Especially Obsessed

I do not claim any of the gifs or images as my own, unless stated otherwise

You do not have permission to use my writing for any reason. Reblogs are welcome and appreciated <3

My work is for mature audiences only. Read at your own leisure/risk

Any and all characters portrayed on this page are 18+

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All of the works posted by me are my own, original pieces. I use AI as a tool to help me edit my works. I do not use it to write for me.

Much love,

Ty <3

Pairing: Jacob Black x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, jealousy, depictions of depression, fluff, Jacob being a dummy

Word count: 2.8k

a/n: ik no one asked for this but I did it anyways (; I also have no mechanical knowledge and used what I’ve heard from friends talking about their vehicles

Masterlist | Jacob's Playlist

You wiped the grease from your hands on your worn-out jeans, smudging dark streaks across your thighs. The sound of Jacob’s laughter rumbled through the garage as he leaned over the truck’s engine, flashing you that lopsided grin that made your heart stumble.

“This thing’s a piece of junk,” you muttered, pulling at a stubborn bolt.

Jake just chuckled, handing you a wrench without missing a beat. “Maybe, but it’s my junk. You’re just mad it’s fighting you.”

You smirked, elbowing him playfully. “You gonna help, or just stand there looking pretty?”

He shot you a look, eyes warm and teasing. “Both.”

That was Jacob: a blend of strength and softness, always knowing how to make you smile. You’d been by his side for as long as you could remember, practically raised in the warmth of his family’s garage. Fixing cars, wrestling in the backyard, teasing Embry until he tackled you into the mud. You were always just one of the guys.

But then Bella came back.

It had been one of those rare, good days. You were hanging out at Jacob’s place, helping him and Embry piece together a custom surfboard rack that Jacob insisted would make the garage look “less like a junkyard.” Quil was sprawled out on the old couch, tossing a wrench into the air and catching it lazily. The garage was filled with the familiar smell of sawdust and oil, and mixed perfectly with the occasional burst of laughter whenever Quil dropped the tool or Embry accidentally smashed his thumb.

Jacob was on his knees beside a pile of driftwood, measuring pieces and sketching out plans on a scrap of paper. You couldn’t help but grin when he frowned at the diagram, chewing on the end of his pencil like it had personally offended him.

“Pretty sure that’s not how math works, genius,” you teased, nudging his shoulder with your own.

He shot you a playful glare, shoving your hand away. “You’re just mad you didn’t come up with the idea first.”

Quil snorted from the couch. “Dude, it’s a surfboard rack, not the Eiffel Tower.”

“Yeah, but it’s gotta be sturdy,” Jacob argued, holding up one of the larger pieces of wood. “These boards aren’t light.”

You took the plank from his hands, pretending to weigh it dramatically. “Oh no, the mighty surfboard! Whatever shall we do?”

Jacob rolled his eyes, but his smile never faltered. He was about to fire back with some smart remark when the distant rumble of an engine made everyone pause. You glanced over your shoulder, recognizing the sound of an old truck pulling up.

Embry squinted, tilting his head. “Is that…?”

Before anyone could answer, Jacob straightened up, eyes wide and alert as the old red Chevy came into view. His entire demeanor changed, like someone had flipped a switch. He dropped the wood without a second thought and was already moving, practically sprinting out of the garage.

You turned to look just in time to see him skid to a stop in front of the truck as Bella hopped out, looking a little unsure. Jacob didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her like she was weightless.

“Bella! Where the hell have you been, Loca?” he laughed, voice full of warmth and relief.

Your stomach dropped. The way he looked at her—so effortlessly happy—made your chest ache. You couldn’t take your eyes off them, even though every second felt like a knife twisting deeper.

Quil cleared his throat behind you, clearly caught off guard. “Damn… lhe didn’t even say bye,” he muttered, tossing the wrench back into the toolbox.

Embry shot you a look, catching the way your shoulders had tensed. “Guess he’s got his hands full,” he murmured, trying to sound nonchalant but failing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a weak smile. “Yeah. Guess so.”

It shouldn’t have hurt this much. You’d seen Jacob happy before; seen him tease you with that same bright grin. But it was different when it wasn’t directed at you. You hadn’t realized how much you depended on being the reason behind that smile.

Jacob kept talking to Bella, his hands lingering on her shoulders, his smile never faltering. You didn’t even hear what they were saying anymore, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Quil nudged your arm lightly. “You good?”

You couldn’t look at him. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “Just… didn’t know she was coming by.”

Embry muttered something about needing to find another part, slipping outside to give you some space. Quil stayed put, shifting uncomfortably, clearly unsure of what to do.

Jacob didn’t even glance back at the garage, too busy catching up with Bella, his smile brighter than it had been in days. You couldn’t help but feel like you were watching something slip right through your fingers, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on, it was already gone.

Quil moved towards you and placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “He’s just…caught up, you know?”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

You just wished it didn’t hurt so damn much

Quil nudged your arm lightly, his voice softer than usual. “You good?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid your face might give you away. “Yeah,” you mumbled.

Embry leaned in on the back doorway and huffed out a breath, glancing at the scene unfolding just outside. “Man, I didn’t think he’d ditch us that fast.”

You forced a weak laugh, trying to keep your voice steady. “Neither did I.”

The atmosphere in the garage felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in, and the air had gotten too heavy to breathe. You wiped your hands on a rag, even though they were already clean (or as clean as they could be without washing them), trying to keep busy.

Quil glanced between you and the open garage door, his face twisted in mild discomfort. “Maybe we should just…head out. Give him space or…whatever.”

Embry nodded in agreement, not needing to be told twice. “Yeah. I could use some food anyway.” He shot you a careful look, like he was trying to gauge whether you’d follow or not.

You swallowed the tight knot forming in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The three of you moved quietly, slipping out the back of the garage so you wouldn’t have to walk past Jacob and Bella. The cool air hit your face as you stepped outside, and you shivered. Embry and Quil were already chatting, trying to lighten the mood with some joke about the last bonfire. Instead of walking with them to the left, you turned right.

Once you were alone, the tightness in your chest only got worse. You pressed your palm against your ribs, as if you could physically hold yourself together. Your throat felt raw, and you didn’t understand why the urge to cry was suddenly so overwhelming.

You hated how pathetic it felt to want to cry over something that shouldn’t matter this much. You stopped to lean against a tree, closing your eyes and forcing yourself to breathe slowly. You couldn’t cry over this. You had no right to cry over Jacob being happy, even if it wasn’t with you.

But no matter how hard you tried, the ache in your chest refused to go away. You wiped at your eyes before any tears could fall, pulling yourself together.

Taking a shaky breath, you shoved your hands into your pockets and kept walking.

In the weeks that followed, you tried not to let it bother you. Bella had been his friend long before you even knew what love felt like. But things were different now. Bella wasn’t just a friend to Jacob; she was a magnet, and he was drawn to her without a second thought.

Jacob had always been like a brother to you. That’s what you told yourself, at least. That’s what you’d always thought. But when he wasn’t there anymore—spending all his time with her—you started to realize just how much of your world he really was.

You hadn’t noticed how much you relied on him, how the little moments—his hand squeezing your shoulder, his laughter bouncing around the garage, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you a wrench—had made your day lighter. Without him, everything felt heavier. Darker. You tried to shake it off, but it stuck to you like damp clothes, dragging you down.

The boys noticed too. Embry would invite you out, and sometimes you’d force yourself to go, but it didn’t feel the same. Quil would try to crack a joke, and you’d laugh, but it was hollow. You found yourself spending more time alone, wandering the beach or hiding in the garage, hoping the familiar grease and metal smell would remind you of the old days.

But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

You hadn’t meant to fall into this quiet sadness, but it happened so gradually you didn’t notice it at first. The long nights where you couldn’t sleep, staring at your phone and willing Jacob to text like he used to. The days where you didn’t bother to eat lunch because your appetite had faded. Your energy drained out of you like a leaky faucet, slowly and then all at once.

You didn’t tell anyone. You couldn’t. How could you explain that you missed your best friend so much it hurt to breathe sometimes? Or that every time you saw him with Bella, your heart clenched like it was being squeezed too tight?

One afternoon, the boys invited you out to La Push. You hesitated at first but agreed. Maybe Jacob would be there. You threw on your wetsuit, packed your board, and tried to muster some excitement. Some energy. Maybe this would be the day things went back to normal. Hopefully.

But when you got there, it was just Quil, Embry, and a few others from your social circle. You looked around, searching for that familiar tall frame, but he wasn’t there.

“Hey, where’s Jake?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Quil shrugged. “Said he might meet us here. Guess he got caught up.”

Your stomach sank, but you didn’t say anything. You followed the boys into the water, paddling out, but it was hard to enjoy it. Your mind kept drifting back, wondering if he even remembered that he said he might come. You couldn’t help but feel stupid for hoping.

After about an hour, you gave up and dragged your board onto the sand, sitting alone while the guys kept surfing. The usual noise of waves crashing and the boys yelling didn’t drown out the ache building in your chest.

You were poking at the sand with a stick when Embry came up beside you, water dripping off his hair as he flopped down. He nudged your shoulder with his own, a small smirk on his lips.

“Why the long face, grease monkey?” he teased, though his tone was softer than usual.

You shrugged, kicking a shell with your toe. “It’s nothing.”

Embry scoffed, brushing some sand off his arms. “I call bull. You’ve been moping around since Bella came back. Thought you “didn’t care”.” He said, using finger quotes dramatically.

Your stomach twisted, and you glared at the horizon, feeling the cool sea mist sting your cheeks. “I don’t care. Just…sucks when your best friend drops you for someone else, you know?”

He sighed, giving you a side-eye. “We all see it, you know. You and Jake. Everyone knows you’re crazy about him. Except maybe him.”

Your cheeks burned, and you shot him a look. “Shut up.”

He just laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “He’s crazy about you too.” He paused for a moment, then added, “If I were you, I’d stop waiting around. You’re too good to be his backup plan.”

You didn’t say anything, just leaned into Embry’s side, wishing his words didn’t hit so hard. The ocean waves crashed in the background, but the rhythm didn’t soothe you like it used to. Instead, it just felt like a reminder that everything kept moving, whether you were ready or not.

Embry squeezed your shoulder gently, his voice more serious than usual. “He’s dumb, you know. If I were him, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

You gave him a weak smile, not really believing it. “You’re just saying that because you hate seeing me mope.” You give a weak smile and lean into his side.

He just shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s true. You’re too good for him, even if he doesn’t see it.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just let the words hang in the salty air. The ache in your chest doesn’t ease, but it felt a little less suffocating with Embry beside you

You were lying flat on your back on the old car creeper, half-buried under the truck as you tinkered with the stubborn exhaust pipe. You heard the familiar heavy footsteps approaching but didn’t bother to look. You already knew who it was.

“Hey,” Jacob’s voice called, tentative and soft.

You kept working, your movements more forceful than necessary. He shifted his weight, his shadow blocking some of the dim light. “Where you been?” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Around. With Bella.”

Your jaw clenched, but you stayed focused on the truck. “Hope you’re having fun.”

Jacob let out a frustrated breath. Before you knew it, his hands grabbed the edge of the creeper, yanking you out from under the truck. You yelped, hands automatically bracing against his chest.

“What the hell, Jacob?” you snapped, but he just loomed over you, eyes narrowed.

“No more hiding,” he muttered, kneeling down and keeping a firm grip on the creeper’s edge so you couldn’t slide back under. “What’s going on with you? Where have you been lately?”

You huffed and wiped a smudge of grease off your cheek. The audacity of him to ask where you had been, as if he hadn’t ditched the last dozen things you or the guys invited him to. “Nothing,” you bite out. “Just didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t around.”

His brows drew together, guilt flashing across his face. “Why would you think that?”

You glanced away. “You’ve been busy.”

Jacob sighed, his voice softer now. “I guess I didn’t think it was bothering you this much.”

Just say it you coward.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the garage ceiling, unable to look him in the eyes as you mutter, “feels like I’m just one of the guys to you.”

Panicking, you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You shoved at his arms and got up, brushing past him as you tried to keep your voice steady. “Forget it. I’m done feeling like I don’t matter to you.”

Jacob’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and spinning you back around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, his voice rougher than before.

You glared at him, yanking your hand free. “It means I’m done playing second to her. I’m done being the one you come to only when she’s not around. I’m not your backup plan, Jake!”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something between anger and hurt. “You’re not a backup. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s how you make me feel!” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Like I’m just one of the guys,” you say in a mocking voice. “Just a friend you used to hang out with before she showed up and took you away!”

Jacob took a step closer, and you didn’t back down, even though your heart was pounding. “You know that’s not true,” he argued, voice dropping lower.

“Then what is it, Jake?” you challenged, shoving at his chest. “Why do I feel like I’m not important to you anymore? Why does it feel like I’m the only one who cares? You show more interest in those damned bikes than you do-”

His hands moved faster than you expected, cupping your face and pulling you in before you could process it. His lips crashed into yours, fierce and desperate, like he was trying to prove something with the way his mouth moved against yours. You froze, hands instinctively going to his wrists, but then the anger melted, replaced by heat spreading through your veins. You kissed him back, your fingers digging into his skin.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “You’re not just one of the guys,” he whispered, his voice softer, rawer. “You’re everything. You always have been. I just—I didn’t know how to say it.”

Your hands slowly moved up to his jaw, your heart still racing. You bottom lip trembled as you spoke: “then why did you leave me?”

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, wiping away a stray tear. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you. And when Bella came back, I thought…I thought maybe it was better to just let you go before I screwed it up.”

You couldn’t help the weak laugh that bubbled out, more relief than humor. “You’re such an idiot.”

He smiled, pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

You couldn’t help but smile back. A weight lifted from your chest, no longer suffocating you. Jacob came back.

Jacob.

Your Jacob.

Masterlist

a/n: I just binge watched the series and now feel like I need to reread the series <3

Taglist:

Pairing: Jeremy Gilbert x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, weed use, sleep grinding, sexual tension, reader soaking wet from a few lazy ruts, playful biting <3

Word count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Jeremy's Playlist

The two of you were gone.

Not in a dangerous way, just in the way that made everything hilarious for no reason. The TV flickered in front of you, playing some dumb reality show you had started watching ironically but were now deeply invested in. Jeremy was half-sitting, half-sprawled on the bed beside you, a bag of chips balanced precariously on his chest.

“This guy,” you snorted, pointing at the screen, “is the worst liar I’ve ever seen. Look at his face. He’s guilty as hell.”

Jeremy squinted, chewing lazily on a chip. “Nah. He’s just stupid. That’s not guilt, it’s pure, unfiltered dumbassery.”

You gasped dramatically, turning to him. “Dumbassery isn’t a word.”

“Yeah, it is.” He grinned, eyes glassy but playful. “It’s, like, the study of dumbasses. The scientific term.”

You let out a wheezing laugh, shoving at his arm. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He didn’t shut up. If anything, he leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was telling you a secret. “No, but really, if you think about it, I could totally get it added to the dictionary. I’d just have to prove it's a real word by using it enough.”

“Oh, sure. Go ahead and start a petition. ‘Jeremy Gilbert, founder of Dumbassery Studies.’”

Jeremy’s grin widened. “Professor Gilbert, actually.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered, warmth curling in your chest. You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten until you turned back toward the TV and your shoulder brushed his. Neither of you moved away.

Instead, the teasing continued. Jeremy stole the last chip out of your hand, and you dramatically declared war. He tickled your side in retaliation, and you nearly choked laughing, swatting him away. Then came the absolutely critical debate on whether or not aliens existed, which spiraled into the logistics of living on Mars and somehow ended with Jeremy proclaiming he would be a “space cowboy” if given the opportunity.

“You would be the worst space cowboy ever,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from your eye.

Jeremy gasped, hand over his heart in mock offense. “Excuse you? I’d be amazing. Riding space horses, lassoing asteroids. I’d be legendary.”

You snorted. “Name one time you’ve even successfully ridden a regular horse.”

A pause.

“That’s not important,” he declared, flopping dramatically against you with a heavy sigh. “You have no vision.”

His weight pressed into you, warm and solid, and your laughter was muffled against his shoulder. “God, you’re such a dumbass.”

“Professor of Dumbassery Studies, actually,” he mumbled sleepily.

Somewhere between the giggling and the ridiculous arguments, the exhaustion settled in. The warmth of the high mixed with the comfort of the moment, pulling you both under. The TV played on, long forgotten as the heavy haze of sleep crept in.

Jeremy was behind you now, his body pressed along yours in a way that had started casual, comfortable, even. Just two very stoned idiots too lazy to move apart. You mumbled something about stealing the blanket, and he grumbled something back, his voice softer now, drowsier. You hadn’t questioned it at the time, just letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

But then, he moves.

At first, it was nothing. Just the slow, even rhythm of his breathing against your back. The weight of an arm slung somewhere near your waist, not quite holding you, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him through your shirt.

And then, in the haze of half-sleep, it happens.

The slow, unconscious roll of his hips.

You freeze.

Maybe, maybe, you imagined it. But then it happens again. The heavy drag of his body against yours, slow and unhurried, like his subconscious is guiding him.

Oh.

A flicker of heat curls low in your stomach, unwanted but undeniable. You tell yourself it’s just a coincidence, a random movement in sleep, but then you feel it, him.

Hard.

The thick, aching press of him against the curve of your ass, straining through the thin layers of clothes separating you.

Your breath stutters, sharp and shaky.

It’s nothing. It’s just accidental.

But then he moves again, slower this time, and you swear you feel him throb against you. A deep, dragging grind that leaves him pressed so perfectly against your body, heat bleeding into you like a brand. His hips roll in a lazy rhythm, mindless but desperate, and every inch of him feels hot, heavy, and needy against you.

Your hands clutch the blanket tighter. Your thighs instinctively squeeze together, the friction sending a rush of heat straight to your core. Your body shivers slightly beneath the weight of him, every muscle locked tight, begging you to either move or melt.

God, it’s too much. Too easy to give in. Too easy to imagine what it would feel like if he weren’t half-asleep if he were awake and pinning you down properly, grinding into you with that same lazy, overwhelming need.

Another soft, helpless whimper escapes before you can stop it, the sound barely audible but earth-shattering in the thick silence of the room.

And that is what does it.

Jeremy stills.

The shift is immediate.

You can feel it, the way his whole body tenses, muscles locking up, breathing shifting from deep and steady to something uneven and ragged. The unmistakable twitch of him against you, the way he holds himself too still like he is painfully aware now of what he’s doing, and what he wants to keep doing.

A long, thick silence stretches between you.

Then, his forehead drops against your shoulder, and you hear it.

A low, choked-off laugh, rough and wrecked.

He grins against your skin, slow and lazy, way too pleased with himself.

"Wait," his voice is a rough scrape in the darkness. "Was I just?"

You don't answer. You can't answer. Your whole body is molten, strung so tight it feels like you'll snap if he so much as breathes wrong.

Jeremy shifts slightly, nudging his hips forward again, deliberate this time, and you feel all of him against you, hard and aching like he's daring you to pretend you didn’t notice.

His voice drops lower, barely a whisper.

“Damn.” Another lazy chuckle, this one dripping smugness. “You feel so good.”

Before you can even think of a response, before you can even breathe, he dips his head lower and bites your shoulder.

Not rough. Not to mark you. Just a lazy, playful scrape of his teeth over your skin, possessive in a way that makes your stomach drop.

Then, with a soft, satisfied exhale, he nuzzles into you and falls right back asleep, leaving you pinned beneath the heat of him, completely wide awake.

Oh, fuck.

Masterlist

a/n: <3

Taglist: @imanewsoul @s0urw00lf @bucklebunny8765 @badwicht

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), supportive Dean

Word count: 600

Masterlist | Dean’s Playlist

His mouth was at your neck, teeth dragging with just enough pressure to make your stomach clench. One hand slid along your thigh, fingers splaying warm over your skin. The other gripped your hip, grounding you. Every movement of his was slow, steady like he had all the time in the world to learn your body.

Your breath stuttered. Your body answered him easily, hips tilting up, legs parting, nerves lit up like a live wire. But when he looked up at you, everything paused.

Your eyes were clamped shut. Your jaw was tight. Not a sound slipped past your lips.

“Hey,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his voice low and rough. “You okay?”

You nodded fast, opening your eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He pulled back slightly, hand still resting on your thigh. His eyes searched yours.

“You don’t look fine. You look like you’re bracing for impact.”

A flush crept up your neck. Your stomach twisted.

“It’s not you,” you said quietly, eyes flicking away. “I just… I don’t really make noise. Not anymore.”

Dean’s brow creased. “Not anymore?”

You hesitated. The air felt thick suddenly. Hot.

“My ex used to say I was too much. That I sounded fake. So I stopped.”

For a second, the room went quiet except for the sound of your breath, shallow in your chest. Dean’s hand stayed right where it was.

Solid.

Warm.

Steady.

Then he leaned in again, slower this time. His mouth hovered just above yours.

“Well,” he said, voice like gravel and honey, “that guy was a fucking idiot.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You didn’t move.

Dean kissed you, slow but purposeful. Like he wanted you to feel every second of it. Like he had something to prove, not to himself, but to you.

“Baby,” he said against your lips, “I’m gonna make you forget he ever existed. And by the time I’m done, you won’t want to stay quiet.”

He took his time, hands mapping you out with a different kind of intention. His lips traced lazy paths down your neck, across your chest. His touch wasn’t just about getting you there. It was about reminding you that this was yours, too.

“You don’t have to be loud,” he said, voice low as his fingers slid between your thighs, parting you with aching slowness. “But whatever sound you make? That’s yours. And I’m lucky if I get to hear it.”

You felt yourself tense, not from discomfort, but from the way his words settled right in your chest. The way they disarmed you.

And then his fingers moved just right. Pressure perfect. Rhythmic patient but deep. You gasped.

Dean stilled. Smiled.

“That,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. “That little sound right there? That’s real. That’s you. Don’t hide that from me.”

Heat bloomed across your skin. You bit your lip, trying to hold it back, but he knew what you were doing. And he wasn’t about to let it slide.

He kissed lower, lips dragging down your stomach, teasing. By the time he reached your thighs, your legs were already trembling.

Then his mouth.

The first swipe of his tongue had you gripping the sheets. He groaned low when your hips lifted into him, and the vibration shot straight through you.

You moaned a soft, broken sound. Raw. Real.

Dean didn’t stop. He deepened.

Every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers was meant to undo you. To free you. He wasn’t chasing a reaction. He was earning it.

Your moans came faster now, breathy and choked off, your fingers tangled in his hair.

And when his name finally ripped out of your throat, it was instinct. Not thought.

He looked up, eyes dark, mouth shining.

“There she is,” he murmured, voice thick with heat and something softer, deeper.

You flushed, overwhelmed, undone. But he didn’t stop.

He grinned, then dragged his tongue slowly and firmly over the spot that made you cry out again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled. “Say it again.”

Masterlist

a/n: <3

Taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

Pairing: Jeremy x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff! <3

Word count: 1.2k

Masterlist | Jeremy's Playlist

You’d only been gone for three days. A girls' camping trip. No cell service, no drama. Just hikes, s’mores, and way too much wine under the stars. It was a short break from Mystic Falls, but for Jeremy, it might as well have been a year.

By the time you pull back into town, the sun’s already dipping low. There’s a bonfire party going on at the old clearing. Music, laughter, the crackle of flames. You wave at a few people as you walk in, but you’re already scanning the area for one person.

Not by the fire. Not by the drinks. Not lost in the crowd.

You know him too well.

You follow the soft trail of memory to the edge of the clearing, past the noise and smoke, where it’s quieter. And there he is, sitting on a log with his elbows on his knees, watching the firelight flicker like he’s waiting for something. Or someone.

You smile to yourself and sneak up behind him, soft steps over dead leaves. Then you slip your hands over his eyes.

He freezes for a split second, then relaxes. A smile blooms across his face before he even speaks.

“Took you long enough.”

You laugh under your breath. “You were waiting?”

“Of course I was. I knew exactly when you’d be back.”

You let your hands fall and before you can move away, he’s already up, turning, arms wrapping tight around your waist like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t.

“Hi,” you whisper, leaning into him. Your fingers comb through the hair at the base of his neck.

He pulls you even closer. “Hi.”

You don’t get much time for words after that. He pulls you down beside him, your legs brushing, his arm locked around your lower back. He doesn’t let go. Not even a little.

“You okay?” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers trace slow circles at your waist. Then, voice low and quiet: “Didn’t like sleeping without you.”

It’s simple. Honest. A little unguarded in the way Jeremy rarely allows himself to be. It hits you harder than you expect.

You tilt your head and kiss him. Not deep. Just warm. Familiar. His hand curls into the back of your hoodie like it’s second nature.

And from then on, he’s glued to your side.

He follows you through the crowd, never more than a step away. If you move, his fingers brush yours. If you pause, he’s behind you, hand on your hip, or hooked through your back pocket with a smirk that dares you to call him out.

“I’ve got time to make up for,” he says with zero shame.

And he means it. Every brush of his thumb across your spine, every low murmur in your ear, every not-so-subtle lean into your space. He missed you. Badly.

When the fire dims and the crowd starts breaking off into smaller groups, the two of you quietly slip away. You end up at the Gilbert house, but instead of heading for the couch, he leads you straight upstairs to his bedroom.

The door shuts behind you, soft and final. The air shifts.

You drop your bag by the dresser and barely have time to turn around before he’s on you again. His hands settle on your waist, his forehead pressing against yours like he needs a second to breathe you in.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hands slide under your shirt, skimming along your sides. He walks you back toward the bed without breaking the kiss, guiding you down gently. It’s slow. Careful. But there’s heat under the surface, simmering.

You fall into the mattress, his weight half on top of you, legs tangled, his lips still on yours. His hand trails up your thigh, fingers brushing the edge of your shorts.

“You have no idea,” he whispers against your skin, “how much I missed you.”

Your hand slides into his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. “I missed you, too, baby.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the base of your neck. His lips are slow, careful, but there’s an edge underneath — a quiet urgency he’s barely holding back. You feel his breath stutter against your skin, the way his chest presses harder into yours like he’s fighting the instinct to just take what he wants.

He shifts on top of you again, and yeah, he’s definitely not holding back in one very specific way. You feel him, hard and insistent, through the thin barrier of your shorts and his jeans. The contact steals your breath for a second, your hips tilting up into him instinctively before you even realize you’re moving.

He lets out a low, almost broken noise and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his fingers curling tighter against your waist like he needs you closer, like even now you’re not close enough.

He breathes out, almost like a confession, "Didn’t know I could miss someone this much."

The words are raw and unguarded, a crack straight through all the stubborn walls he usually keeps up. They land somewhere deep inside you, settling heavy and warm.

Your hands find their way under the hem of his shirt, palms gliding up over warm skin and the hard lines of his stomach. You feel him tense beneath your touch, muscles flexing like he’s barely hanging on.

You pause there for a second, feeling the shiver that runs through him, the way his breath hitches again when your fingers brush higher.

And then, moving slow, teasing, savoring it, you tug his shirt higher—

“(Y/N)!” someone yells from downstairs. “We’re starting the movie! We need your help with snacks!”

You both freeze.

Jeremy lets out a guttural groan and drops his head to your chest. “Why do they hate me?”

You can’t help laughing, one hand covering your mouth.

“I told them I’d help,” you say, half-apologetic, half-regretful.

“Tell them you’re busy. With something important.”

“They’re not stupid.”

He sighs dramatically, flopping beside you on the bed. “I swear to God if they ruin—”

You roll over and kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, just to tease him. “We’re not done. Promise.”

"I'll hold you to that."

He watches you tug your shirt back into place and head for the door. “You owe me,” he calls after you.

You glance back with a wicked smile. “Big time.”

Downstairs, the movie’s already queued up, and the girls barely look at you when you arrive, too busy arguing over popcorn seasoning and pillow placement. You do your best to focus, but you can still feel Jeremy’s hands on you, still taste that kiss.

Ten minutes later, he appears in the doorway, hoodie on, eyes sleepy but still trailing over you like you’re the only thing in the room.

Without a word, he slides in behind you on the floor couch, wraps his arms around your waist, and tucks his face into your neck.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“You’re clingy.”

“I’m comfortable.”

You smile, leaning back into him. His arms don’t move. His grip doesn’t loosen. By the time the movie hits its first plot twist, you glance over your shoulder to see he’s completely asleep; soft breaths, lips parted, face still tucked against your shoulder.

You run your hand along his arm, tracing the shape of his wrist where it circles your waist.

He missed you.

And you missed this.

Masterlist

a/n: requested by @sc4rrc tysm <3

Taglist: @imanewsoul @s0urw00lf @bucklebunny8765

Pairing: Jeremy Gilbert x reader

Warnings: fluff, a little angst? Birthday tears/kisses

Word count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Jeremy's Playlist

A/n: two posts in one day? It’s my birthday, and I get to do what I want! And because I always cry on my birthday, here’s Jer to pick up the pieces <3

The house was quiet. Too quiet for a birthday.

You dropped your bag by the door and didn’t even bother with the lights. The silence wrapped around you like a second skin, heavy and familiar. Everyone had said happy birthday, the texts, the half-hearted social media posts, the forced smiles at school, but none of it stuck. It always felt… off. Like they were congratulating someone who didn’t even feel real anymore.

You barely made it to your room before the weight hit.

No warning. Just the door clicking shut behind you and your legs giving out like your body knew before your brain did.

And then you were on the floor. Knees pulled to your chest. Arms wrapped around yourself. Tears rushing up from some place you’d buried too deep to name.

You weren’t sure how long you cried before you heard it, the soft creak of your door opening.

“Y/N?”

Jeremy.

Your first instinct was to hide your face, turning away from his gaze. He couldn’t speak. The sob stuck in your throat did all the talking for you.

He was down beside you a second later, no questions, no panic. Just his warmth easing into the cold edges of the room.

“Hey,” he said softly, brushing your hair back from your face. “You don’t have to talk. I’m right here.”

You didn’t know what broke you more, how gently he said it, or how much you believed him.

He pulled you into his arms, and you went willingly. Folded into his chest like you’d been waiting all day for permission to fall apart.

Your tears soaked his shirt. He didn’t flinch.

“I hate my birthday,” you choked out eventually, voice shaking. “I don’t know why. I just… every year it feels wrong.”

Jeremy didn’t say that’s okay or you should be happy. He just kissed your forehead and rested his cheek against your hair.

“You don’t have to explain it,” he murmured. “Some days just hurt, even when they’re supposed to be good.”

You nodded, the tears still coming, and he tilted your face up gently.

“Look at me.”

You did. Barely. Just enough.

He kissed a tear off your cheek, slow and deliberate. Then another. And another. Like he could erase the pain one drop at a time.

When his lips finally found yours, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about fixing anything. It was just soft. Steady. Honest.

“I’m glad you were born,” he whispered against your mouth. “Even if today sucks. Even if you cry every birthday. I’m still glad.”

And somehow, with his arms around you and your face buried in his neck, the world felt a little less heavy.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, tucked into him, silent and wrung out.

When you finally stirred, he shifted just enough to reach into his jacket pocket. You didn’t even notice he had anything with him until he held it out—a tiny cupcake in a plastic container, slightly smushed, with a single unlit candle stuck in the middle.

You blinked at it. “What…?”

“I figured you’d avoid cake all day,” Jeremy said, sheepish, almost like he was nervous. “So I grabbed this. Just in case.”

Your throat tightened again. “Jeremy…”

“It’s not for the birthday part,” he added quickly. “It’s for the wish.”

You stared at the candle. Just one.

One little flame, if you wanted it. One small wish. He pulled out a lighter and gave you a look, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, slowly.

The flame flickered to life, soft and warm in the dark room.

Jeremy held it between you. “One last candle. No pressure. Just… make a wish for yourself. Not what people think you should want. Just yours.”

You stared at the flame for a long moment. Then closed your eyes.

You didn’t wish for happiness.

You didn’t wish to feel “normal.”

You just wished to not feel so alone next time.

You opened your eyes again. Jeremy smiled, soft, not pushing.

You leaned forward and blew it out.

The room dimmed again, but it didn’t feel so heavy this time.

Jeremy leaned in, pressed his lips to your temple.

“Happy birthday,” he said again, quieter.

You didn’t say anything back. You didn’t need to.

Masterlist

a/n: <3

Taglist: @imanewsoul @s0urw00lf @bucklebunny8765