closer, pointing at the nail. “Y’all see this? This my baby. My wife. That ‘P’ don’t stand for anyone but me,” she declared proudly.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Relax, Buckets. You know they know I’m yours.”

Paige smirked, her free arm snaking back around your waist to pull you even closer. The comments started to get even more chaotic:

“Paige, get off her!”

“Doctor, it’s loose again!”

“Sis can’t breathe, let her go.”

“Okay, so y’all thinking boy or girl for the next one?”

Paige laughed loudly, leaning her forehead against the back of your head. “If y’all had a woman like this, you wouldn’t be able to stay off her either. Be real.”

You turned your head to give her a side-eye. “Paige, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ve been started,” she teased, pressing a series of soft kisses on your shoulder. Parker babbled happily in her arms, as if agreeing with her mama.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with her, your heart full in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. Turning your attention back to the live, you read aloud one more comment: “Seriously, Paige, leave the poor woman alone!”

“Y’all act like I don’t love this,” you said, smiling knowingly. “I married her for a reason, didn’t I?”

Paige grinned behind you, placing another kiss on your shoulder. “You sure did. You stuck with me now, baby.”

I take requests! 💋 also leave a comment I love to hear from y'all

[reidsworld]

Baby Fever

Summary: Max gets a case of baby fever after seeing you with his nephew. Based on this request.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!Teammate!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.1k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for the request, I’m a Max girlie through and through so I loved writing this. I hope I was able to meet your expectations!

Masterlist

The race weekend was in full swing, and the paddock was buzzing with energy. You were sitting on a bench near the Red Bull garage, Max’s nephew, Luka, perched on your lap. The little boy was a bundle of excitement, his tiny hands gripping the steering wheel of a toy car as he made vroom-vroom noises, completely engrossed in his make-believe race.

“You’re getting really good at this, Luka,” you said with a warm smile, watching as he zoomed the car around imaginary curves.

Luka beamed up at you, his blue eyes—so much like his uncle’s—shining with pride. “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a race car driver, just like you and Uncle Max!”

You chuckled, ruffling his soft brown hair. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve got racing in your blood.”

Max stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall of the garage, his heart swelling as he watched the interaction. He’d always been close to his nephew, but seeing you with Luka stirred something deep inside him. There was a softness in your eyes, a gentle warmth in your voice, and it hit Max with a wave of emotion he hadn’t expected.

He could picture it so clearly—a future where you weren’t just his teammate, or even just his girlfriend, but the mother of his children. The thought filled him with a longing he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.

Luka looked up at you with wide eyes, clearly adoring the attention you were giving him. “Will you come to my races when I’m a big racer?” he asked, his small voice full of hope.

“Of course,” you replied without hesitation, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’ll be your biggest fan. And I bet Uncle Max will be there too, cheering you on.”

Max’s heart clenched at your words, a sudden rush of affection surging through him. He’d always been focused on racing, on winning, on pushing himself to be the best. But now, watching you with Luka, all he could think about was a different kind of victory—a life filled with love, laughter, and family.

You looked up and caught Max’s gaze, noticing the way he was staring at you. There was something different in his expression, something deeper. “What’s on your mind?” you asked softly, tilting your head in curiosity.

Max pushed off the wall and walked over to you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Just thinking about how good you are with him,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “He’s a great kid. It’s easy.”

“Yeah,” Max murmured, his gaze dropping to Luka, who was now focused on driving his toy car across your lap. “But it’s more than that. You’re… you’re amazing with him— not just him, kids have always been drawn to you. And it makes me think about… about the future.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you realised what he was saying. The look in his eyes, the emotion in his voice— it was all so clear now. “Max…”

He reached out and took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I want that with you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “A family. Kids. I didn’t realise how much I wanted it until now.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the weight of his words settling into your heart. “I want that too,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “More than anything.”

Luka, oblivious to the emotional moment between you and Max, suddenly looked up with a big grin. “Uncle Max, can I race with you one day?”

Max blinked, a laugh escaping him as he was pulled back to the present. “We’ll see, buddy. But for now, how about we get some ice cream?”

Luka’s eyes lit up, and he jumped off your lap, grabbing Max’s hand. “Ice cream!”

Max smiled down at his nephew before turning back to you, his eyes soft. “Come on, let’s all go.”

As the three of you made your way to the paddock’s hospitality area, Max felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. This was what he wanted—moments like these, filled with love and happiness, with you by his side.

Later, as you sat together at a table, Luca happily devouring his ice cream, Carlos Sainz and Daniel Ricciardo wandered over, spotting the three of you.

“Well, well, well,” Daniel drawled, a smirk on his face. “What’s this? Max Verstappen, the babysitter? Or should I say, dad-in-training?”

Max rolled his eyes, but the fondness in his expression was undeniable. “Funny, Ricciardo,” he said, though he couldn’t resist glancing over at you and Luca.

Carlos leaned in, catching the way Max’s eyes softened. “No, but seriously, Max. You’ve got that look in your eyes. You thinking of adding ‘dad’ to your list of titles?”

Max shrugged, trying to play it cool, but failing miserably. “She’s always been amazing with kids,” he admitted. “I guess I’m just now realizing it,” he said as he reached over and grabbed your hand.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, sharing an amused look with Daniel. “Wow. Mad Max, finally softening up. Who would’ve thought?”

Daniel shook his head, feigning disbelief. “This is wild. First, he’s all about winning races, and now he’s over here daydreaming about diaper changes. What’s next, Max? Minivans?”

Max shot them both a look, but it lacked any real heat. “Keep talking, and I’ll make sure to remind you of this when you’re the ones dealing with baby fever.”

Carlos clapped Max on the back, unable to resist a laugh. “Hey, I’m just saying—who knew you’d be the first of us to get hit with it this hard? You’re practically picking out baby names over there.”

Max’s gaze drifted back to you and Luca, who was now blissfully covered in chocolate ice cream. He couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. Daniel let out a low whistle. “Man, I’ve never seen you like this. Totally whipped.”

You reached out to wipe Luca’s face with a napkin, glancing over at Max and the other drivers with a knowing smile. “You guys really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

Carlos grinned. “Not a chance.”

Max shook his head, but there was no denying the contentment in his eyes as he watched you. “Nah, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

As the teasing continued, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement for the future. With Max by your side, you knew whatever came next would be just as thrilling as any race.

Mars speaks... (again) If you wish to be added to my taglist for max or anyone else that I write for, please feel free to ask! Thank you for reading and have a great day. Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

[lechrts]

Die For You. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Friend!reader

Summary: When he’s the only one that’s allowed to pick on you. (And unfortunately someone else picks on you, and it backfires.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Disclaimer/s: fluff… kinda… defensive!Lando 👅. A tad bit of body shaming i fear …

Vera’s Voice! hi Enya. For U. i hope i did this justice.

The bar was alive with laughter and music, and you were perched at the counter, sipping on your favorite fruity cocktail. As usual, Lando couldn’t resist making a comment the moment he saw you.

“Another one?” He said, sauntering up next to you with a smug grin. “What is that now? Your third? Fourth?“ He grinned with a small pause.

“Be careful. We can’t afford to have you tumbling like a drunk mess in the streets later.”

You glared at him, already irritated. “I can handle myself, and this is my second drink. Thank you very much.” A scoff and eye roll emitted from your body.

“Yeah, right,” He replied, his grin widening. “Say that again when you inevitably start slurring your words and crying about how much you hate tequila.”

“Ha. Funny.” You deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” He pressed, leaning on the counter with a quirked brow and stupid smile. “You’re a lightweight. One more of those, and you’re topless on a counter.”

You scoffed, taking another sip of your drink just to spite him. “And I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

“Maybe so,” He fired back with a sheepish shrug. “But I’m just looking out for you,” Another wink.

Before you could respond, one of Lando’s mates—you couldn’t remember his name, they weren’t that close honestly—wandered over, clearly overhearing the exchange.

“Seriously,” He said, his eyes scanning the glass in your hand. “Another sugary monstrosity? You know that stuff makes you bloat, right?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You froze, the insult hanging in the air as your self-consciousness surged.

“And for the record,” He continued, smirking like he’d just delivered the joke of the century, “It’s not exactly flattering. Just saying.”

Lando’s head snapped toward him so fast it was almost comical. But there was nothing funny about the deadly look on his face.

“What’d you say?” Lando’s voice was low and ice-cold, a tone you’d never heard from him before as her quirked a brow with a repulsed look.

His friend blinked, caught off guard. “Just telling your friend here that she’s gonna get fat if she continues drinking all that—“

Lando cut him off with a light shove, almost like it was a warning for him to shut up

“Relax, mate. I was just jok—”

“Yeah? Well, it wasn’t funny,” He cut him off sharply, now stepping forward to put himself in front of you. “Who even says that? You think that’s funny?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” The guy stammered, clearly starting to regret opening his mouth.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lando snapped. “You don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Got it?”

“Alright, chill, mate. I didn’t know she was off-limits or whatever.”

“Off-limits?” Lando repeated, his voice rising. “She’s not off-limits, she’s just better than your pathetic attempts at humor. So why don’t you piss off.”

The guy muttered something under his breath before walking away, leaving the two of you standing in tense silence.

“Lando…” You started, but he turned to face you before you could say more.

His expression softened as he ran a hand through his hair. “I hope you don’t believe a word he said.“

You swallowed hard, still feeling the sting of the comment but touched by Lando’s protectiveness. “Thanks for…that,” You said quietly.

“I mean it,” Lando said, stepping closer. “I know I’m a prick but it’s all in good fun.” A pause. “I also never make comments about your appearance.. considering you’re gorgeous…” He trailed off, his sly way of sneaking in a compliment making you slightly blush.

You huffed out a small laugh, your lips twitching into a faint smile. “I don’t know what’s more shocking: that you just defended me or that you actually said something nice for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” He said, his usual smirk creeping back.

“Of course,” You muttered, rolling your eyes. “Who else will tell me I’m stupid every second they can?”

“Only me,” He added, his tone more serious. “No one else gets to. Not like that.”

You looked up at him, his sincerity catching you off guard. “Deal.”

And just like that, the teasing and bickering was back—but this time, you couldn’t help but feel a little safer, knowing Lando had your back.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[cheyisagirlkisser]

・゜゜Gamer Ellie Headcannons ・．

NSFW CONTENT BELOW, MDNI

✧.* Gamer Ellie wears those plaid boxer-shorts around the house adorned with some random t-shirt she often sleeps in. When she's out and about, she loves her classic flannel or white wife-beaters, sports bra peeking out of the fabric when she moves just ever so slightly. Converse and doc-martins all the way. You'll beg her not to wear it in public, but Ellie's got this one black Call of Duty t-shirt that is she is obsessed with.

✧.* Gamer Ellie ismore introverted than anything. She likes staying inside with you and watching movies with you rather than going on restaurant dates. Speaking of movies, gamer Ellie would be more into comedy and sci-fi than anything. I've mentioned in previous headcannons Ellie would be a huge Jurassic park fan, but some other movie / shows she'd be begging you to watch with her are Airplane, Star Trek, and Pulp Fiction. Anything with action or on her level of dumb humor, and Star Trek for when she's geeking out. It's her guilty pleasure.

✧.* Gamer Ellie's favorite type of physical touch is having your fingers running through her hair. She likes to feels your touch in such a light, vulnerable way. Sometimes when she's playing a game, you'll approach her from behind and massage her scalp with your sweet touch. "Babe, you're distracting me!" She'll complain with a dramatic but playful groan, but her freckled face will melt like ice on a hot day from your touch.

✧.* Gamer Ellie isn't good at multi-tasking. She loves having you all up in her lap while her fingers are punching keys, but she always seems to lose when you're touching her, let alone near her. Why? Her thoughts are filled with the night before when the two of you were about to fall asleep, giggling in bed about some video on your phone, and specifically she's thinking about when you forgot all about sleep and had a late-night make-out session with some 90's movie tuned out on the television. It's so hard to remember to reload her virtual AR when all she's feeling is the way your warm fingers slid down her back and how your breathing turned into soft pants when she got all greedy and latched her filthy mouth onto your neck. Still, she'd never tell you to get off of her lap so she could focus. You were worth every aggravating respawn.

✧.* Gamer Ellie, in bed, isn't some huge dommy-mommy or whatever you're thinking. She's really touchy, sure. But she's honestly just your average lesbian who is absolutely obsessed with her girl, and she blanks at time. You'll be on top of her, and she's got this cave-woman aura going where she's just staring at your pretty face, focused on chasing your lips for a kiss. Her hands are awkwardly perched on her sides because she forgets how to even touch you: you're such a fucking goddess, and she's kind of a loser. You're a savior, though; guiding her hands to your waist with a sweet, patient smile. Ellie will get the cue and her fingers will spread across your waist to the top of your hips, and she remembers how desperate she is. (This one was inspired by me with my gf, you're so real gamer Ellie)

✧.* Gamer Ellie is also a switch! If you want her to be the top, she'll do it, but like I said she's going to be all cute and embarrassed about it. She'll be eating you out and her thoughts will be going at 100 miles per hour: "Am I doing this right?" "She's moaning Ellie, stop overthinking it." And sometimes the only thought she can really be having is "I love pussy." Cute. When she's bottom, which is most of the time, she isn't really all submissive and whiney but more like, defensively flustered like how she got with Dina when Dina threatened to bite her on the couch. Gay panic type of bottom. She does get pretty loud when you use a vibrator on her, though. That's a personal favorite in the bedroom.

✧.* Gamer Ellie did have a Fortnite phase. She hates talking about it but she spent like an ungodly amount on the stupidest skins. She used to make you watch her play at first, and then it was you having to create a whole Epic account so you could be her duo. Ellie's favorite season? Chapter two season seven. Why? Aliens. She got the battle pass and unlocked the alien skins, too. A little after she got super obsessed with it, like yelling at some 12 year old boy telling him his mother wishes she swallowed him, she moved on to a game that wasn't making her yell at at her screen. You were thankful.

✧.* Gamer Ellie is a huge night owl. While your sleep schedule is pretty average, she will blink and it'll be four in the morning. She'll groan and pop her back before stripping down to underwear and a t-shirt and then crash on your shared bed, making you stir from your rest. She sleepily curls her body into yours, peppering the warmest smooches wherever(probably with her eyes closed or half-way, at least) and muttering out apologies for waking you in the most ethereal voice known to woman-kind (it's raspy and the one she uses during sex when she's attempting to be a good top).

A/N: Thank you everyone for over 500 followers! I hope to post some longer fics this week or at least some more arcane fics. I promised some Jinx content, hopefully that'll be soon. Love you all.

[satoruxx]

ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader (hinted) | 5k words

✧ SUMMARY: ghost!reader, major character death, jjk manga spoilers, so much angst bc you literally die lmao, longing, mutual pining, suppressed feelings, everyone sucks at love, some fluff, banter, might be slightly suggestive, lots of hinted feelings (read: suguru), arguments, overall this is painful so read if you enjoy angst !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: this idea randomly came to me before i went to bed a few days ago and in the spirit of halloween, i figured why not? i live off of angst and need to share the pain with everyone lmao oops. this is late for halloween tho my bad !!

i. 2007

satoru brings one more flower than he did the day before. morning glories again, of course, but an extra one. he had added one more to the the bunch every day since the day you died. the first day, he brought three, wrapped with a cheap blue ribbon that he found in his desk drawer. it was hardly a respectable bouquet, but those three flowers were the ones he'd grown for you, so it only seemed fitting.

he didn't care much for gardening. but one day you asked shoko what her favorite flowers were so you could give her some on valentine's day. she asked you what yours were so she could return the favor.

satoru never forgot morning glories after that day.

he's not even sure if morning glories are appropriate to bring to a grave, but he knows you'd like them.

you would tell him it didn't matter anyway.

ii. 2007

(suguru did not cry when you died. satoru watched, intently, because there was nothing in the universe that his six eyes couldn't catch. he waited for it, even a sliver of emotion that would betray suguru's bleeding heart, but he gave nothing. he just stood in front of the stone that marked the end of your life with a deep stare. something had settled there in his eyes, cold and resolute.

a few months before you died, you had told satoru that there was something wrong with suguru. you said that he'd been distant, somewhere far away, and you worried for him. you always did, so open with your affection for him.

"don't want him to get lost." you had hummed, your shoulder brushing against satoru's as you raise the mango ice pop he brought you to your mouth. satoru watches your lips out of the corner of his eyes, his stomach flipping eagerly even as he keeps his face impassive.

"he said it was just the summer heat," he answers, ignoring the sweet mango juice dripping down his knuckles. "should be nothing."

you don't look all that convinced, turning your head to look up at him with meaningful glance. "you sure?"

he stares at you for a lengthy second, cerulean eyes darting over your facial features, before he reaches up and knocks his knuckle against your forehead. "yeah. he'll be fine." he assures, and your shoulders relax as you continue to eat the ice pop.

you were right about it all. four days after you die, suguru massacres an entire village.)

iii. 2008

satoru shifts in his bed, grunting quietly he begins to stretch his stiff joints. his eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep as he waits for his dark ceiling to come into focus. except it doesn't, because all he can see are a pair of very familiar looking eyes. unsaturated, but still so obviously the color he once knew. his own eyes snap open, all traces of sleep gone as he finally makes out someone who looks exactly like you, perched on his stomach with a confused and slightly panicked expression.

he shoots up, and you pull back a little. it looks like you're on his lap, and yet he can't feel you on him at all. he gulps.

"hey toru." you say quietly, and his stomach drops. the same eyes, the same voice. gods above.

"you're dead," he says simply, trying not to betray the way his pulse is jumping at even the smallest glimpse of you again. "you're not real."

"i'm dead," you confirm, nodding your head as you look down at your translucent palms. "but i'm here somehow."

he sucks in a breath, reaching out a hand as if to touch you. the disappointment he feels when it passes through your form is sickening.

you smile shakily, shrugging your shoulders as you attempt to make light of the situation.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

he stares at you for minutes without saying a word and you stare back, equally silent.

iv. 2007

(nanami had carried your body back, his teeth gritted as his blonde hair fell over his eyes. satoru never brought it up, but he knew that nanami remained bothered by it for the rest of his life. your death was bad timing, especially after they had just lost haibara a few weeks prior.

nanami had no reason to blame himself though. if anything, it was satoru's fault you were gone.

shoko had called him from the infirmary, her voice hard and pinched as she spat out three words: "get down here."

when satoru saw your body, he didn't say a word. just took a few long strides until he was at the table where nanami had placed you down. your eyes were shut, face resting in a way that seemed so unnatural. he opened his mouth to ask shoko something, but felt like he was choking on air, so he stopped himself.

then he grabbed your limp fingers, squeezed them gently. they were still a little warm, but not as warm as you usually run. shoko didn't say anything, just stood there with her hands clenched, short brown hair falling over her dark eyes.

satoru remained there for the next thirty minutes, waiting for you to sit up and laugh at the prank you were no doubt pulling. as if your blood wasn't still dripping all over the table.

shoko was the one who finally pulled a sheet over your body with shaking hands. she didn't look satoru in the eye, and didn't spare a glance when suguru burst into the room ten minutes later.)

v. 2008

it takes satoru a while to get used to the fact that you're not physically there. he has to bite his tongue when he moves to bump your shoulder or flick your forehead only to find that his skin goes right through yours. you always give him that same little rueful smile, and he sighs to himself.

he doesn't make an effort to figure out why you're there. he figures it's similar to how jujutsu users can come back as curses due to strong feelings. when he thinks about it though, guilt lodges itself into his throat, because the first thought he had when he heard you were entering death's door was no, don't you dare die.

every day he wonders if he's the one who cursed you to stay.

you act like it doesn't matter, hovering around him as he busies himself in his empty room. at first you're quiet, as though you've forgotten how to speak to him in your incorporeal form. but then you start asking him questions, and it's one question that satoru dreads to answer that you finally bring up.

"where's suguru?"

he's not stupid. he knows there's more you think of suguru than you've ever revealed. of course you'd want to know. but that doesn't mean he wants to be the one to tell you. you had died with nothing but a good impression of geto suguru. you'd probably died with your feelings for him still intact too.

it'd be selfish of satoru to ruin that.

"nothing, don't worry about it," he dismisses, voice clipped as he busies himself with preparing dinner. he knows that won't deter you.

you huff, moving to hover in his line of sight. you cross your arms as you glare at him seriously, and satoru hates how nostalgic your expression makes him feel. he tongues his cheek before sighing.

"he's gone." satoru answers simply. he tries to keep his tone even but it comes out bitter and strained. he can hear your quiet gasp, and feels your form move closer to him. if you were alive, he'd be able to feel your breath on his skin now.

"what do you mean, gone?"

satoru sighs again, turning to look at you completely. he hated everything about this. "he left school. went crazy. killed a bunch of people, including his parents."

he would've laughed at the comical way your jaw dropped if you didn't look so hurt. you sputter over your words as he picks up his bowl and moves to the table, trailing after him and demanding more information.

he doesn't hesitate to share, because he's always hated keeping secrets from you. you had this uncanny ability to see straight through him, and it never failed to make him feel unsettled. so he tells you everything that happened in the few weeks after you died. suguru leaving, their confrontation in shinjuku, his plans for non-sorcerers. he leaves nothing unsaid.

when he's done, he finally looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction. but you're just staring at his food with a bitter expression, brows pinched and lips pursed. satoru says your name once.

you glance at him, and it's too quick for him to look for any accusation in it. doesn't matter though, because he's ready to own up to his mistakes.

"you were right back then. about suguru." satoru admits quietly, turning to his food. he doesn't want to look at you anymore, because he's scared you'll show him how disappointed you are with him.

you don't say anything in response. but you sit down at the small dining table and watch him eat with soft eyes, one bite at a time. satoru doesn't admit it, but the whole time he imagines that you're gently rubbing his shoulder, and he thinks he hasn't missed you more than in that moment.

vi. 2007

(it was satoru's fault you died. if he hadn't been so selfish, you'd still be next to him, shoulder brushing his as the two of you walked through the streets of tokyo.

you had knocked on his door that morning before you had left for your last mission, rocking on your heels. he opened it groggily, still half asleep.

"you going on a mission?" satoru had yawned, drowsy eyes trailing over your uniform. you nod with a grin.

"mhm, with nanami. there are two separate areas with curses though, so we'll split up when we get there. should be simple enough." you shrug, toying with the collar of your uniform jacket.

satoru decides to be annoying. "then why are you here disturbing my sleep? get out." he groans dramatically, peering at you with narrowed eyes. you smack his arm, scoffing. you've stopped questioning why he keeps his infinity down for you do those things to him.

"i was gonna ask if you wanted to come with," you hiss, crossing your arms defensively. "but i'm taking it back, asshole."

he grins. "what? can't stay away?"

you roll your eyes, shaking your head with a sarcastic laugh. "don't flatter yourself."

satoru pauses for a second. "i was gonna go back to sleep." he admits, feeling a little guilty. he had just come back from a mission the night before, and he doesn't feel like leaving again. he doesn't know how to say that to you though.

but you see right through him, like you always do.

"you've been going on missions a lot lately," you smile earnestly, patting his shoulder. "no wonder you're tired."

"'m the strongest, i don't get tired." he protests, crossing his arms with a scoff. you roll your eyes again, sticking your tongue out at him as you heft your weapon over your shoulder.

"keep it up and you're seriously gonna fry your brain or something," you say with a shake of your head, eyes betraying your concern for him. he notices it, and tries to smother down the way it makes his stomach flip. "i'll be fine. you can come on my next mission with me."

fair enough, he thinks. he hadn't gone on missions with you or suguru in a while. he should remember to ask yaga to let him go on your next one. just the two of you. you and him. maybe he'd buy you a mango ice pop on the way back.

"fine." he acquiesces easily, not even thinking to protest. he'll see you later anyway, so he'll talk to you more when you get back.

you smirk a little, motioning to his bedhead, before gently kicking his shin. "go back to sleep then, stupid."

he rolls his eyes, reaching up to knock his knuckle against your forehead like he always does. "whatever. bring me some sweets on your way back, yeah?"

the laugh you give him as he shuts the door is the last thing he ever hears from you.

he should've gone with you.)

vii. 2012

satoru hates the way you're looking at him right now.

it was a stupid little mistake. he had gone to see little megumi and tsumiki earlier that afternoon, and as usual, you had tagged along with him. you'd watched him raise up the two kids over the last few years, never failing to tease about his newly acquired fatherhood, or how much he seemed to care about them despite his efforts to hide it. he didn't ever think to say that you'd helped him raise them up too. even in your incorporeal form you'd always been around to tell him what meals he could prep or to remind him that megumi liked black forest cake for his birthdays.

he'd gotten so used to you being around and he slipped up once. that afternoon when he had walked megumi home from school, teasing and poking fun at the kid, he'd made a stupid joke. megumi had rolled his eyes and told him to shut up.

and then without thinking, satoru had turned to you as you hovered next to him and groaned your name out dramatically before whining, "this kid is so mean to me!"

your eyes widened immediately, and if you were alive he'd probably see the color drain from your face. his stomach had sank and he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, even when megumi glanced at him with a raised brow.

"who are you talking to?" he asked, and satoru gulped, shaking his head as he broke eye contact with you to look down at the kid.

"nobody." he had answered.

he tries to ignore the meaningful stare you pin him with for the rest of the afternoon, hoping that you'll just forget about it. but as soon as satoru has left the kids and he's back in his own room, you're on him. he busies himself with making a cup of hot chocolate, even though he feels sick to his stomach.

"satoru you have to figure out how to get rid of me!" you plead, eyes so sad it makes his stomach churn. "i'm gonna drive you insane!"

"i'm fine!" he snaps back, shaking his head as he takes a sip from his mug, the warmth distracting him from whatever it was you were trying to remind him of. he places it down on the table in front of him and crosses his arms defensively. "it was a stupid mistake. won't happen again."

you shimmer in and out of focus, manifesting in front of him with a glare, though your eyes are still the same. wounded and hurt. "it wasn't and you know it! you can't keep living like this. i've been haunting you for years, toru!"

"well who asked you to go ahead and die?!" he yells without thinking, and it's like he sees your hurt bubble forth in slow motion.

"i went and died because i made a stupid mistake on a mission! quit blaming yourself, you dumbass!" you shout, voice raised higher than he's ever heard it.

satoru's mug shatters against the wall.

the two of you immediately turn to look at the mess with wide eyes, before slowly turning to each other to ensure that it really did happen.

"how'd you do that?" satoru asks quietly, his voice strained as he takes a few long strides towards you. you look down at your hand, the same one that you had lifted to swipe at his mug during your fit of rage. you look back up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. satoru's head is pounding, some kind of sick hope stirring within him. "you had to have touched it."

"i don't…" you trail off, voice filled with awe and a bit of fear. satoru reaches up a hand, ignoring the tremble in it, and moves to touch your face. he will never admit to the amount of times he begs in his head, please please please.

his hand goes straight though your skin, and your eyes soften. satoru lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, hiding his disappointment as he takes a step back and turns away.

viii. 2006

(satoru thinks gardening is ridiculous. plants are so fragile, needing to be constantly monitored and cared for like children. he can't understand why anyone would choose to garden as a hobby when there were less stressful things to do in spare time.

even the process was time consuming, he realizes as he scoops out piles of dirt into the small pots he had set out on his windowsill.

he thinks back to the silly little grin you had on your face as you answered shoko's question.

"morning glory," you had said, leaning against her shoulder. "i like the way they open in the morning and close at night."

shoko hummed, staring at the sky even as satoru quietly eavesdropped. "you got a favorite color?"

"the blue ones," you answered. "they're the prettiest."

your voice echoes in his head as he places the seeds into the soil, and he sighs heavily. why he was doing this for you was beyond him.

the thought makes him annoyed, and he huffs in frustration the entire time he plants them. gardening had to be the stupidest hobby ever.

and yet when three blue morning glories bloom against his windowsill, he can't hold back his grin.)

ix. 2017

satoru's grateful that you don't watch him kill suguru.

he tells you to go, and you give suguru a long stare, face pinched and sour even though your translucent eyes are shining. it's a shame suguru can't see you though, because satoru thinks you look so pretty. suguru would've been lucky to have you be the last thing he ever saw.

you turn away and disappear without a word, and after one last exchange, satoru finishes the job.

it's only after he watches rika's final goodbye to yuta does he realize the extent of what a goodbye even means. he'd said one to suguru, and yet he can't help but miss him as he walks back home. he wonders if suguru wouldn't have had to die if you were still around.

satoru had never gotten a goodbye with you though. you're somehow still with him, but he misses you so much. it puts an ugly feeling in his gut, twisted and dark. it weighs down on his shoulders as he finally opens the door to his room, heavy and overwhelming as he sees you sitting on his bed, face vacant.

he says your name, and you don't move. he takes a seat next to you, and something about your sad expression makes him so unbelievably angry.

"quit being sad about it," he finally spits out, the truthful extent of his feelings coming out. "it's not like you're even alive that you'd be able to see him."

you scoff as you give him a sidelong glare. "what's that supposed to mean? one of my closest friends just died and you expect me not to be upset about it?"

"at least he'll find a way to you!" satoru hisses, clenching his fists so hard that his nails leave crescents in his skin. "you two can have fun together for all of eternity."

there's a tense silence that follows as he grits his teeth, turning away from you. he's so disgusted right now. with suguru, with you, with himself.

"i'm all by myself." satoru mutters bitterly, the words so foreign on his tongue as the truth hits him.

god he misses you so much.

he suddenly feels a sharp thwack on the back of his head and he's turning around with wide eyes.

"don't you dare forget about shoko!" you hiss, tears in your eyes as you glare at him, hand raised. "i'll never forgive you!"

his throat goes dry, because the smack you just gave him was the first time you'd touched him since the day you died. there's a storm in his throat that threatens to break free, but he tries to keep it lodged in his throat. even with your teary eyes, he thinks you look just as pretty as you did with life flowing through you.

he misses suguru. he knows you do too, because there are translucent tears dripping down your cheeks and he has never ached to touch you more. but he can't because you're dead.

you remain in front of him all night, barely saying a word in between your sniffles. he doesn't say anything either, just watching you.

he doesn't know what there is to say. the only thing he ever wishes he got to say to you was goodbye. but you're here, in front of him, so a goodbye seems pointless.

when the sun comes up, you wish him a merry christmas, and he swears you never left him.

satoru says it back to you. you smile sadly.

he misses you so much.

x. 2007

(satoru had cleaned out your dorm room three days after you died.

he didn't really understand why he was doing it so early. shoko had frowned when he told her that he planned to pack away your things, frowned in a way that made her look like she disagreed.

well even if she did disagree, it didn't stop her from sitting in your desk chair, chewing on her nail quietly as she watched satoru fold your clothes. he didn't even understand why he was doing this.

maybe it was because every time he walked past your empty dorm room he felt sick to his stomach. there was a twisting feeling in his gut when he realized that you'd never curl up in that bed again. never sit by the window with a grin watching him and suguru bicker as they threw playing cards on the floor. he figured the faster he got rid of your remnants, the quicker the feeling would go away.

that's what he's hoping anyway. but when he picks up your jujutsu uniform he feels something claw at his throat, and he unconsciously digs his fingers into the fabric. he hears a sigh from behind him and then shoko is at his side, wordlessly easing the cloth from his hand. she lays it on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles before folding it carefully. when she places it into the box, satoru thinks her hands shake a bit.

there's a bitter expression on shoko's face that he's never seen before, and it makes his stomach twist.

they work on your room for the next few hours, until the sun has disappeared behind the horizon and the cool evening breeze bullies its way into your old space. neither of them say anything, save for the occasional nostalgic hum as they remember something that you did or they're reminded of the story behind one of the trinkets in your room. otherwise it's silent, and for a second satoru feels like he can hear your laugh.

it isn't until night has completely fallen that they are interrupted.

"what are you doing?"

satoru turns around just as shoko looks up, both of them finding suguru standing in the doorway. he hadn't taken a step in yet, eyes still trailing over the emptiness of your old room from behind an uncrossed line.

"cleaning." satoru answers, his voice oddly clipped.

"it wasn't messy…" suguru mutters back, his lips slanting in such an unusual way. there was an uncharacteristically determined look in his eyes, as though there was something in him that was struggling to burst forth. satoru didn't understand what it was.

"never said it was." satoru replies noncommittally. he hears shoko inhale deeply, shifting in your old chair as she watches the two of them stare at each other. there's a tense silence as he notices suguru frown.

satoru can't remember the last time he even had a full conversation with suguru. he remembers seeing you leave for your last mission, and he wants to kick himself for not asking earlier to be sent on group missions with the two of you.

even now, he doesn't really know what to say to suguru. all he can do is tighten his fingers around the edge of the box with your stuff neatly packed in, and watch his best friend sigh.

suguru wets his lips, eyes darting over your desk. there's an odd expression on his face, and his brows pinch as he notices something. then suguru reaches out to pick up an old polaroid, and satoru knows exactly which one it is. your arms slung around suguru's shoulders, smile so wide your cheeks probably hurt. suguru's expression was uncharacteristically gentle.

satoru remembers it so well, because he's the one who took the picture.

suguru looks at the polaroid without a word, rubbing the corner between his thumb and forefinger, and his expression suddenly mirrors the gentleness in the picture. his eyes remain stormy, deep and unsettling as he reaches conclusions that satoru will never understand.

the three of them stay quiet for a few minutes, even though satoru has so many questions that he can't figure out how to phrase. shoko toys with a cigarette between her lips, leaving it unlit because you've always hated the smell of smoke. suguru just stands there, silently eyeing your unfiltered smile through the lens of a camera.

satoru wonders if suguru's trying to say goodbye to you. he doesn't ask, and suguru doesn't say.

only after something had clicked in suguru's eyes, did satoru realize something was over. he couldn't help but feel like he had just buried you in that cardboard box with all your things, and he swallows hard.

then suguru clenches his fists, veins flexing as he looks around your room, almost like he was committing it to memory. satoru didn't understand why; it's not like suguru couldn't come see your room anytime he wanted.

then he turns away, hand lingering on the doorframe heavily, without another word.

just as suguru walks away, satoru thinks he hears your voice whispering in his ear.

"don't want him to get lost."

xi. 2018

something is wrong. something happened. something is wrong.

satoru knows he needs to wake up. but he's so tired, so exhausted from carrying on all by himself. he suddenly remembers the taste of frozen mango, sweet and chilled, and he wants to keep thinking about it for the rest of eternity.

but something is wong. he needs to wake up.

the minute satoru forces his eyes open, he can ignore the taste of blood in his mouth because you're there.

you're kneeling at his side, sunlight shining behind your head in a way that makes you look almost angelic. he'd believe it if you said you were an angel, because you've been dead for so long now.

you'd been a ghost for so many years, hovering around him and getting him through everything that had come his way. isn't that what guardian angels were supposed to do, guiding humans through their own trials? isn't that what you were doing to him since the day you died and came back to him?

you'd been a ghost. you'd been his angel. you'd been haunting him.

you'll always haunt him.

you seem to know it too, because the expression on your face is understanding, soft and yet so sad.

for what seems like the millionth time in his life, satoru aches to touch you.

he tries to move his hand but finds that he can't. synapses misfire. he can't feel his body anymore.

he wants to touch you. gods above, he wants to touch you so badly. please just this one last wish.

your translucent forms shimmers in the sunlight, and satoru can't tell if he's hallucinating or not because you suddenly seem to become fully physical. the particles of your form solidify, slowly filling with more color until you don't look quite so dilute. the saturation of your eye color comes back, and satoru can't look away because he's never seen a ghost so pretty before.

his breath hitches as you gently cup his cheek in your palm, warm and gentle. the melancholic look on your face makes his eyes sting.

"it's good to see you." he says with a weak smile, ignoring the metallic taste on his tongue. his breath is short, mind racing because your skin is on his again. finally, after so many years. you're so soft, just like he remembers.

"you weren't supposed to join me this quick." you sigh, eyes shining as you smile down at him ruefully. your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and satoru's cerulean eyes flutter.

no. no more waiting. he'd missed you too much. he doesn't have it in him to stay away from you anymore. he'd done it long enough. your fingers tremble against his skin and he almost laughs.

no more haunting.

there's a resolute part of him that knows you'll be the first thing he sees when he gets to wake up again. he decides that, when he does, he'll get you a mango ice pop and plant some morning glories with you.

his eyes fall shut with a sigh.

"guess i couldn't stay away."

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[isaadore]

US THREE QUINN HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing dad!quinn hughes x mom!reader

SUMMARY little snippets of your life with quinn before and after the birth of your son. word count 1.2k

warnings fem!reader, tooth-rotting fluff

notes i haven’t written anything in sooo long, so i’m a little rusty 😓 i apologize if this isn’t the best and a little cheesy. i just got a few ideas while watching titans (i’m in love with dick grayson)

QH43 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

PAINTING THE NURSERY

It was one of those perfect autumn afternoons, the kind where the air felt crisp and colourful leaves danced in the wind. Quinn set the last can of soft pastel yellow paint down on the nursery floor, and as the warm light streamed through the window, the walls seemed to glow. You were perched on a step stool, carefully taping the edges of the room, your growing belly just brushing the ladder as you shifted. Quinn was nearby, his brows furrowed, hovering slightly with one hand stretched out, ready to catch you if you even thought about wobbling.

“You know I’ve got this, right?” you teased, turning to shoot him a playful smirk.

“I know,” he replied, his own grin creeping onto his face, “but just... humour me, okay? I can't help it—I'm not taking any chances.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, hopping down to grab the paintbrush he held out to you. “All right, Mr. Safety First. Let's see if you’re as good with a paintbrush as you are with a hockey stick.”

“Better,” he shot back, popping open the paint can with a satisfying snap. 

As you worked together, it felt like more than just painting. You shared giggles and tossed around baby names, and then, in a moment of mischief, you smeared a little paint right on his nose. He retaliated with a playful swipe of yellow across your cheek, his boyish grin impossibly wide when you squealed in surprise. By the time the walls were mostly covered, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your heart felt so full it was almost overwhelming.

Quinn took a step back to admire the work, his hand resting gently on your back. “I think he’s going to love it,” he murmured.

“I think so too,” you replied softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, feeling all the warmth between you both.

PROUD DAD-TO-BE

The first time Quinn brought you and your soon-to-be son into a post-game interview was completely unexpected. The Canucks had just pulled off an overtime win, and Quinn was still filled with adrenaline as he stood by the microphone.

“Quinn, how does it feel to lead your team to a win like that?” a reporter asked, clearly eager for a soundbite.

He flashed a big grin, running a hand through his damp hair, still buzzing from the game. “It feels amazing. Honestly, though, it’s not just about me. My wife’s at home, seven months pregnant and absolutely crushing it. Every time I’m on the ice, I’m thinking about them. I want to make my son proud before he’s even here.”

The room filled with soft laughter and nods of approval. Quinn’s eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and excitement, and back home, you were curled up on the couch with tears in your eyes, feeling every word. He had this incredible way of melting your heart, always reminding you of the beautiful life you were building together.

CRAVINGS AND CHICKEN PARM

A few days later, you found yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, scrolling through recipes on your phone. Pregnancy cravings had hit you hard, and that night, all you could think about was chicken parmesan.

Quinn strolled in, wearing sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He leaned over your shoulder to peek at the screen, flashing a grin. “Alright, what’s on the menu tonight?” he asked.

“Chicken parm,” you said, setting your phone down with a smile. “And extra cheese, of course.”

“Even better,” he replied, already heading toward the fridge.

Quinn wasn’t exactly a culinary master, but he’d taken it upon himself to whip up whatever you were craving. Watching him in the kitchen was one of your favourite pastimes. He would hum under his breath, occasionally glancing back to check in on you. That night, as he dipped the chicken into the breadcrumb mixture, he paused, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You know,” he said, looking up with a smirk, “if our kid ends up loving hockey as much as chicken parm, we might be in for some late-night games and a lot of takeout.”

You laughed, shaking your head at the thought. “He’s going to have your work ethic and your heart, so I think we’ll manage just fine.”

Quinn’s ears turned a light shade of pink at the compliment, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he got back to layering the mozzarella and marinara with a focus that made you smile. When he finally set the plate in front of you, there was a look of triumph on his face.

As you took that first bite, Quinn settled in beside you, his hand instinctively resting on your belly. Just then, the baby kicked, and both of you froze before bursting into joyful smiles.

“Looks like he approves,” Quinn said softly, his thumb brushing gently against your skin through your shirt. 

“He definitely has good taste,” you replied, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

LULLABIES

It was well past midnight when Quinn heard the soft sound of you humming from the nursery. He had just wrapped up reviewing game footage in his office, but the gentle melody drew him out. Quietly, he padded down the hall and leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of you swaying in the rocking chair.

At first, you were lost in your own world, your hands resting on your belly as you sang a lullaby barely above a whisper. The dim glow of the nightlight cast a warm, golden light around the room, and at that moment, Quinn thought you’d never look more beautiful.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmured, stepping inside and breaking the stillness.

You looked up, a smile brightening your face. “Just practicing for when he gets here. Thought I’d get a head start on lullabies.”

Quinn knelt beside the chair, his chin resting on the armrest as he gazed up at you. “You’re going to be an amazing mom,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s so lucky to have you.”

You reached out, your fingers gently stroking his dark hair. “And he’s got the best dad in the world. We make a good team, don’t we?”

“The best,” he replied, leaning in to place a tender kiss on your belly. “Hey, buddy, you’re going to love it here. I promise.”

FIRSTS

On the morning of Quinn’s first game, after the baby was born, the house was buzzing with energy. You darted around the living room, stuffing essentials into the diaper bag while Quinn wrestled with the car seat straps, frustration written all over his face.

“This thing is impossible,” he grumbled, tugging at the straps.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

With a little teamwork, you managed to get the seat secured, and Quinn let out an exasperated cheer. “We did it! All right, now we’re all set!”

As you carefully strapped your son into the seat, Quinn knelt down, his face breaking into a wide grin as he gazed at the baby. “Okay, little man. It’s game day! No pressure, but we’ve got a streak to uphold.”

You gave him an amused roll of your eyes. “Don’t listen to him. Just focus on being adorable.”

Quinn leaned over and planted a kiss on your cheek, his excitement radiating as he headed toward the door. “Best cheer squad ever!” he called back, his voice full of warmth.

When you got to the rink, the atmosphere was electric. Quinn scored a goal and immediately turned to look at you in the stands, where you sat cradling your son. The pride lighting up his eyes was everything, and in that moment, everything felt just right.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ QH43 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[calypso-rt]

ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ

ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ᴘᴏɢᴜᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | 1.6k

ᴀ/ɴ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ :)

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀꜰᴇ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇʟʏ ᴇɴᴀᴍᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ…ʏᴏᴜ ��ᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ..

Stolen glances and lingering eyes should’ve been enough proof of the growing attractions.

But you and Rafe Cameron were the epitome of obliviousness.

Everyone could see it, I mean, even Rafe’s own idiotic friends noticed. The Pogues, despite their distaste for Rafe, could see it too. It was obvious from the moment he first met you…

It started months ago when you moved to the Outer Banks and snagged a summer job at the island’s country club. You were new to the chaos of island life, with its clear divides between the Kooks and the Pogues, but the country club seemed like neutral ground…well, not at all actually, but at least you were valued as an employee.

Rafe had strolled in one muggy afternoon, exuding an air of careless confidence. He was there to pick up his sister, Sarah, but you didn’t know that yet. What you did notice was how his sharp blue eyes locked onto you when you fumbled with a tray of drinks.

“You’re spilling,” he said flatly, gesturing to the condensation pooling on your tray.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your tone clipped, though you felt your cheeks warming.

But instead of brushing it off, Rafe grabbed a few napkins from the counter and handed them to you, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It was such a simple gesture, but you noticed the hesitation in his hand, as though he was reluctant to let go.

From then on, he started showing up at the club more often. At first, it was always with a reason: picking up Sarah, meeting friends, golfing. Yet somehow, he always ended up near your section, lounging in a chair with an iced tea, his sunglasses pushed up to his hair as he watched you dart between tables.

“You’re working too hard,” he teased one day, catching you mid-sprint. He was perched on the edge of a barstool, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a hint of a tan.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of lounging around all day,” you shot back, though the way his lips twitched into a lopsided grin made your heart flutter.

As the weeks passed, the small gestures piled up. He’d linger in line just long enough to exchange a few words, his voice soft but teasing. He started carrying a spare pen in his pocket because he noticed you were always searching for one. Once, when a storm rolled in out of nowhere, Rafe showed up at the back door with an umbrella and waited until your shift ended to walk you to your car.

“It’s pouring,” you said, exasperated but touched by his effort.

“And?” he replied, tilting the umbrella slightly so more of it covered you. “Can’t have you getting sick.”

You didn’t see the way his friends smirked from across the lot or the knowing glance Sarah threw his way. But when you whispered a soft “thank you,” he smiled down at you like you’d handed him the moon.

You didn’t need to say anything else. 

Everyone knew.

It was only a matter of time.

And so here you were lounging on the sand on a little beach day. The waves were high and the sun was ablaze, illuminating your skin in a golden light.

Days like these are when the Kooks and the Pogues came to an unspoken sort of truce and shared the beachspace. They both knew where the best surfing spots were.

Lost in your little book, a shadow casts over you, and you look up to see him.

All sunkissed skin and salt-blown hair.

That easy arrogance he wore like a second skin.

“Missed the early morning waves,” you tease, perching your sunglasses on your nose as you smirk up at him, eyes glimmering in the sunrays.

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, dropping his board into the sand beside you, “not all of us have the luxury of sitting here pretending to read.”

“Pretending?” you scoffed, closing the book with an exaggerated snap. “I was deep in a chapter about existentialism before your shadow interrupted my enlightenment.”

He tilted his head, squinting at the cover. “It’s a romance novel, isn’t it?”

“It's literary fiction, thank you very much,” you said, holding the book closer to your chest in mock offense.

“Sure it is.” He sat down beside you, close enough that the side of his knee brushed yours. A deliberate move, but one he played off so casually that it would’ve gone unnoticed if your heart wasn’t already doing flips.

The others began to catch on. From the water, JJ paused mid-paddle, tilting his head like he was trying to process the scene in front of him. “Would you look at that? Rafe Cameron’s gone soft,” he muttered, elbowing Pope. “Swapped his surfboard for a... muse or something.”

Pope snorted. “More like a sparring partner,” he shot back, though the amused glint in his eyes was impossible to miss.

Under a nearby umbrella, Sarah watched the whole thing unfold, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. Rafe was leaning in again, saying something to you that made you laugh, and for a moment, it was like the rest of the bustling beach didn’t exist to him. “Oh, he’s a goner,” she muttered, shaking her head but unable to stop smiling.

“Want a surfing lesson?” he asked, his voice low enough that it felt like a challenge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually offering, or is this just an excuse to watch me wipe out?”

“Can’t it be both?”

It didn’t take much convincing. Soon, you were out in the waves, teetering on a board that felt way too narrow while Rafe stood waist-deep in the water, coaching you with infuriating patience.

“Bend your knees,” he called, arms crossed as he watched you wobble.

“I am bending my knees!” you shot back, nearly toppling over as a wave rushed past.

“Not enough. You look like a baby deer learning how to walk.”

“Keep talking, Cameron, and you’ll find yourself eating sand,” you threatened, though your laugh ruined the effect.

And when you inevitably fell, tumbling into the water with a dramatic splash, he was there. Not with mockery, but with a hand outstretched and a smirk that was far softer than it had any right to be.

“See? Told you it’d be fun,” he said, pulling you upright.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you’re smiling.”

By the time you made it back to the beach, your hair a salty, tangled mess and your cheeks sore from laughing, everyone had noticed.

The months of summer passed by until it was time.

The Midsummer's party was in full swing. Golden lights strung through the trees, laughter and music mingling with the warm summer air. The Kooks were in their finest, flaunting their tailored suits and flowing dresses like it was a royal ball instead of just another night on the Outer Banks.

You had promised yourself you’d stay on the edges, blending into the background with the other staff. But somehow, Sarah had roped you into wearing one of her old dresses, a soft blue number that fit you almost too perfectly.

Rafe saw you the moment you stepped into the garden.

For a second, he didn’t move. His tie hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly mussed like he’d already run his hands through it too many times. But when his eyes locked on you, the easy confidence he usually wore seemed to falter.

He found you by the drinks table, nervously picking at a stray thread on your dress.

“You clean up well,” he said, sliding next to you with that familiar smirk, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

“And you almost look respectable,” you replied, glancing at him with a soft smile.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. For once, he looked unsure, like he was debating whether to say what was on his mind.

“Listen,” he started, shifting his weight. “I was wondering if you’d want to…if you’d go with me. To this thing.”

You blinked, confused. “You mean the party we’re both already at?”

“Yes. No. I mean…” He groaned, looking away for a moment before turning back to you. “I want you to be here with me. Not as Sarah’s friend, not as the girl working the summer. Just… you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you couldn’t resist teasing him. “That almost sounded like a confession, Cameron.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softer now, his usual confidence replaced by something more sincere. His blue eyes never left yours, and for once, there was no sarcasm in sight. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you for longer than I’d care to admit... but I didn’t want to mess it up.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your smile. “So you’ve been overthinking this, huh?”

“Maybe just a little,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But now I’m thinking it’s about time I stopped.”

You stared at him, speechless for a moment, before breaking into a grin. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

He laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, and then extended his hand with a crooked grin. “Well? Are you going to leave me hanging here all night or what?”

Without overthinking it, you placed your hand in his. “Lead the way, Cameron.”

As he tugged you toward the dance floor, the chaos of the party felt like it faded into the background, the noise dimming to nothing. It was just you and Rafe, moving together, the unspoken tension finally slipping away. 

[perlelune]

Lucky | Rafe Cameron

For years, you had a crush on your best friend, one he never returned. You thought he'd be happy to see you move on. You couldn't be more wrong.

Warnings: NON-CON, Kook!Reader, Jealousy, Angst, Pining, Toxicity

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Your lips curl skyward as you scroll through your phone. As you read every message it’s hard to refrain from kicking your feet and giggling as if you were back in middle school. It’s how he makes you feel. Giddy. Wanted. It’s your first time experiencing such feelings and you’ve been perched on a fluffy cloud all afternoon. 

But remembering you aren’t alone, you try your best to keep a straight face. You’re in a bikini bottom and an oversized shirt by the Camerons’ pool. It’s a bright, sunny day, not a cloud in sight in the sky above Tannyhill.

The unforgiving, North Carolina heat has already melted the ice cubes in your drink. If it weren’t for the generous amounts of sunscreen you've applied earlier, you’d already be sunburnt from hours spent outside.

Rafe lifts his sunglasses from the edge of the pool, curiosity dancing in his blue eyes.

“You’ve been glued to your phone all afternoon, princess.”

You suppress your smile. Feigning nonchalance, you flip your phone down for good measure. 

“I have not.”

“Have too,” he counters, in the exact same way he used to utter those words when you argued back and forth as kids.

He hauls himself out of the pool. You’re graced with the sight of Rafe stepping out of the water, droplets glistening over his broad, toned chest, defined abs and thick, bulging arms. He’s been going especially hard at the gym since summer began. It shows. Your best friend now looks like a breathing, walking Abercrombie ad. You wouldn’t be surprised if the brand gave him a call soon. Not that you’d tell him that. No need to blow up Rafe Cameron’s over-inflated ego even more. 

As you watch him run his fingers through his drenched blonde locks, his golden ring glinting under the sunlight, pride flutters through you. Once upon a time, the sight of Rafe Cameron in nothing but his swim trunks would have had your heart racing and your entire body flush with shameful heat at how unbelievably attractive you found your best friend. 

That was before. When you still clung to the crush you harbored for him for years.

You and Rafe have basically known each other your whole lives.

Since kindergarten specifically.

Back then, you were heavily bullied...and Rafe was the worst of them. He would tug your hair, pull your chair out before you could sit so you’d crash on the floor and call you mean names while other children cheered him on. It only stopped when you had a crying fit in front of him one day. The five year old was stumped. He spent the rest of the year apologizing and bringing a variety of gifts to you. You forgot about the mean things he did and said easily, won over by his determination to make you forgive him. A peculiar friendship blossomed from that. The two of you have been inseparable since then. 

Years flew by.

Then one day Rafe came back to school walking and talking differently. He had filled out during summer break. He was broader, taller, his towering frame even allowing him to reach above your locker. All the girls noticed, including you. You started developing a little crush on him. One he never acknowledged.

He had a girl on his arm at every party, often disappearing with them upstairs. It wasn’t hard to guess what he was up to with those girls. For many years, you daydreamed about what it’d be like to be one of those girls. The girl that caught Rafe Cameron’s eye at a party. The one that would have his full, undivided attention. The one he’d flash a flirtatious grin at and undress with his gaze the entire night.

You wanted to be that girl more than you wanted to breathe.

He never treated you that way though. The two of you hung out all the time. You would play video games, smoke weed, drink the expensive Kentucky Bourbon he stole from his dad’s cabinet and talk about everything and nothing. 

He would always joke that you were like a sister to him. And based on the amount of time you spent at the Camerons house, you might as well be a long lost relative.

Getting over Rafe Cameron had been tantamount to an exorcism. Loving him was so embedded into your flesh, tattooed onto your soul. It was all you knew. Rafe, Rafe, Rafe…

He was everything you longed for. Until he wasn’t. 

It happened one year when you attended the Camerons’ new year’s eve party. You entered the living room and caught him making out with a gorgeous brunette on the balcony. As your heart broke, again, realization slipped through the crack. Pining for someone who doesn’t see you, never saw you, will lead you nowhere. Your suffering was of your own making…and you wanted to suffer no longer. Why fantasize about something that will never come? You’d rather look to the future. 

So you chose to move on.

As fireworks set the night sky above Tannyhill aflame, the last embers of your longing for Rafe Cameron flickered out. 

It’s how you wound up giving dating apps a try. Talking to guys in real life is nerve-wracking but online, you find it much easier. While most conversations you had fizzled out quickly… Garrett has been different. He’s never tried to pretend with you and has been nothing but sweet and inquisitive about your hobbies, hopes and dreams. You’ve talked to him for hours on the phone and he’s made you laugh and smile a countless number of times. As for the icing on the cake…He’s been clear about wanting more than a hookup. He even suggested the two of you should meet up in person soon.

“What got you smiling like that anyway?” Rafe says, tossing the towel around his neck.

“Nothing,” you reply with a shrug.

“If it’s nothing, you can show me.”

He tries to swipe your phone but you’re faster. You rise from your chair and pick it up before he can take it.

His eyes narrow.

“I thought we had no secret for each other,” he says, an accusation laced in his tone. He’s never liked you keeping things from him, no matter how small or insignificant.

“We don’t.”

He gives a slow nod. Then he smiles. And you suppose it should have been your warning, that you should have seen it coming. But you don’t see anything coming. His hand shoots out and he shoves you aside. 

He plucks your phone from you like it’s nothing, using his height to keep it out of reach.

“Rafe! Give me my phone back,” you urge.

He makes no effort to abide by your request, glowering at the screen while scrolling.

“Who the hell is Garrett?”

“J-Just a guy I started talking to on this app...” Your voice dwindles as you cower under Rafe's hard gaze.

Disgust scrunches his handsome face.

“I thought you deleted those dating apps. We talked about this.”

You did talk about it. After a dispiriting streak of bad luck on these apps, he wheedled you to delete all of them. Rafe said all the guys on these apps wanted was to use you for a quick, meaningless fuck. That you were too gullible and would just be taken advantage of. He said that you deserved better and the right guy would come along eventually. You found yourself believing him. A lot of time, you ended up ghosted or the guys failed to show up anyways. It made you question what is so repulsive about you that made guys steer clear.

“I wanted to try again.”

“Well Garrett’s a douchebag name. I don’t like him for you.” He snickers. “Look at that. He’s playing you and his game isn’t even good. You’re really falling for this corny shit, princess?”

He starts reading some of the compliments Garrett paid you aloud, drawing a round of guffaws from Kelce and Topper. 

Your cheeks come ablaze.

“Now you’re just being mean,” you lament, using a lapse of distraction to retrieve your phone.

Gulping the tears threatening to spill, you rush back inside. Kelce’s taunting voice echoes behind you.

“Guess that one got past you, huh, Rafe?” 

“Shut your mouth, bro,” Rafe snaps angrily. 

You lean on the counter and gather your breath. The tears subside. You remind yourself that this is just how Rafe can be. Callous. Inconsiderate. 

It’s not who he really is. 

It’s just a bit hard to recall when he has those moments. Those aggressively insensitive moments. 

You open the fridge and grab a cool drink. Your throat is parched and you could use one.

When you pivot, you nearly spill the can.

Rafe’s towering frame impedes your path.

“You scared me, Rafe,” you say, unleashing a tremulous exhale.

He studies you, concern glimmering in his ocean gaze.

“I wasn’t trying to make you cry, I swear.” He shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. “I just meant he sounds like an asshole.”

“You’re an asshole,” you say, bumping into his arm as you sidle past him. 

His brows draw together. He isn’t used to you addressing him that way. With anything other than sweetness dripping from your tongue. 

You can tell he’s reeling at that alone. Getting the tiniest taste of his own medicine…from you of all people.

He approaches you as you swallow a sip of your drink. 

“Ouch. I’m just looking out for you, princess.” His fingers slot beneath your chin. “You know that’s all I ever try to do, right?”

He flashes you a charming smile. That smile you could never resist. It used to be your Achilles’ heel. Despite your changing feelings, Rafe still possesses the uncanny ability to make you forget why you were even mad at him in the first place. Like right now.

Your shoulders sag.

“I know.”

Blue eyes dive into yours. 

“I want to meet him.”

You retreat, your brows knitting. 

“Meet him, why?”

“I want to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“I can decide that myself.”

He snorts, his focus darting away before returning to you.

“You’ve never known what’s good for you.” You flinch. “I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were talking to someone. I tell you everything. Shit, guess I’m an idiot, huh?” His jaw clenches. “...Cause I thought you did too.”

You inch closer to him and wrap your fingers around his forearm. 

“Rafe, I’m sorry, okay.” You gnaw on your bottom lip. “It’s just that…”

“Just that what?”

You pause, mulling over how to best word what you mean to say. 

Your voice comes out a bashful whisper, your eyes clinging to the floor. 

“Every time I’ve told you I liked a guy, it’s never worked out for some reason. It’s probably my fault but…I just didn’t want to jinx it this time.” You nervously swing your gaze back to him. “I figured if I keep it to myself I don’t have to get my hopes up.” You can’t quell the smile that fights its way onto your lips. “Garrett and I are just seeing where it goes right now. So…things are good.”

“Oh, it’s Garrett and I, now?” he sneers.

“Rafe, don’t be like this,” you beseech, squeezing his arm. “You’ll always be my best friend; you know that.” You shift in your spot, your tone pitching with hope as you ask, “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

He stares at you a long time, so long that his eyes on you grow unnerving. After a while, he releases a deep exhale. 

Ignoring your question, he steps back from you.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he announces. 

“Rafe?”

You never get a response, his form vanishing down the hallway. A sigh ripples through your lips as you lean against the counter. Why is he being so difficult about this? It’s not like you’re not seeing him with a new girl every other week. You never batted an eyelash. You even encouraged him to seriously date some of them, the ones who seemed to sincerely like him and reminded you of yourself back in the day. 

You’ve always cheered him on no matter what. So it baffles you that he can’t return the favor. Crushes you even.

For the rest of the week, you don’t hear much from Rafe. He pretty much ignores you and even leaves you on read after you send him a string of pleading messages, which is your cue that you wounded his feelings somehow. You surmise Rafe isn’t used to your attention veering towards someone else. Perhaps he’s miffed at the prospect that getting a boyfriend means you won’t hang out as much anymore, that he’ll have to share you. Your friendship’s been a fixture in both of your lives for so many years. The one unwavering, steadfast foundation nothing could topple. Whatever occured in his life or yours, you’ve always had each other.

Change can be scary. 

But you don’t plan on neglecting the bond you have with Rafe just because you’re dating someone. He’ll always be in your life. He’ll always matter to you. It's what you meant to tell him. What you would tell him if only he bothered replying to your texts or answering your calls. 

Rafe has always teased you for bartending at the Island Club. In his eyes, you’re much too Kook for what he calls a ‘Pogue job’. But you enjoy it. There is a certain comfort in having things you earned through your own hard work and not your parents’ money.

…Though you can’t deny you might not have landed this position if not for your dad’s close friendship with the owner of the private club. You’re also painfully aware you don’t get yelled at or scolded for making mistakes as much as other employees. 

And on days like today, after you end your shift, Rafe has never failed to pick you up in his Jeep. 

He’s never missed a day. Which is why you wear a dumbfounded expression as you note the glaring absence of the familiar black car in front of the country club. It takes you a while to accept and realize the cold, hard truth. Rafe isn’t coming to pick you up today. 

It’s not the end of the world, of course. But it still makes your heart ache that he’d ditch like that without so much as an apology or heads-up. You feel kicked in the gut. 

You try to call him but it goes straight to voicemail. Resigned, you resort to calling for back-up. 

Sarah shows up in her truck with a bright smile. 

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” she quips, winking at you.

You climb inside the passenger seat. 

“Thanks for coming, S.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Since the oldest of the Camerons is currently denying your very existence, you figured you might as well call the Kook Princess herself to the rescue. His sister, Sarah Cameron. 

“I brought snacks so I better get a five-star review,” she jests, wiggling her eyebrows. She tosses you a bag of M&M’s that you gleefully tear open. “Doesn’t Rafe usually pick you up after work?”

The sugar melting on your tongue sweetens the bitter taste of abandonment.

“Well, he’s sulking, so…” you mumble around a mouthful of candy.

“Sulking?” Shock colors her tone. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make my brother mad. You’re like the only person he’s not a complete jerk around.”

“Well, he was one last time we talked.”

Sarah arches a puzzled brow.

You sigh and explain, “I started dating someone…Actually, we’re still at the talking stage, but…I didn’t tell him.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything,” she dismisses cryptically.

Her peculiar tone peeves you.

“I’m not gonna forget, Sarah.”

Her shoulders rise and fall.

“It’s not my place to say. It’s between you and Rafe.” She throws you a cautious glance, marking a brief pause before inquiring, “You’re not still in love with my brother, are you?”

Heat creeps inside your cheeks.

“I was n-never in love with Rafe,” you stammer. Inwards, you’re screaming. Was it that obvious at the time?

Sarah’s plump lips quirk in a lopsided smile.

“Sure.” 

Gratitude fills you. You’d rather leave this can of worms permanently closed. Lid tightly sealed and all. And the can tossed at the bottom of a lake. It’s embarrassing enough that you mooned over Rafe for as long as you did.

At least you find comfort in the fact that you’re over him now.

“You mind if we stop for ice cream on the way?” Sarah asks, adjusting her rearview mirror.

“No. I could go for one myself. This heat is killing me.”

“Cool.”

For the rest of the week, Rafe continues to dole out the silent treatment. You allow his childish antics to chafe you to a point. Then you elect to not let it bother you anymore. He can throw a tantrum if he wishes. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re growing weary of being treated like you have. 

For over fifteen years, you’ve been a great friend to Rafe, listening to him rant whenever he needed an ear, making time for him whenever he requested it. The fact he’s being a dick right now is staggering. 

He frankly has no right.

After everything the two of you have been through, you hoped for more from him. While you’re aware he can be a jackass, you thought it was different when it came to you. That you were different. You suppose you were wrong. 

Friday comes around and with it arrives the excitement of the plans you have for the night. Garrett asked you out on a date at a fancy seafood restaurant. It’ll be your first time meeting him in person. You’ve been looking forward to it the entire week.

As you’re putting the final touches to your makeup in front of the vanity mirror, your phone flashes with a request for a facetime call. 

You swipe towards the green icon to accept the call. 

Rafe’s face fills your screen. 

“Hey, princess. I thought we could talk-”

“I’m kind of busy right now. Rain check tomorrow?” 

“Busy doing what?” He squints, seeming to register your attire. A brand new sundress you purchased with your tips from the Island Club. You paired it with wedge heels. You also switched your hairstyle to something more sophisticated for the night. “W-What the hell are you wearing? Where are you even going dressed like that?”

You heave out a deep sigh.

“Good night, Rafe.”

You tap the screen to end the call.

A rush of power floods your insides. You hung up on him. This is your first time doing that, hanging up on Rafe Cameron himself. 

Still, a sliver of guilt lingers alongside your pride. You quell it swiftly. You can’t be at his beck and call your entire life. Tonight’s about you. For once, you’d like to put your needs before Rafe’s.

Garrett comes to your house some time later. He has flowers in his arms. You soak in their scent for a few minutes. No one’s ever given you flowers before. It makes you feel special.

As he opens the door of his truck for you, he whistles in admiration.

“Wow,” he says, his gaze dragging over your frame.

Your skin warms at the attention, the kind you aren’t used to receiving. 

Fiddling with the flowy sleeve of your sundress, you inquire, “Am I what you expected?”

A besotted smile spreads on his lips.

“You’re even more beautiful in person.”

“Thank you.” 

You peer at him. His pictures don’t do him justice.

“You look very handsome. I like your shirt.”

His cheeks redden at your praise. 

You get inside his car. The two of you exchange casual chatter on the way to the restaurant. You’re amazed at how easy talking to him is. You’re a little shy but his clear interest in you helps you slowly climb out of your shell. 

Once you arrive at the restaurant, you’re escorted to your table. The light conversation resumes its flow, the two of you growing even more comfortable with each other. You like how intently he listens to you, even if his intense eye contact makes you wrestle the urge to look away. You nibble your lip as you peruse the menu. Mirth sways in Garett’s brown orbs when your stomach growls. You mumble an apology under your breath and he beams at you. You’ve been so anxious about the date for the whole day, you’ve forgotten to eat. 

A familiar voice erupts from behind you. 

“Well, look who it is. What a coincidence.”

You whirl, a gasp bursting from your throat.

“Rafe? What are you doing here?”

He stands besides you and Garrett’s table, his arm slung around a gorgeous redhead’s shoulders. It occurs to you haven’t seen him with that one before. Though you reckon Rafe rarely does repeat encounters. 

What shocks you more however is his very presence here. Of all places, Rafe and the girl he’s with could have been tonight, it has to be the exact same location of your first date with Garrett. 

What are the odds? 

However, you recall that with the assistance of the friend-finding app both you and Rafe have on your phones in case of emergencies, figuring out your whereabouts would be about the easiest thing.

Would Rafe go that far just because you wouldn’t yield to his whims one time? Would he truly be that selfish?

The shit-eating grin unfurling on his face answers all your questions.

“Well, I heard this was a good spot so I thought…” Rafe’s brows furrow as he waves his hand before the girl’s face, appearing to struggle remembering her name. 

“Jessica,” she finishes for him, disappointment decorating her pretty features.

He beams at her.

“Right. I thought that Jessica and I could check it out.”

He plops down next to you, forcing you to make space for him on the upholstered booth seat. Meanwhile his date sits next to Garrett. 

“You mind, princess?”

Awkwardness fills the air. The heavy tension sits on your throat as Rafe makes himself more comfortable, going as far as spreading his legs.

You scold him with your gaze, all but spelling out ‘Yes, I do mind indeed’.

You clear your throat and shift your stance, resenting how every tiny motion has your thigh grazing against his.

“Actually I…We’re kind of on a date, Rafe.”

He places his arm on the wooden edge above your head, his smile expanding.

“So are we. So why not double date?”

“I don’t mind,” Garrett offers as he takes in your concerned expression. “You two…know each other, right?”

You open your mouth to speak but before words can pour from it, Rafe wraps his arm around you.

“Best friends. She and I go way back. Isn’t that right, princess?”

His intense blue eyes settle on you. You swallow the lump in your throat. Anger can’t begin to describe how upset you are with Rafe right now for crashing your date, but you also don’t want to cause a scene, make things even worse than they already are. 

So you force a smile on your lips and nod.

“Y-Yeah, we do.”

Throughout the night, Rafe’s presence causes the date’s slow descent into a nightmare. Every time Garrett tries to strike up a conversation with you, Rafe interjects, his comments toeing the line between innocently inconsiderate and outright rude. He never lets the two of you have a moment, interrupting whenever Garrett looks at you for more than half a second. You grow weary of his antics. So does Rafe’s date. You can see the pretty redhead in front of him growing frustrated as he treats her as if she were a potted plant.

She ends up leaving the table to go to the bathroom but never returns. It doesn’t shock you. If someone inflicted upon you what Rafe has to the poor girl the entire night, you might take your leave as well.

By the time dessert comes, you’re on the cusp of tears. This is not how you envisioned your night going. 

The awfulness doesn’t stop there.

When it’s time to part ways, Garrett finds his truck in an unfortunate state. 

He curses under his breath as he hunkers down in front of his car. 

“Some punk sliced my tires.”

In the back, Rafe shakes his head.

“Damn, tough luck. Guess I’ll have to drive you home, princess.”

You scowl at Rafe before placing a hand on Garrett’s arm. He’s already on his phone to contact someone to help move his truck.

“I could wait with you,” you say softly. 

“It’s fine,” he replies. “Just go home. We’ll text, okay?”

Your tone turns contrite. “Okay. I’m so sorry… about everything.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still had a good time.”

“Me too.”

Despite his assurance, you aren’t too hopeful he’ll want to see you again. You know this wasn’t what he had in mind for the night. And neither did you. 

You reluctantly trail behind Rafe, looking daggers at him when he opens the door of his black Volvo for you. 

Not an ounce of guilt lurks on his handsome face, which tosses more fuel on the flames of your ire. 

You don’t utter a word, almost too angry to speak. The last shred of your patience fizzled out in the restaurant, as your so-called best friend basked in your misery, getting a kick out of making a mockery of your night.

If you talk, it won’t be to have a calm, level-headed conversation with Rafe. It’ll be to spew venom at him.

As he parks into the driveway of your house, he lets go of the steering wheel and says, “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

You draw a long, slow breath.

“You think?” you snap icily. You jump out of the truck and slam the door closed.

Rafe follows you to your doorstep. You fumble with the lock. Your fingers quiver so much, you can’t even open the door. After a few unsuccessful tries jamming the keys inside the lock, Rafe takes them from you. He opens the door and you stomp inside. 

You toss your clutch on a nearby table and whirl. 

“What the hell, Rafe?” you shout. “You embarrassed me!”

His shoulders lift and slump.

“Well, you shouldn’t have been there to begin with.”

Disbelief rounds your gaze. “What?”

“You heard me. You shouldn’t have been on a date with him.”

Folding your arms, you scoff, “Right. Why is that?”

Rafe inches closer to you, his eyes locking with yours.

“Because you should have been on a date with me instead.”

A weary exhale drops from your chest. Rafe’s declared many things while hammered but this one takes the cake.

“I think you’re drunk,” you dismiss. “You need to go home, Rafe.”

Rafe’s jaw ticks.

“My mind is perfectly clear, okay? If you’ll just listen to me-”

“Go home, Rafe.”

You nearly turn your back on him but Rafe’s sturdy hand fastens around your arm, yanking you back.

He takes a long pause, drinking you in.

Rafe takes a deep breath before confessing, “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” His throat bobs as he adds, “And I know you love me too.”

Your mouth tumbles open, shock snatching the very air from your lungs. You stare at Rafe. Perhaps you heard him wrong. In your wrath, his words may have landed in your ears a little warped.

But as you get lost in his sea gaze, the truth sinks into you. He is serious. Very serious.

A war of conflicting emotions breaks out inside you. For years, you longed to hear those words. But not like this. And the insinuation that he knew how you felt…That he let you suffer in silence while gallivanting around with those girls.

A fast surge of tears blurs your gaze.

“You knew?”

He cradles your face.

“I’ve always known.”

A shudder wracks through your frame.

“So w-why did you never say anything?”

“I figured you’d wait for me, that I could just have some fun. That it wasn’t a big deal.”

Ice fills your blood. Your tone becomes clipped, detached.

“I want you to leave.”

His hold on you doesn’t loosen, his cheek pulsing in frustration.

“Really? I tell you I love you after all this time and this is your response?”

“I haven’t had those feelings for you in years, Rafe. And right now…I don’t even like you as a person.” Rafe bristles at your blunt words, looking like you slapped him. Your mouth wobbles as you say, “You’re not who I thought you were. I want you out of my house and out of my life.”

Something shifts in his blue eyes. The air around you drops a few degrees as he pushes you further inside the room. Desperation lurks in his deep timbre.

“Come on, we can talk about this, princess.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Dread escalates within you when he doesn’t move. You’re hit with the daunting realization that you’re alone with Rafe, your parents away on a trip right now. Usually being alone with him wouldn’t have fazed you, may have ensconced you in a sense of security and comfort even. Not tonight. Tonight, you don’t recognize the Rafe standing in front of you. Your voice trickles out small and shaky. “R-Rafe, get out, I’m serious.”

His expression hardens. He shoves you into a nearby wall. You gasp as pain prickles along your back.

“Just admit that you love me too,” he roars. 

“I don’t,” you whimper as water brims under your lashes.

This propels him to the brink. There’s no time to process anything, Rafe hoisting you with ease. As he takes long, determined strides to your bedroom, your fear grows. He hurls your body into the bed. He fiddles with the buttons of his khaki pants until they come loose. A scream builds inside your throat, refusing to break past your lips as you linger in bewilderment. Rafe isn’t doing what you think he’s doing…what he’s preparing to do. There's no way. He wouldn’t.

Stupor girdles your motions. For a while, you gape at Rafe. As he approaches the bed, adrenaline rushes through you. You remember how to move.

But it’s for naught. Rafe is quicker than you, catching you when you rise and slamming you back on the sheets. He crawls over you. His blue gaze glimmers strangely in the darkness. Streaks of moonlight pour between your half-draw curtains, casting ominous shadows over his broad frame.

He cages you beneath him, shushing you as you croak out pleas for him to stop.

“I know you’re lying,” he rasps, scattering sloppy kisses alongside your neck.

He yanks down your dress and your breath hitches. 

“I’m not. I don’t-” Words wither on your tongue as he flicks his thumb over your nipple, his other hand patting underneath your dress. “I-I don’t love you anymore, Rafe.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His fist curls around the vee part of your thin lace panties, tugging roughly enough to tear the delicate material. You squeal as the lace dents your flesh when it rips.

Your heart bounces. You push against Rafe’s chest with newfound urgency.

“Rafe, stop.”

He snatches both of your wrists and traps them above your head. Helplessness chokes your airways as he pokes lightly at your entrance. He slides one finger between your walls and you keen, breath faltering at the abrupt intrusion. His lewd gaze remains trained on you as you squirm beneath him.

“Why do you keep lying, huh?” he accuses, forcing a moan from your throat when he curls his digit inside you. When your eyes squeeze shut in denial, he lets go of your wrist to frame your jaw.

A sob spills from your throat, your eyes flying open.

“Nah…I want you to look at me, princess,” he orders, jerking your head up so your gazes lock. You choke on your breath when he shoves a second finger inside you. He slowly drags his fingers in and out of you. Heat gathers in your core. You writhe against the sheets, resisting the urge to buck your hips to seek more of the friction. He grazes a uniquely sensitive spot and your lids quake, a soft whimper flying from your mouth. You clench around Rafe’s fingers and he unleashes a sigh of pleasure as you grip him. You feel him harden against you. Your stomach knots at the pressure. His eyes are glued to you, soaking every minute shift of expression while he pumps his fingers inside you. 

“I know you never stopped loving me,” he whispers, the alcohol on his breath seeping through your senses. “Think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

As you near your undoing, he removes his fingers. You sag against the sheets. The sudden emptiness leaves you with a mix of emotions you’re too ashamed to admit.

He presses his thick tip against your dripping entrance, gathering your arousal when he runs it along your folds. He pushes in slowly, his eyes rolling back at the sensation of your velvety warmth welcoming him. You tense at the intrusion. Your fingers curl into the sheets. Rafe’s broad frame covers yours, his forehead resting against yours as he whispers, “Say you love me.”

When you don’t reply, he slams his cock inside you in one swift stroke. Your back curves, a quiet scream ripping from your throat. Your chest lifts and falls rapidly as Rafe’s thick girth fills you up completely. 

He begins moving inside you, his pace relentless and unforgiving. While his length is splitting you apart, it’s hard to deny the warm tingles pulsing through your core, joining the pain in devious harmony. 

You go limp on the bed, his thick cock stretching you more than ever before. Every time he grazes your sweet spots, you spiral further down, your thoughts melting in the flames consuming your body.

“Say it,” he grunts, his warm breath fanning over your face. 

His bulging muscles coil beneath his clothes from the force he exerts to shove all of himself inside you. Heavy breaths drop from Rafe’s chest as your walls squeeze around him. Drenched locks of his dirty blond hair cling to his forehead, beads of sweat collecting between his furrowed brows and dripping to your parted lips. 

When you remain silent, Rafe’s large hand wraps around your throat, his tone more firm and menacing than before as he snarls, “Say that you love me, princess.”

His fingers crush your windpipe until you give in.

You can barely eke the words out, every harsh snap of Rafe’s hips into yours filling your vision with stars.

“I l-love you, Rafe.” 

The words ache as they part from your throat. A bitter truth you buried long ago, beneath thick layers of heartbreak and denial. One you hoped would never crawl its way back to the surface. One that hurts even more now, shatters you as it leaves your lips. Because you can’t tell if Rafe forced it out of you or if it was there all along. Perhaps it never left you. Perhaps, even after all your attempts to purge Rafe Cameron from your flesh and soul, even after he’s done the unthinkable to you…Part of you may still love Rafe, may always love Rafe.

As you grow overwhelmed with warring emotions, his cock still viciously ramming into you, you don’t know who you hate more. Him. Or yourself.

Salty streams spill down your cheeks. 

Rafe kisses them away, gently cupping your cheek while thrusting roughly into your cunt. His other hand explores your curves, clutching your flesh possessively. You can already feel bruises forming beneath his rough, insatiable touch. His eyes find yours, a possessive glint swaying in his intense blue gaze.

“Of course you do.” His lips stretch in a smug smile. “You’ve always been mine, princess, you just didn’t know it yet.”

[draconic-desire]

hiiiii ive been brainrotting abt sunday and his triple face god thing abababah thinking abt him handcuffing reader and interrogating them with the truth thing he does to aventurine ARGHH omg questioning abt who they were with cos hes jealousssss AUGH you dont have to write anything off of this i just hope this inspires you ily

oh you have read my MIND. I’m currently in the middle of writing a fic with dr ratio interrogating reader like he did with mx. stellaron…but now imagining that with sunday?? wow.

i’m totally normal about this man. i swear.

Yan!Sunday x Gn!Reader

Fingers drum on the table, the only break in the suffocating silence engulfing the room.

“I’ll ask you one. Last. Time.” Sunday punctuates each word with another tap of his finger, and you gasp as you feel the Harmony sink its influence another inch further into your skull.

Despite the futility, despite knowing you’ve been trying the same thing over and over again for the past half an hour, you pull at your restraints. The metal chain of the handcuffs skitters along the table, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, but it does not budge from its steel attachment. You’re firmly and inescapably chained to the table in Sunday’s office, with said perpetrator sitting opposite.

He appears calm, but you’ve learned to notice the slight twitch of his eye, the falter in his normal smirk. His patience is one wrong answer away from shattering.

At your silence, he leans back in his chair, shaking his head. His golden gaze is chastising, almost disappointed. “Angel, you know I don’t want to hurt you. Just tell me who you were with.”

You only glare at him in response. Bullshit. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s forced truths out of you or affections upon you through the Harmony. The psychedelic pest in your brain is almost the norm by now, a poison he has slowly been feeding you.

Oh, Triple Faced-Soul, please sear their tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that they will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.

Those words are branded into the flesh of your brain, your soul. And tonight, if you tell him what he wants, even more blood will be spilled.

Sunday’s jealously is as calculating as he is. It’s a knife poised at the right angle to spear you, to pin you with accusations that you can’t talk your way out of.

Like in this instance, where he has deluded himself into thinking you are trying to leave him. He’s finally let you out of Dewlight Pavilion (you’ve learned that trying to escape the dreamscape is pointless, so you’ll take your freedoms when you can), and this is the first reaction you’re met with? Being dragged to his office as soon as you returned and invaded, prodded, and violated by the Harmony?

The pressure around your temples tightens another fraction, and you cannot stop the pained cry that escapes you. Rainbow streaks cloud your vision and practically pull the words from your mouth. “I was with friends! We were at the Dreamjolt Hosterly for a couple drinks, that’s it!”

Sunday merely hums as he stands and pads towards you, taking a position at your back. You’re unable to turn around to face him, but you can feel the weight of his presence, the promise of his power, as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck.

His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in and whispers, “Liar.”

One word chills your blood to ice. “I’m not!”

The grip around your neck tightens in tandem with the pressure in your head. “Do you really think you can evade me, (Y/n)? My gales are perched in every region of Penacony, and THEY are by my side. THEY see all, hear all, know all.”

As if on cue, the Harmony rips through your consciousness, and it takes all your willpower not to pass out. Exhausted, you involuntarily lean back into Sunday’s hand, which seems to please him. “Now, tell me the name of the man who dared to touch what is mine.”

Clenching your eyes shut, you shake your head. You’re out of breath and stumbling along your words. “He was just being friendly, and he was drunk, we all were, and all he did was kiss my cheek; it was a dare, and I swear to you, Sunday, we’re just friends—”

“(Y/n),” Sunday interrupts. “His name.”

The finality in the Family head’s words sends your heart plummeting. You feel your resolve slip as the Harmony tightens its grip and goes in for the kill. You speak the name aloud, barely a whisper, and know that you’ve just delivered the man’s fate.

In your half-conscious state, you barely register Sunday removing your cuffs and scooping you into his arms. He tucks you into his chest bridal-style, his wings fluttering across your face. “You did well, my angel.”

“Please,” you breathe, your voice wobbly with tears, even as you feel the Harmony retreat from your senses—for now. “Don’t hurt him.”

Sunday merely leans his head down to place a kiss along your temple. “Enough of that,” he scolds. “The only man you should be thinking about is me. After all, it is an angel’s duty to obey their god without question.”

And Sunday is, if anything, a vengeful god.

For that night was the last that you ever saw your friend. Death in dreams was your only reality.