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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 1 month ago

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Pt 2 of Danny being sort of reincarnated in the DC universe. Tim's pov of Danny and his weirdness. Ft Damian and setting up a play date [pt 1 here] [pt3 here]

Tim can honestly say he's enjoyed the last few months. His newest little brother is a delight and managed to get everyone wrapped around his little finger. The funniest, and saddest if Tim was honest, part of it all is that Danny has no idea. He hasn't seemed to realize how devastatingly cute he is while exploring the world. Add in the fact Tim found a speech therapist for him, so sometimes he will actually say something instead of just writing, and you can actively hear/see the scary Gotham vigilantes crumble every single time.

Danny follows whoever he deems "safe" like a weird glowing duckling. The kid had no idea how the world works and knows it, attaching to family in fear and googling anything and everything to understand. Tim really wants to get the kid help for his anxiety, but Danny is refusing currently. Tim can't really blame him, Danny has so much medical trauma.

The downside of being deemed as "safe" and non judgemental early on is Tim knows the most of the horrible details. It'd not much, but between what Danny has let slip and what he's searched on different mental health and trauma, Tim has a very ugly picture of what happened during his time in the lab. On the plus side, if he's asking questions and trying to work on/understand his mental health, then Tim is sure he'll be willing to see a specialist eventually. Tim is willing to go at Danny's pace and protect the kid as much as possible. He debriefs the rest of the family whenever he discovers a new trauma so no one accidentally triggers Danny into another panic attack. He has far too many of them daily already, and Cass is the best at calming him down, but she's not always available.

A less sad, and more interesting development is Danny's features have been changing from Damian's. Whoever made Danny really fucked up. Genetically he's still a clone of Damian, but visually, he looks like someone tried to draw Damian from memory and decided to make him part fae or something. Danny's eyes faded to a pale celadon blue, his ears are slightly pointed, his teeth are sharper than the should be, he gained freckles that glow Lazarus Pit green when he gets emotional, his hair curled and turned the darkest black Tim has ever seen while also gaining glittering white tuffs throughout, and his constant soft glowing are just a few things that shifted and changed over time. Tim has a theory that Danny has a higher concentration of Lazarus waters in his body than any of his predecessors and that caused him to mutate. Unfortunately, it's just a theory because Danny had a massive panic attack and dissociation episode the one time they tried to draw some of his blood. No one was willing to push it after that. So until Danny is healed enough mentally for it, there will be no tests.

Danny also freaked out and hid in his closet for 3 days straight when he realized how uncanny he's looking. He was terrified they'd hurt him for it or the flickers of developing powers when he's emotionally, which is often, and it took an insane amount of reassurances and bribes to get the kid to come out. Duke was actually the one who got Danny to calm down enough to talk about what he's developed so far. Duke talked about his own powers and how they developed; he's also taken to using them around the manor more to help the baby realize it's okay. It's now fairly common to see both use their powers, even if Danny's usage is still unintentional. Tim wonders if he should ask one of the Martians to help Danny control his, so far Danny has shown invisibility, floating, and phasing through things, he was startled into using them every single time they've manifested. Tim is holding off on contacting anyone yet because Duke and Tim have been double teaming to get Danny comfortable with his powers and making progress.

Plus, Danny regresses every time back into the mute, anxious wreck hiding behind his "safe" person like the first night any time someone new is introduced. So Tim makes sure both Cass and him are present for any introductions. Though, he does think introducing Danny to aliens would go smoother than most others. The kid is absolutely obsessed with everything space related. He lives in space themed clothes and has his own section in the family library because of all the space, physics, and alien culture books he's collected/been gifted. He's read every single one at least twice and is actively trying to learn Martian and Kryptonian, mostly their written language currently since talking is still an ongoing battle. Tim can hardly wait to introduce Danny to Kon.

Speaking of ongoing battles.

"Please, anki, you need a proper name." Damian sounds desperate, "I made a list of names that you can keep your nickname with. Please just pick one."

"Don't wanna." Danny whines quietly. Despite the kid technically being the same physical age as Damian, Danny never acts it, ping-pongs between behaving like literal 4 year old and young teen. Have you tried to tell a 4 year old they need to pick a different name for themselves or stuffed animal or pet or something? It's a battle of patience.

"Please.." Tim blinks as Damian pulls out his saddest puppy eyes. Tim has literally never seen Damian do that. It's not very good, but Danny is the definition of a people pleaser.

"...okay..." Danny reluctantly takes the list from Damian.

"Thank you." Damian gives a small satisfied smile.

"Danny, do you mind if I borrow Damian?" Tim asks in amusement. "Oh, shit!" is clear in Damian's body language, but the lack of real panic in Damian and the teasing vibes Tim is sure he's putting off keeps Danny from panicking. Kid can give Cass a run for her money in reading body language.

"Okay... I'll look at the names while you're gone.." Danny's voice starts fading out by the end of his sentence. Tim expects Danny is going to be mute for the rest of the day. He's come a long way since arriving, but speaking is still hard on him. Tim is positive it's a trauma thing. Another reason to try to convince him to see a therapist.

"We'll be right back." Tim smiles and pulls Damian out of the room and a little ways down the hall. "You taking lessons from the baby?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Damian grumps.

So Tim puts on his best approximation of the face Damian pulled and in his most pathetic voice goes, "Please..."

Damian turns an interesting shade of red. "Shut up."

"I think it's cute." Tim's face hurts a little from his grinning. He has to shove down the anxiety at that realization, remembering what his own therapist has told him in relation to grinning reminding him of JJ.

"I'll stab you again."

"And upset the baby? Heartless." Tim teases before switching topics. "Do you think you could have Jon visit?"

"Probably, why?"

"I think it's time to introduce Danny to people outside of the family. Jon is a ball of sunshine and an alien, I think he'd be a good start." Tim explains.

"Why not Kon? I'm sure Anki would love to meet a clone like him. Especially one who is an alien and is as different from his template as Danny is to me." Damian points out. "As well as being connected to one of his "security people"."

"I thought about that, but I was also thinking about Jon being closer to his physical age." They discovered Danny has an intense distrust of adults, and while Kon is chronologically closer in age to Danny, he's mentally and physically a 19 year old. He knows Danny will love Kon and vice-versa, but he feels it's worth starting with someone younger.

"... I shall call Jon tonight. I assume Friday after school is acceptable?"

"Yeah, Cass should be hanging out with him all day and I can get off early. Tam knows we got a traumatized baby with separation anxiety." Tim chuckles, "I think she's happy I've been taking care of myself more because of Danny."

"Why have you been doing that?" Damian tilts his head. "It's not a bad thing, but it's out of character."

"I realized I can't be Bruce."

"Wha-?"

"I can't let my worst habits affect a kid that is dependent on my ability to help him figure out his place in the world." Tim feels tired. "How can I help him if I won't help myself?"

"... I see. When you put it that way, I understand." Damian looks thoughtful. "Perhaps I should look into getting a therapist as well."

"I'll send you a list of people I've vetted." Tim says and starts heading back to the room they left Danny in. "Now, let's check on the baby."

Danny is frowning at the list Damian gave him. It's an interesting sight, several names are blacked out with extreme prejudice, and his iPad is opened to the search engine. He seems to be looking up the remaining names' meanings and hating most of them. Any he doesn't hate, he writes the meaning next to with a frown. Tim and Damian occupy themselves while he does this, Danny hates being stared at, especially while working on something.

The silence is broken when Danny crushes the paper. A glance shows he copied 5 of the names and their meanings down in a note app. Danny opens the drawing app he prefers to communicate with while nonverbal.

[I want to think on these. I'll make a decision by dinner tomorrow.]

"Decide on what lastname or names you want and I'll set up a paper trail to prove your identity during the weekend. Damian wouldn't let me or Barb set one up til you picked a "proper" name."

[Ugh! Fine!]

"What do you mean? Anki will have the Wayne last name!"

"Yeah, but he might want mine or Cass's name too. Or maybe he'll decide to take the Al Gul name out of spite." Tim shrugs. "Names have power. Cass and mine would be an extra layer of protection, but he's technically an Al Gul. Kon took the El name to spite Clark and Clark couldn't do shit about it since Kon is technically blood."

"I suppose..." Damian does not look happy about this.

[Your friend's name meanings hope's abomination or false hope?] Danny looks so concerned.

"Yeah. He picked it out himself. He's a clone of Kal-El, better known as Superman or Clark Kent." Tim tries to keep his anger at Clark under wraps, but Danny's weary look tells him he didn't succeed. "Clark and Kon have a better relationship now, but Clark was awful to him for simply existing at first. It's fine for him to feel violated and angry, but it wasn't acceptable that he took it out on a kid who didn't ask to be made."

[Is cloning common?] Danny is intrigued.

"Only in the hero communities. Villains seem to like trying their hand at it. It's hit or miss on how the clone ends up. Some are mindless puppets, some are actually programmed to be an evil version, some literally are just the hero with some "fun" new trauma, and some might be completely unaware their clone statuses. Then there's the clones who know they're clones and are completely different than their DNA donor, but still want to do what's right." Tim explains. "The categories can overlap or a clone can start in one and end up in another."

"Would you be willing to meet Kon-El?"

[Maybe? Is he nice?]

"He's one of Drake's paramours."

"Damian!"

[What's a paramour?]

"He means he's one of my boyfriends." Tim can feel how red his face is.

[Pural???] Danny looks like a whole new realm of possibilities just opened up. It's adorable.

"Yeah, I have 2 boyfriends." Tim smiles, "Having multiple partners is completely fine so long as everyone is in the know and consenting, otherwise that's cheating."

"Stop corrupting my Anki" Damian complains with no heat. And Tim can't let that "challenge" slide.

"Look up the polyamory and being polyamorous, if you want to know more. Also, gender is a lie and sexuality is a mess. Do whatever makes you happy so long as it doesn't hurt you or anyone else." Tim says with the tone of someone commenting on pleasant weather. It makes Danny giggle before he opens the search bar to Google what he can on those three topics, wanting to fill his gap in knowledge. Damian and Tim share a fond look. This isn't nearly the first time Danny went on a research binge after a conversation. He has some vast gaps in his knowledge, and he takes it as a personal challenge every time he finds a new hole. It's admirable and adorable to see him so enthusiastic about learning. He has an air of child-like wonder, even if he dislikes the topic.

"Before we lose you to the allure of learning, anki, I'd like to ask if you'd be alright if I brought my best friend over after school on Friday?" Danny looks at Damian in surprise. Tim jumps in.

"His name is Jon, he's kryptonian and Kon's sort of brother and/or nephew. He's Clark's son, but he's always been accepting of Kon, so he'll be nice to you. Especially since Damian cares about you." Danny cautiously studies them before nodding. "Awesome. I plan to be home before them and Cass will definitely be here all day, so if something happens, we will be here."

Danny looks relieved.

"Now, enjoy your research."

#tim drake #batfam #batfam shenanigans #damian wayne #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dpxdc

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mercvry-glow · 1 month ago

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break in the system

paring. jack abbot x wife/doctor!reader

warnings. age gap (jack late 40s, reader early 30s), hospital setting, descriptive child injury and recovery, no death, jack and reader are parents of a 6yo boy, no physical descriptors used for reader, reader has a sister, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. always in my dad!jack era, please feel free to send me idea like this I serious love them so much. please enjoy, this one is a nice hurt/comfort fic. as always please enjoy and any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 2400+

It was a rare, golden kind of morning. The kind you almost didn’t trust, because it was too smooth.

Jack had brewed coffee before either of you had to ask. You’d packed Mason’s favorite snacks while he sat sleepily at the kitchen island, rubbing his eyes and swinging his little feet under the stool. He was wearing his Spider-Man shirt today, matched with a pair of black shorts. His soft curls sticking up in every direction.

Your sister arrived just after sunrise, toting a canvas bag filled with activities and snacks and promising him a park trip and a stop for ice cream if he was good.

“You ready for a super fun day with Aunty?” she asked, ruffling Mason’s hair.

“Super tired is more like it,” Jack muttered around his coffee, but he kissed your cheek and then bent to kiss the top of Mason’s head too. “You be good, buddy.”

“I am good,” Mason answered, matter-of-fact.

You all laughed. It was one of those small, perfect family moments you didn’t think to savor until later.

At the hospital, the day passed in that rare, deceptively smooth rhythm. You took vitals, gave meds, reassessed post-op pain levels. Jack floated between trauma calls and consults, his voice calm and clinical when needed, still managing a wink when your paths crossed in the hallway. The familiarity of working alongside him was strangely comforting—a rhythm you’d both mastered through the years of shared chaos.

It was nearing noon when you finally took a breath. You leaned back in the break room, sipping lukewarm coffee, your phone resting silent on the table. You stared at the lock screen—Mason’s smiling face, missing front tooth, sunshine and freckles—without even realizing you were smiling at it.

Jack walked in and flopped down across from you, stretching his legs out with a groan. “Quiet today. I don’t trust it.”

“You never trust a quiet shift,” you replied with a soft laugh.

“Because quiet means it’s coming,” he said, tapping his temple like he could feel the shift in energy.

You shook your head, teasing, “Your trauma-sense tingling again?”

He was about to quip back when the trauma pager went off.

You both jumped—not dramatically, but instinctively, the way people do when muscle memory kicks in before thought.

Jack unclipped his pager and read aloud: "Level 1 peds trauma, ETA 2 minutes. Six-year-old male. Head trauma with LOC. Fall at park."

Your stomach dropped a full three inches. Jack went still beside you.

It wasn’t unusual. Kids came in hurt all the time.

But your brain was already moving ahead, shuffling information like puzzle pieces, trying to ignore how familiar it sounded.

Six-year-old. Male. Fall at the park. Level 1 trauma. Loss of consciousness.

It was just a coincidence.

Jack stood, voice a little tighter now. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You moved in practiced sync, already heading toward Trauma Bay 2, the air feeling a little thicker than it had ten minutes ago. You didn’t say it—not yet. Not even to each other.

You didn’t say anything.

Because you couldn’t. Not until you knew, and gut feelings didn’t count for the truth.

And the moment the trauma doors slammed open and you saw the flash of a small Spider-Mant t-shirt beneath bloodied gauze and an oxygen mask—and suddenly your world tilted.

It was him.

The trauma bay erupted into controlled chaos the moment the gurney rolled through the doors.

You were at the foot of the bed, frozen for half a second before instinct kicked in. Jack was already moving forward, eyes locked on the little boy lying so still under the oxygen mask.

You didn’t even have to say his name.

The Spider-Man shirt. The Freckles. The curls matted with dried blood. It was Mason.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, barely audible, before your training took over like a switch flipping. But that voice—the parent voice—it never shut off. Not this time.

“Six-year-old male,” the medic rattled off, breathless but focused. “Fall from monkey bars, about six feet. Witnessed loss of consciousness, about two minutes. Regained briefly, then vomited twice. Unresponsive en route. GCS was 8, now trending to 6. Possible seizure activity reported by caregiver. No obvious long bone fractures. He was wearing a helmet for his bike earlier—removed at the park.”

You didn’t realize your hands were trembling until Jack grabbed your wrist gently. His voice was firm, steady—the voice of a trauma attending—but his eyes were glassy with panic barely held back.

“You can’t be in here,” he said lowly, eyes flicking toward the doors.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. I can help.”

“No—you’re his mom right now. Go.” His jaw tightened. “Please.”

The please hit you harder than anything else. You backed away, your legs feeling like they weren’t fully connected to your body anymore, your heart hammering as the rest of the team swarmed your baby.

Jack turned to the team. “Let’s move. What’s his pressure?”

“Ninety over fifty-six. Pulse 142.”

“Get a stat head CT. I want neuro and peds trauma paged now. Two large-bore IVs, hang NS bolus. Let’s get a collar on until we clear his c-spine.”

You backed into the wall of the trauma bay, peering through what felt like glass separating you from your husband and son. Your hands pressed flat against the cold surface as you watched your husband slip into a version of himself that didn’t exist at home. Dr. Abbot. Commanding. Composed. Making rapid decisions while your son—your Mason—lay still under fluorescent lights.

Your sister appeared moments later through the open door, eyes red, cheeks tear-streaked.

“I’m so sorry—he was fine, he was running—he always runs ahead—he just slipped—he hit the back of his head—he was okay for a minute but then—”

You pulled her into a tight hug, holding on for dear life. “It’s okay. You did the right thing. You got him here.”

Inside the bay, Jack’s voice cut through the buzz: “GCS is still six. Pupils reactive but sluggish. No external bleeding beyond scalp laceration. Let’s move now—CT and labs.”

As they wheeled Mason away, Jack followed, casting one last look back toward you through the window. His jaw was tight, but his eyes broke in that second.

You nodded once, already following down the hall toward radiology.

The hardest thing you’d ever done was not run in there and scoop your son into your arms.

But right now, Mason didn’t need his mom, he needed doctors.

The CT suite was silent except for the rhythmic click and hum of the scanner. You stood just outside the control room glass, arms wrapped tight around yourself, watching Jack through the sterile glow.

He hadn’t left Mason’s side. Not for a second.

The techs were gentle, fast, and professional. Jack kept one hand near Mason’s foot the whole time, the other tucked against the side rail, whispering barely audible reassurances—things like, “You’re okay, buddy. Almost done. I’m right here.”

Even though Mason couldn’t hear him.

Even though your baby hadn’t opened his eyes once.

The scan ended. The attending radiologist had already been called down—an older, calm-voiced man you trusted completely. He pulled up the images, and when Jack joined him at the monitors, you followed, swallowing hard.

“There,” the radiologist pointed. “Linear parietal skull fracture, left side. No depression. He’s lucky.”

You exhaled shakily, but it wasn’t over.

“Contusion here,” he continued, circling the left temporal lobe. “Localized cerebral edema. No midline shift, no herniation. Small subgaleal hematoma along the occiput—probably from the initial impact. No signs of active intracranial bleeding.”

Jack nodded, arms crossed tightly over his sturdy chest, voice strained. “What about seizure risk?”

“Moderate. The contusion is sitting near cortical tissue. If he did seize en route, it’s not unexpected. You’ll want continuous EEG. We’ll monitor ICP closely for the next 48 hours. Neurosurgery should take a look, but this is non-operative for now.”

Your breath caught. Non-operative. You clung to the word like a rope in the dark.

“He’s stable enough to go up?” Jack asked.

“PICU? Absolutely. Intubate if his GCS drops again. Start seizure prophylaxis—Keppra, likely.” and with that it ended, short and sweet and not enough all at the same time.

The elevator ride up to the PICU felt like moving through water. You were allowed to ride alongside the bed this time, one hand brushing Mason’s tiny fingers.

They felt too cold. Too still.

His face looked smaller without his usual noise, his bursts of energy, the chatter. They’d cleaned most of the blood from his hair, but you could still see dried streaks clinging to his ear. His lips were parted slightly beneath the oxygen mask, his lashes damp against his cheeks.

In the PICU room, monitors beeped quietly, soft and steady. A nurse worked quickly and calmly—hooking up IV lines, starting the EEG leads, dimming the lights. Another brought in the seizure meds. Jack stood in the corner, arms limp at his sides now, adrenaline draining from his face.

The door closed.

And finally, the room went quiet.

You sat beside the bed and took Mason’s hand fully in yours. It was so small inside your palm. Always had been. But now it felt weightless, like something you couldn’t quite hold onto.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

Jack didn’t respond at first. Then he moved behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. His voice broke when he spoke.

“Yes, you can. Because he needs us to. He’s going to wake up. He is.”

You leaned into him, tears slipping silently down your face as you looked at your son—your entire world—wrapped in wires and machines, and not moving.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Neither did Jack.

Still you took turns sitting by the bed, staring at the monitors, willing the numbers to stay steady. Hoping for a flicker of movement. A twitch of fingers. A shift in those long eyelashes. And in the quiet, with Jack’s hand around yours and Mason’s resting between you both, you whispered promises neither of you had made out loud before:

We’re never working the same shift again. Not if it means risking this.

The room truly felt like a time capsule. Hours passed in a haze of fluorescent lights, rhythmic monitor beeps, the gentle hiss of oxygen.

It was day two.

Mason hadn’t opened his eyes.

His vitals were holding steady. The cerebral edema hadn’t worsened. The neurosurgeons were cautiously optimistic, calling his fracture “clean,” and the contusion “contained.” The EEG hadn’t shown any additional seizure activity overnight, and the Keppra seemed to be doing its job. His pupils were still sluggish, but reactive. He was breathing on his own. Everything was textbook.

But textbooks didn’t prepare you for how still a six-year-old could look when the light left his eyes.

You were in the chair again, your fingers curled gently around his. You’d barely moved all day, afraid that if you stepped away, you’d miss something. Jack was sitting on the couch now, head leaned back against the wall, one foot bouncing anxiously. He hadn’t left the both of you beyond grabbing the spare sets of clothes out of his truck.

The lights were dimmed, the machines soft and steady. You rubbed slow, soothing circles across the back of Mason’s hand, whispering to him like he was just dozing after a long day.

“Hey, lovebug,” you said quietly. “It’s okay to wake up now. Daddy’s here. I’m here. You’re safe.”

You leaned in close, brushing your lips against his knuckles, careful of any swelling.

“I know your head hurts. I know you’re tired. But you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Jack stirred at the sound of your voice, rubbing a hand down his face. He moved beside you, placing a palm lightly on Mason’s ankle.

As if he heard you both.

Mason’s fingers twitched.

It was so small you almost thought you imagined it.

You straightened slowly, eyes locked on his face.

Then his eyelids fluttered.

“Mason?” you whispered.

Jack stood up so fast the chair he had moved too scraped against the floor.

Mason’s eyes opened—barely. Just enough to see the soft hazel underneath. He blinked slowly, unfocused, then squeezed them shut against the light.

“Hey, baby,” you said gently, leaning close again. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He let out a faint, croaky sound—half breath, half mumble.

Jack stepped forward, his voice catching. “Hey, bud. It’s Daddy. Can you squeeze Mommy’s hand for me?”

Another pause.

Then—your fingers were squeezed, weak but there. Real.

Tears slid down your cheeks as you pressed his hand to your face. “There you are,” you whispered.

Mason blinked again, this time managing to squint up at the two blurry figures hovering over him. His lips parted. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

“My head hurts.”

You choked on a sob, letting out a shaky laugh. “I bet it does, sweetheart. But you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Jack cleared his throat, crouching beside the bed now, brushing hair gently away from Mason’s forehead. “We’re gonna take really good care of you, buddy. You scared us.”

Mason looked at you, then at Jack, and then murmured, “Did I miss the ice cream?”

You both laughed—quiet, breathless, full of relief.

“No,” you said. “Aunty owes you extra scoops now.”

He gave a tiny smile, then drifted again, eyelids heavy, but this time… it was just sleep.

Not unconsciousness. Not seizure. Not silence.

Just rest.

The next day brought sunlight through the tall PICU windows, soft and golden, catching in the folds of Mason’s blanket. He was propped up slightly now, still sleepy and sore, but undeniably there. Awake. Talking a little more. Asking small, simple things like “What day is it?” and “Can I have ice cream now?”

You and Jack stayed close, moving slower now, the urgency replaced by the kind of stillness that only comes after a storm.

There were still scans ahead. Neuro checks. Days of rest already planned in advance. But for now, Mason’s vitals were steady. His headache was easing. The swelling in his brain was beginning to go down. And his eyes—when they looked at you—were full of that quiet spark again.

That afternoon, you sat beside him in the recliner, Mason tucked against your chest in hospital-issue pajamas, his IV carefully taped and his fingers curled around your shirt. Jack was across the room, dozing lightly on the couch, arms crossed, head tilted, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

Mason’s voice came soft against your collarbone.

“Mommy?”

You tilted your head down. “Yeah, baby?”

“Will you stay here when I sleep?”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head.

“Of course, baby. Daddy and I both will.”

And with his breathing deepening, his small body warm against yours, and Jack snoring softly in the corner, you finally let yourself close your eyes.

Not out of fear.

Because—for the first time in days—you knew everything was going to be okay.

mercvry-glow 2025

#the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x you #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbott x reader #dr. jack abbott x you #shawn hatosy #❥ - Jack Abbot

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midniqhtt · 6 months ago

Text

sebastian sallow

masterlist • hogwarts legacy • 03/27/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 never forget I @zevrra

where sebastian is actually worried about MC and regrets casting crucio on them

𑣲 caught in the rain I @/zevrra

you and sebastian seek shelter inside an abandoned home where every feeling is laid to bare.

𑣲 truth or dare I @ppomumgranatum

Truths emerged and friendships were tested as you found yourself confronting two years' worth of suppressed feelings towards Sebastian. Drunk.

𑣲 the dance of love’s sweet potion I @/ppomumgranatum

When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

𑣲 marry me I @theealbatross

The 3 times Sebastian thought about marrying you and the 1 time he asked.

𑣲 fight the alchemy I @/theealbatross

Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

𑣲 i love you, it’s ruining my life I @/theealbatross

Sebastian has the worst insomnia known to man and you are not dating him.

𑣲 never not been mine I @/theealbatross

Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.

𑣲 a habit to kick, an age old cure I @/theealbatross

you and Sebastian are now strangers but at your most vulnerable moment he picks up the pieces. only he knows. only he can.

𑣲 fever (what a lovely way to burn) I @shadowtriovibes

"since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly.”

𑣲 request I @/shadowtriovibes

Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back

𑣲 break a sweat part 2 part 3 part 4 I @/shadowtriovibes

sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

𑣲 mind if i move in closer? I @/shadowtriovibes

𑣲 it’s a sign of the times part 2 I @/shadowtriovibes

Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian

𑣲 fissured composure I @anto-pops

After watching you hold your own against a handsy classmate, Sebastian is feeling particularly needy and steals you away to the Undercroft to show you just how worked up your right hook got him.

𑣲 possessive touch I @/anto-pops

Sebastian has never been the sharing sort. He was happy to loan people notes or quills, maybe even the occasional book from the Restricted Section. But not you. Never you.

𑣲 sudsy confessions I @/anto-pops

Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub.

𑣲 request I @/anto-pops

𑣲 unspoken attraction I @arthenaa

The girls and you have a talk on who they'll date amongst the students in Hogwarts. No one mentions Sebastian despite being deemed the most handsome in your year. You wonder why?

𑣲 jealously, jealousy I @awkwardauthorwrites

𑣲 i think he knows I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Sebastian helps Y/N with an interesting request

𑣲 violets and verbena I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Two years have passed since the events in Hogwarts Legacy, in which Y/N has drifted away from Sebastian. What happens when she has to spend some time in the hospital wing and he comes to visit?

𑣲 in the middle part 2 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

After a few months of knowing the reader the boys suddenly realise one day they are falling in love with the reader and start to become a bit bitter towards each other and very jealous if another guy gives her attention.

𑣲 wildest dreams part 2 part 3 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Ten years have passed since the events of Hogwarts Legacy and Y/N is invited back as part of a reunion to celebrate.

𑣲 diesel is desire I @wttcsms

sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief.

𑣲 trust fall I @fairytalesandlegacies

Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

𑣲 i need you I @ravenelyx

Sebastian has different ways of dealing with being hurt. One of them is burying his face in your chest while you cuddle him

𑣲 who do you smell? I @roarieluz

Sebastian Sallow has had a crush on Y/N for a while now, this isn't news to him but when a strong batch of amortentia is made for potions class it is hard to keep his mind clear of anything that isn't about you and what he wants to do to you.

𑣲 the night shift part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 I @writing-intheundercroft

You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

𑣲 a long time coming I @undergaunts

aka three times Sebastian is a flirt, one time he gets called out on it, and one time he finally does something about it.

𑣲 pining in potions class I @festivalsofmargot

Sebastian Sallow is forming a huge crush on you, and it’s hitting him all at once in a very annoying way. Something as simple as not being partnered with you in potions class eats away at him.

𑣲 pretty thoughts part 2 I @/festivalsofmargot

Sebastian is down bad for you, my dear reader. But a lot of overthinking on your part makes you blind to it. So, his only option is to keep chasing after you.

𑣲 a worrisome box of chocolates I @matchavellichor

𑣲 you look better in green part 2 I @fierymiasma

In which Sebastian sees the new transfer student wearing someone else’s scarf and proceeds to absolutely lose it.

𑣲 snow, scarves, and schemes I @spaceyaceface

Y/N is sick of Leander Prewett trying to court her. Luckily, she has a best friend named Sebastian Sallow who would love to help put an end to it. They devise a plan to pretend to court up until the Yule Ball. Should be simple, right? If only.

𑣲 the one who stayed I @talesofesther

For a moment, Sebastian thought he lost you, and now the guilt for what happened is eating away at him.

𑣲 the winner takes all I @justauthoring

in which, leander prewett is a prick and sebastian shows him not mess with his girl.

𑣲 bludgered I @slytherizz

Sebastian never really knew what his friend saw in Isaac Cooper but he never questioned it - he made his friend happy. That is until a Quidditch match goes quickly awry and he realises his feelings for her may go far deeper than simple friendship.

𑣲 between the two of you I @cuffmeinblack

Rewriting of the events of the Shadow of the Study/Discovery quests.

𑣲 i crumble completely (when you cry) I @atlabeth

there's only one way to get into salazar slytherin's scriptorium.

𑣲 right where you left me I @anomalyaly

You died. Sebastian secretly had a portrait of you commissioned.

𑣲 in the shadow of the mountain I @ellecdc

fed up with Sebastian. After admitting he "shouldn't have acted so bitterly about your goblin friend", you expect him to be in better spirits on your next quest. He keeps putting the both of you in danger, and you've had it.

𑣲 i remember I @whizzing-fizzbee

You died during your seventh year at Hogwarts before you could tell your best friend, Sebastian Sallow, how much you loved him. But when he discovers a box of your pensieve memories, he learns the comforting, yet cruel truth.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow angst #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow series #sebastian sallow oneshot #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fic recs #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy x reader

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jjjjisun · 2 months ago

Text

My Playmate, My Sister

Hanni X Male Reader | 8566 words

TW: Incest

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Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

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I'll be honest, growing up with a sister like mine was no cakewalk. It was abundantly clear that my sister, Hanni, was destined for some form of modeling from the moment she started developing her killer body in her early years. All throughout high school she had the attention and longing gazes of every boy, man and even some women there. As I went through my freshman year, lusting after any bit of female I could grasp, I was constantly teased about my senior sister's looks and how much every one of my friends would love to "bang her."

Now I won't lie and say I didn't notice; after all, I was in the peak of my sexual desires too. However, my thoughts never strayed beyond the occasional hope to see her coming out of the shower or undressing in her room. I did get a peek every once in a while, but it was all innocent and never got out of hand. Luckily for me, Hanni was incredibly wholesome and modest about her looks, having a few lucky boyfriends here and there but largely displaying her beauty in tolerable amounts. So even though I had to stare down or ignore someone for the occasional comment about Hanni's "hot ass and tits," I never felt embarrassed by any of her actions.

I suppose I should probably tell you what she really looks like. Aside from a body that looks to be sculpted from marble, she is about 5'3" weighing just over 100 lbs. She has 24" waist and from inspecting some of her more seductive lacey bras in the laundry is done I know her breasts measured a full 32C which I wanted nothing more than to at least any chance I could get. She has the most gorgeous eyes, more green than hazel, framed by a cute, freckled face and tiny chin. To top it all off she has the perfect shade of blonde hair with dark streaks, which she wears in a variety of styles mostly with long bangs swept across her face.

Unfortunately, in high school I was a shrimpy little kid, never really breaking 130 lbs. until my senior year, when I finally came into my own. So when Hanni brought her usual slough of beautiful friends around, I was always just her little brother to them. It didn't matter to Hanni though, she was a bit nerdy like me and was always willing to play a video game or two or watch a movie late at night. She even got me with a few pretty girls if she knew their older sister or invited me to a party she could maneuver me around. She and I got along well, and even though we didn't interact much at school, we have always been good friends. After she went away to college across the country we separated a bit, but whenever we were both together we were thick as thieves.

But things changed for her early in Hanni's Junior year of college. As I walked through a convenience store on my way to the train home from school, I caught the top of a Playboy on the clearance rack behind the counter.

"I'll be damned if that doesn't look just like Hanni's face," I thought, not even realizing what that would mean if it really was her.

I asked for the copy, and after I showed my 19 year-old driver's license to the cashier and a sideways glance, he handed it to me. The photo on the cover, now many months old, was definitely in Playboy's usual style, airbrushed and photo-shopped to an almost unrecognizable degree, but I was 95% certain it was my sister. She was body-painted in the same colors as her college, Oregon State, and displaying what I had always known to be her fan-fucking-tastic form. I had no time to dwell on it, however, as my friends were all waiting so I shoved the Playboy into my backpack, paid and headed outside. I could barely focus on getting to the train and then home, and I don't think I said a word for the whole ride to my stop 30 minutes away.

I was in shock; "would Hanni really do that? She's always been adventurous but this is totally different," I thought.

When I finally got home I made for my room as fast as I could after a quick catch-up on the day with my Mom. As I pulled out the magazine and that's when I knew for sure, the beauty on the front cover was my sister. I thumbed through the pages and opened up to a her spread, not even thinking of the taboo implications. There she was, for all the world to see, and what a sight it was. She was going by the name Hanni Jean Underwood, obviously not the same as our family name. She was every guy's wet dream, clearly the best looking in the entire magazine, and she was my sister. I had to say it in my head a few times before it really set in, and after a cold shower I pulled out my phone and decided to text my sister.

"Hey Hanni, anything new," I wrote.

A few long minutes later, I received:

Hanni: "Nope, nothing really, I'm coming home Friday, a week early for summer, though!,"

Me: "That's cool, is something going on?"

Hanni: "Just felt a little overwhelmed is all."

Me: "Anything you want to talk about?"

Hanni: "We can catch up when I get home in a few days, okay?"

Me: "Sure, I miss you."

Hanni: "Miss you too!"

Soon enough it was Friday and I was nervous to see my big sister so soon after the recent development. I decided to do a little research online, and I wasn't prepared for what I was about to see. A quick search of her name brought a whole bunch of results, at least three photo shoots - all stemming from the fact that she had apparently been crowned playmate of the month in July. I clicked on each gallery and scanned the page, seeing my sister laid out in a bunch of unbelievably sexy poses in all states of undress. I couldn't help it, the pictures were turning me on. I imagined her laid out on the window-bench in my room, looking at me straight in the eye as she pulled her top off, light glancing off her just like it did in the pictures. In my daze I didn't even hear the sound of my sister clamoring up the stairs, and then standing at my open door, seeing clearly what I had found.

"Okay, now I know what that text was about," she said as I clicked out of the browser at the speed of light. "No point in pretending now, we obviously are going to have to talk about this."

I just stared at her, she was different than the last I saw of her about 8 months before that. She was tan, her hair was better than it had ever looked, and she was in the best shape of her life. Even her clothes were thin and more revealing than ever, and after looking at the pictures on my computer, I realized I would never see her the same again.

"Come here and give me a hug first, I've had a long day of travelling," she said with fatigue thick in her voice.

At 19 years old, I was a full 6'0" and taking good care of my body had left me at 180 lbs. with a decent shot with women. I walked up, towering over her now, and she sank into my arms. Maybe it was what I had just seen on the computer, her clothes, or maybe it was something she was doing on purpose, but every part of her seemed to be pressed against me. I could feel the swell of those amazing breasts pressing against my chest, and my hands around her felt a toned backside most girls dreamed of.

"You've really grown," Hanni said, leaning most of her weight into me as she ran her hands innocently over me.

We hadn't seen much of each other the previous summer as she was working (at Hooter's I later learned) near her school in Oregon. That and the 8 or so months of school had given me plenty of time to grow, gaining an inch or two and a ton of manly muscle, if I didn't say so myself.

She moved away from me and looked into my eyes, saying "I need you to be calm about this, and to please not talk to Mom or Dad about it until I'm ready."

Still slightly aroused, I pulled myself together, "Okay, but you have to tell me all about it at least."

She eagerly agreed. We sat in my room, the loving brother half of me paying attention to her story of how she was found in a little Playboy talent search I had seen on the cover of that fateful magazine and how the feedback on her first photos was so good they decided to make her Playmate of the Month. The other half of me could not stop thinking of what I had seen and how this beautiful specimen in front of me could be seen by anybody in the heart-stopping galleries online, and that she was my sister!

"...so what do you say?" I snapped back in. After a short pause she knew I hadn't heard the question.

"I know this is a lot to handle, but let's just do our best to act normally around each other, okay Oppa?"

I agreed of course, and she hopped out of my room, her sculpted little butt swaying a bit as she turned and shot me a slightly mischievous smile.

All things considered, it was pretty normal around the house for the next few days. Our parents were rarely around, busy with their work or fairly hefty social lives, so I didn't have to deal with blurting out our secret to them. Hanni was out visiting friends during the weekend and I was studying for finals, albeit occasionally distracted by the fact that I had a Playboy Playmate living under the same roof. One night as I studied for a relatively easy exam the next day, Hanni came in and we talked for hours, her in tight white tank top and some tiny shorts, teasing me, maybe not so unintentionally, the entire night. She told me she had dropped out a few months ago because things were going so good with Playboy. Then she began to talk about her love life, something that had never really been off limits with us. It was obviously different now to talk about love and relationships and sex, for my mind kept straying to what a man might do with a girl like my sister in the privacy of their own room.

"I can't relate to any of the guys I am meeting, they all are kind of slimy and just want me because of my photos. I miss being with a guy who might actually care about me, and I miss the sex too," she said, blushing and looking down, missing the wide-eyed look I had on my face.

I told her about some of the girls I had dated, and even noted a hint of bitterness as I named a few girls she apparently didn't approve of. She curled up in my arms as we talked through all of the changes in both our lives and we fell asleep together, laying a comfortable distance apart.

When I awoke I felt like a million dollars, warm and cozy and ready to get up and shower before my test. Slowly waking I realized the coziness came from the gorgeous girl I was now tightly spooning and who had wrapped herself around one each of my arms and legs. It was both loving and arousing, and I realized my hand was gently resting in the middle of her perfect chest. I tried to slowly move out of position but she only latched onto me more, pushing my hand further into her soft, cotton-covered breasts. I knew it was only a matter of minutes before I hardened fully and she would easily be able to feel it. That worry disappeared as she closed the space between us and nestled her tight bottom right over my shaft.

"Mmmmmh, good morning Oppa," she said softly, wiggling a bit as she turned her head to look at me.

It was excruciating to resist the urge to thrust forward between her cheeks. There was that suggestive smile again.

"I haven't felt this relaxed in a long time, I am so glad to finally be back," she whispered.

"How long will you be staying? Are you going to have to leave for any more shoots soon?" I asked quietly, trying not to move or address the fact that I was aroused by my sister.

"Actually, there is talk about making me Playmate of the Year, but I don't think I stack up to the competition. Either way, I have another shoot in a few weeks," Hanni said, turning to face me and finally relieving the pressure on my growing problem.

I paused, appearing deep in thought, "Yeah, I wouldn't count on it." I said sarcastically, making a funny face at her as her mouth dropped, insulted.

In mock anger she rolled on top of me, battering my chest with playful blows as she straddled me, both of us laughing as I grabbed her wrists with one arm and tickled her always sensitive sides with the other. As she twisted to avoid my prying fingers, her hips ground lightly down on my still slightly enlarged member, and I could hardly focus on the tickling for all of the pleasure it was causing me.

The wrestling intensified, both of us breathing hard between laughs and feeling her lithe body against mine. Our play continued, and I rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed with her hands above her head. Her tank top had ridden up by now, revealing a mouth-watering abdomen and her bottoms were scrunched up towards her waist. She panted beneath me and arched her back, trying to push me off of her and once again forcing herself against my engorged cock. Still holding her down I moved my mouth to her abdomen and blew, making a funny sound like I used to when we were just kids. The subtle scent of her body wash and perfume lingered and she squealed as I rubbed the morning whiskers of facial hair on her smooth skin.

Displaying that she had obviously been working out, she somehow gained leverage over me and flipped back on top, her legs interlocked with mine, straddling my thigh. I could swear I felt faint yet rhythmic thrusts against my leg with her nimble frame squashed against my chest. I could feel her warm breath on my ear and she finally sat up raising her arms in victory as I gave up, exhausted. If I hadn't been so entranced with our arousing battle, I might have noticed her nipples standing proudly and entirely visible through the soft cotton of her tank top.

Our horseplay ended, and as I looked up at her with her abdomen and firm breasts heaving from our tussle, I knew then that she would undoubtedly win Playmate of the Year. It was almost as if she read it on my face, because she gave me a little peck on the lips and hopped off, maintaining the innocence our little slumber party had began with. She had the walk of an angel and she once again smiled at me as she bounced out, swinging around the frame of the door and out of sight. I laid there for a few minutes, trying to pull myself together and shake off any further thoughts of the hottest woman I had ever laid eyes on; it was no easy task.

As I worked through my exam, my thoughts occasionally strayed to Hanni, wondering what was going on and if I was out of my mind for thinking of her as any more than a sister. The exam was as easy as I thought it would be, so I finished and returned home early. When I got back my sister was at the fridge, deep in thought, biting on her finger as she always did. Dressed in tiny jean shorts and an oversized football jersey, tied at the waist and hanging slightly over one shoulder, I thought of she now seemed to know exactly what to wear to complement her figure. I scolded myself inwardly for then thinking it would be better if she wore less.

"Oooh, you scared the shit out of me," she said as she jumped and the jersey fell the rest of the way down her shoulder, revealing the strap of a black bra beneath.

I wanted to ravish her on the kitchen table right then and there as she turned her head and cocked her hips, playing at my desires.

"I was just going to make us both lunch, how did your test go?"

I told her about it as I sat at the table and she prepared lunch, slapping my hand away a few times that I reached for some little morsels.

"I've been taking cooking classes," she told me, "It's funny because I'm finally doing all the things I want to do, maybe I wasn't cut out for college anyway."

"You're nuts Hanni," I fired back, "you have always been the smartest girl I know, and are probably still the only female who can beat me in any game on the Xbox.... you're amazing."

She glowed in response to my comment her striking eyes locking onto mine, "I love you so much Oppa."

We ate and chatted about this and that, and I realized that even though Playboy Playmate status had taken her from a hot young girl to a to-die-for image on the page of a magazine, we still got on as well as ever.

"So I was thinking," she interjected, "I've got to go to this club tonight and shake hands with a bunch of the higher-ups of Playboy here, but I don't really want to go alone. They might be a little weirded out if I brought my brother, but do you think you might want to go as my date?"

"I mean, sure, if you think that's okay," I fired back, excited but nervous.

"Of course it is," said Hanni happily, "I'd just love to have someone to hold on to, it can be kind of intimidating considering the nature of the work."

She told me a little more about the night and what was in store, some dancing, some drinking and of course some more playmates - which I obviously couldn't complain about. The rest of the day went on with little consequence, we watched a movie together and caught up on some work individually.

After I had thrown on a nice button-up and dress pants I went and sat on the couch and waited for Hanni, who was never on time. When the doorbell rang and I hopped up to answer it, I was surprised to see a expensive-looking limousine sitting in the driveway.

"We should be going sir, wouldn't want to keep Hanni's employers waiting." said the driver.

Just then, the click of heels on hardwood alerted us that Hanni was finally ready to go. As I looked up I nearly collapsed, and so did the driver. Hanni wore a red, slightly shimmering dress, cut low between her breasts and high on her thighs. Her cleavage was so perfect I could die happy right there, the dress seeming to be holding on to it for dear life. It clung to her form and I couldn't imagine a more beautiful sight. As she gracefully stepped down the stairs in her simple but sexy black heels, the driver struggled for words.

"Good e-evening Miss Underwood, I am d-d-david, your driver for tonight."

Hanni was a good sport and thanked David as we walked out the door. As I took the first step out the door, Hanni stopped me and whispered in my ear, causing a tingle to run through my body,

"I think he saw something he liked."

Not to be outdone, I turned and whispered back, "He wasn't the only one."

She squeezed my hand and after she got in the limo, David, who was holding the door said, "You are a lucky man." I knew I was.

Hanni sat close to me the whole ride there and her presence was intoxicating. The night pretty much went as Hanni had described, we sipped on drinks while meeting a whole bunch of people who pretty much jumped over me to get to Hanni as she answered their questions. When all of the connections were finally made, Hanni dragged me toward the bar and said

"I need a shot or two, I almost couldn't stand it anymore."

I agreed and we both winced back two shots of something that was way above my budget, apparently free of charge. Then came playmate introductions. Some were scattered about the dance floor, others at various bars about the classy establishment. I recognized some from television but most were gorgeous and unknown to me. I did, however, notice that almost every one of them paled in comparison to Hanni.

Hanni dragged me onto the dance floor among the beauties and we were innocently spinning each other around and sharing the occasional close moment as the alcohol began to work its magic. Then, as if in a dream, Jessica Burciaga, a crush of mine with whom I had spent a little time flirting with earlier grabbed me for a dance. The beating music, dark atmosphere and ever-present buzz of the alcohol had me confident and forward as the tanned, Latina beauty pushed against me. She was beginning to really get into it, grinding her hips against mine in away only a fiery girl like her could. I was in another universe, doing what every guy always dreams of, and with her hands on top of mine I felt every inch of my long-standing playmate crush.

I obviously wasn't paying attention to much else because it took me a while to notice that Hanni, who was nearby, had found a guy and was dancing against him too. I tried to disregard the immediate pang of jealousy I felt, but it would not go away. Jessica was now doing her most seductive dancing, pulling my body into hers, our breath heavy upon each other, but it wasn't enough to keep me from stealing a glance at my sister across the way. Her dress was catching the little bit of light on the floor and her body was unfathomably sexy as she moved to the music. Once more I looked, and I saw on her face the same jealousy I had felt. Our eyes locked. We stared at each other as the music seemed to get quieter, and our dance partners continued their movement around us. I knew she wanted to be dancing with me at that moment, and I, with her. At the end of the song we thanked our partners, and Jessica planted a kiss on my lips, slipping a note into my pocket and whispering for me to call her.

I approached Hanni, who was now glaring at me and leaning on the bar a few feet away.

"Looks like somebody is having a good time," she said with a bit of an attitude, "you can take the limo home with her if you want, I'm sure I can get another ride."

"Hanni, don't be like that," I said with the best puppy dog eyes I could muster, "I got carried away, besides, it looks like you and Mr. Hands over there were getting along just fine by yourselves."

She loosened up a bit at that comment and looked at me sideways, smirking, "alright, just promise me at least one dance before the night is up killer," she requested with a sweet look on her face.

"Hanni," I said with a hint of seriousness in my voice, "I don't want to dance with anyone else tonight if that's okay with you."

Instead of voicing her approval, she stood on her toes and planted a kiss right on my lips, holding my head in her hands as she did. It only lingered a second, but I saw stars as she pulled away and motioned to the bartender to make us two seven-and-sevens. She leaned over the bar a bit, and the bartender ogled her cleavage as I, on the other end was helpless to the view of her backside, the red cloth stretched thin over it. I wondered if she was wearing any underwear, "maybe not," I thought mischievously.

We took our first sips silently as she batted her eyelashes at me, somewhat embarrassed from the kiss.

"I hope that wasn't your best effort out on the dance floor Hanni," I said with a hint of arrogance, "I don't think Playboy would like it if they knew their new protégé danced like she was at a junior high mixer."

Hurt, Hanni quickly shot back, "oh and I suppose you would have me shaking my ass like that little tart you were dancing with?"

"I'm not saying I wouldn't like it..." I trailed off.

Hanni quickly set down her drink and grabbed my hand as if to say, "I'm done talking about it, let's dance."

She dragged me deep into the crowd of people; it's amazing how you feel more private when surrounded by thick swells of human beings. At first she just pushed me back, swaying to herself and running her hands seductively up and down her flowing curves. My head spun as I watched and I couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or my hot older sister moving like she was in front of me. Then she approached me and I wrapped my arms gently around her, careful not to break the rhythmic surging of her body. I began to move with her, running my hands more daringly around her, and I heard a quiet moan into my neck.

She gracefully grabbed my arms and spun herself around, facing away from me and keeping herself enveloped in my grasp. Her style was entirely different from Jessica's, and I couldn't get enough. I savored the feeling of her petite form against mine as she ground he firm ass slowly against me. There was no question why dancing like this had become so popular, her undulations and grinding aroused me more than if she had instead turned and grasped my shaft with her nimble little hands herself. I was no amateur myself, and I moved easily behind her, touching her in all the right places, proud to see many people watching us dance so well together.

We were lost in each other, our heads buzzing from perhaps one too many drinks. I buried my head in her fragrant blonde hair, blowing softly on her neck - a move I had successfully used in the past. We were both so aroused about the fact that nobody knew our true relation that we nearly forgot it ourselves. She leaned back and looked deep into my eyes, my gaze confirming that I felt as strongly as she did. As she turned her head I boldly pressed my lips against hers, tasting a hint of cherry on her lips. I was not entirely surprised when she opened her lips a bit, and her tongue darted out to touch my mine. We broke the kiss about as soon as it started - locking our eyes together as she turned toward me and hugged her close once more.

Then after a few seconds that felt like hours, we ended our pause and were making out like a couple of teenagers. She jumped gracefully into my strong arms and we battled our tongues to see who could display the stronger desire. We were hidden from the outside world by the surging crowd but I could swear our passion caused a good number of couples around us to start engaging in the same activity.

After we were both out of breath and tired of pounding music, we broke our kiss and I said with a witty smile, "what do you think about getting out of here and going back to my place?"

She showed me that beautiful smile of hers and grabbed my hand once again, dragging me outside. I held her in my arms as we waited for the limo, and once inside we made sure the divider was up and she jumped in my lap like there was no time to lose.

Now that we had room to move about our kisses were practiced and still overflowing with desire. She thrust gently against me as I ran my hands up and down her sides, then lightly resting them against the breasts I had so dreamed of seeing. I ran my fingers in circles around her nipples which were protruding stiffly through her red dress. She moaned into my mouth and continued grinding herself against me as she straddled my lap. Not wanting her to do all the work, I gently laid her tiny frame down on the seat and hovered over her.

I teased her, putting my lips just millimeters away from hers and as she snapped up to try and lock hers to mine, I pulled away, concentrating on my hands moving firmly from her legs all the way up to her face. When they reached their destination, I grasped her neck and finally locked lips once again, this time lightly pressing my leg between her thighs. She moaned enthusiastically, barely able to maintain the kiss as I pressed hard and then eased over and over. My fingers moved just below the fabric next to her generous cleavage, wishing my hands were unhindered by the dress. She swelled back against my leg and I continued to massage her body and breasts. Just as she took a deep breath in anticipation of impending orgasm, there was a knock on our tinted window and we realized we had been stopped for some time. I looked down at Hanni and collapsed, both of us laughing at how our arousal had caused us to lose all track of time.

"Not fair," Hanni said, gasping and visibly pissed to be withheld what would have been a fantastic orgasm.

I pulled her up, also unhappy to be leaving the privacy and comfort of the limousine's cabin.

As we left vehicle, the driver said "Goodnight to you Miss Underwood, and to you too sir," giving me a knowing look.

Hanni was none the wiser as she sauntered toward the door, still moping about her suspended pleasure. I thanked the lucky stars that my parents were spending the weekend on a sailboat with friends and I would have the house, and Hanni, all to myself.

When we finally got inside and I shut the door, Hanni pushed my body against it softly with her own.

I looked at her and started in a concerned tone, "Hanni..."

But Hanni put her finger over my lips and stopped me, saying, "I want this, and I know you do too. I am your older sister, I can make my own decisions. Yes, this is technically against the rules, but so is looking at those pictures of me online little brother."

I thought about it for a second, "You've made a few good points."

"Now," she said, a little more demanding than I am used to, "I am going to go upstairs, and if you know what's good for you, I suggest you grab us something to drink, preferably without alcohol, and follow me up in five minutes."

With that, she turned and headed up the stairs without looking back.

I was stunned, and more than a little turned on. My sister had never been so forward in her whole life, but I loved the new her. I grabbed two waters and stood at the counter in the kitchen, taking hold of reality and reveling in how lucky I was. I knew that when I walked up those stairs, I would be spending the night with the most beautiful girl I'd probably ever come across, let alone my sister and a Playboy Playmate unlike any other. With that, I knew that there was no decision to make and my feet took me up the stairs like they had a mind of their own.

Taking a drink, I opened the door and for the second time that night, my sister blew me away. She had been under the covers, but as I opened the door she sat up and proudly showed off her full form. I literally spit out the water I had just drank as I took her in; she giggled, flattered at the reaction. She was wearing a slightly transparent magenta lace bra, which pushed up her ample breasts ever so slightly. Her bottoms were a simple but sexy black cotton that I couldn't wait to rip off.

She motioned to me and said "Come here;"

I walked to the edge of the bed. She crawled on all fours at me like a jungle cat, and equally as graceful. As she came eye to eye with me she took one of the bottles from my hand, opening it and taking a quick drink. She capped it and dropped it nonchalantly to the side, the glistening water still on her lips. She then gave me a slow and sultry kiss, once again holding my head in her hands; I could taste the cool water on her lips.

I placed a knee on the bed and pulled her close to me, once again beginning to slide our tongues against the other. I tried to go as slowly as possible as I laid her down and continued to kiss her deeply, but how could you blame me, with all the skin to explore my hands moved on their own. Up and down they travelled, not wanting to leave an inch of her body unexplored. I kissed her neck as I massaged all over her, and she once again began to pant into my ear, quickly nibbling at it. I couldn't believe how exciting it was to feel her move strongly against me, arching her back and thrusting her hips out to meet mine. My hands cupped her round cheeks and gave them a squeeze; I could feel her smile as we kissed.

My hands finally finished their journey, and one of them moved to the clasp in her bra. I had never been too good at removing a bra, but tonight, I was so hot with luck that I did it in one fluid motion. The fabric loosened, and I slowly walked my fingers along the patterned lace. She loved how much attention I was paying to each part of her; she had thought hard about what to wear for me. I pulled back from her face and looked into her eyes before I knew I'd finally have her naked body before me. The soft glow of the lamp nearby upon her made her all the more beautiful.

"Oppa...I..." she started, but this time it was my turn to quiet her, with a kiss.

She was about to tell me how much she wanted me, how happy I made her, but I already knew, and she let out a breath in relief as I acknowledged it with my kiss.

I ran my hand up one of her arms and placed it above her head, and doing the same with the other I joined them, restraining her harmlessly. With my free hand I gingerly moved her bra up her arms and covered her with my body, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the side. She nipped at my lip and caught me off guard, freeing her hands and allowing her to reach for my shirt and nimbly unbutton it faster than I could have myself. She pushed it down my shoulders and off and I kissed her once again, our partial nakedness adding fervor to our efforts.

I finally wrapped my hands over her breasts, one at a time, playing with it slowly and beginning to breathe heavily myself in arousal. I thumbed her nipples and found that she was extremely sensitive there, because her moans became more frequent into my mouth and neck. We both moved our hips against each other in unison, mimicking the action we both so desired to get to, but I wanted anything but to rush things. She on the other hand, had already begun removing my belt and unbuttoning my pants, and in no time, she was wrapping her legs around my pelvis and impressively removing my pants mostly with her feet.

I could feel her pussy wet against my thigh, and our new proximity caused me to resume the pressure that had been so effective in the limo. I once again had her humping at my leg, becoming wetter with each push. I replaced my thigh with two of my fingers, rubbing softly but surely against her lips and clit. She squealed in pleasure and dug her nails lightly into my back. She was so close to orgasm she could barely stand it, and as I drank her in I couldn't fathom that a girl could be any sexier. My older sister was beneath me, begging for my touch, both of us wanting each other more than we had ever wanted someone before.

As I continued my ministrations, I slipped my fingers beneath the cotton of her panties, finding her mound baby smooth and slick with her desire. Being the consummate teaser that I am, I continued to keep her at the peak of her pleasure without pushing her over. She was frustrated, and she began to grab at my cock through my boxer shorts. She moved her dexterous fingers over it, allowing me to savor the feeling and the cotton between them. Then, just as I had done, she moved her hands underneath my boxers and grabbed me firmly, shuddering occasionally from my own onslaught of her smooth quim. She brushed her fingers up and down over my shaft, lightly touching the tip and rubbing the pre-cum over it.

"Please...please....oh...Oppa," she begged into my ear as I continued to rub against her clit and eased one finger, and then two, slowly into her wet pussy.

In and out I moved them gently, feeling how tight she was, but only enough to keep her bucking her hips at my touch and begging for release.

She once more grasped my cock, not even able to wrap her small hand around it and pushed her other hand against my chest.

"I want you, no... I need you...inside me," she pleaded.

Now I may have been teasing her, but the entire time I could do little more than think about how fantastic if was going to feel to finally be inside my gorgeous playmate sister. I kissed down her neck, not failing to stop at each of her breasts and lick tenderly at each hard nipple, hearing her moan in return. As I continued I kissed at her tight abs, belly-button and then looked up at her, smiling as I pulled her panties down the first few inches with my teeth. She managed a smile through her sighs of passion and I finished taking off her cute little black bottoms the rest of the way with my hands. Me standing at the foot of the bed, she reached out with her toe and grabbed the elastic band of my shorts, pushing it down, showing me what she wanted. I took them off in one fluid motion and when I looked up she was using both hands to make a 'come hither' motion at me.

As I slid up her body, feeling our skin rub lightly against each other, I knew this was it. We stared lustfully and longingly into each other's eyes and I could feel my fully enlarged shaft pressing directly between her soaked folds. We kissed once more, a kiss so deep and meaningful that only a brother and a sister could share, and I gazed upon her stunning features.

"Are you sure this is what you want? I know I do, but I want you to be sure," I said, and I meant it.

She pulled me close and, still panting, spoke a breathy "Yes...fuck me...please."

She reached between us and gently pointed me directly towards her, placing the tip right at her entrance. With one hand, she pulled at my back, encouraging me to move inside of her. I did as instructed, but as if in one last effort to tease, I pushed only a bit of my tip inside of her before pulling it back out. The feeling alone was unbearably good, and I had hardly entered her yet.

This time she demandingly breathed, " Oppa," strongly, "Fuck me."

With that, I began to press into her. We both gasped into each other's necks as I slid in, inch by inch. I stopped briefly for her to adjust to my sizable cock, and pulled out a bit, causing us both to hold our breath at the feeling. Finally I made one final thrust, and our hips touched together as we joined in a passionate kiss. We were both smiling from ear to ear at the sheer bliss we were experiencing. She pawed at me, fidgeting at the intense pleasure I was giving her.

I could have stayed locked together like that forever, but we both began, slowly at first, to rock against each other. We stayed pressed together as my cock slid further and further, in and out of her impossibly tight tunnel. I began to lose focus on the kisses we had been sharing and was unable to do anything but grasp at her hips with one hand and support myself with the other. Her moans came almost every other breath now, a sound so soft and sweet I wished they would never stop.

"Oh...oh...Oppa...Oppa," she gasped into my ear.

"Hanni...Hanni...you feel...so....fucking....good," I whispered back.

We were moving as one, two bodies locked in a passion for each other so strong nothing could not stop us. She then wrapped her legs around me, grabbing at me with her heels and pulling me deeper. I continued to thrust in and out, and she pushed in perfect time back toward me, grinding her clit against me every chance she could. We pushed hard enough each time that I could see her breasts, possibly my favorite feature, bouncing a bit at each stroke, still sizable even as she lay on her back. She began to squeal just a bit now with each breath, a pitch that just barely came through with each breathy moan. Finally, the orgasm I had deprived her of for so long came and she tensed up, grabbing me with impressive strength as I kept moving in and out of her, her pussy pummeling my cock with its contractions as she came for what seemed like minutes. She continued to moisten and I continued to thrust, not allowing or wanting her to come down from her climax. I couldn't believe it, I still had time to go, and though I could probably have made myself climax at any second, my body seemed determined to let me continue my enjoyment of the amazing playmate, my sister, before me.

She finally began to come down from her orgasm, and pulled me tight against her.

"Don't move.. I can't handle it... I need a moment," she managed to say.

I observed her in her post-orgasmic glow and once again had time to marvel at my luck.

"Tell me when," I challenged her.

A few slow, controlled breaths and, as if encouraged by my dare she said with all the strength she could muster "when."

With that, she flipped on top of me as she had done so many times before, without removing herself from our incestuous connection. I could tell that she was still sensitive from her first orgasm but after a few seconds she began to move her toned core in the most seductive motion. She flexed and relaxed her abs, working me in and out of her soaked pussy like a piston around a camshaft. She smiled as she saw my eyes roll back, astounded at her ability. I firmly grasped her body, feeling it move and moving with it, my hands free to do whatever they pleased. I took her breasts in my hands, cupping them and feeling their weight and wonderful softness. She leaned into me, still moving her hips so smoothly up and down on my cock. I thrust up meet her downward movements, us now face to face and joining again in a lustful kiss. I felt myself closer to orgasm but fought it away, I couldn't give in just yet. Hanni on the other hand was not quite close, I could see her face change just a bit with each up and down thrust, and you should have seen it as I moved my thumb to her clit. As I rubbed at her little button she smiled again against my mouth and moaned my name:

"Oppa...fuck....Oppa....oh God."

Encouraged, I scooped her up, moving to the edge of the bed still inside her and could feel us both pulsing now that the thrusts had momentarily stopped. I looked around for something to set her on and found the that padded bay window across from my bed to be the perfect place. I stood up, but always wanting to try it, and her light body the perfect size, we began to fuck standing up. I grasped her ass tightly in my hands and she wrapped her legs around me. We adjusted to the position and for a minute or two were once again lost in our passion as I fucked her, the sexy little minx that she was, as well as I could. Holding her weight distracted me from my own not-so-far-off orgasm and I plunged into her again and again, seeing that she was enjoying it too. The feeling was like no other, having her wrapped securely around me, suspended in the air and still enjoying the heat of her sex sliding up and down my shaft. I savored it, her breasts pushing against my chest so I could feel her teasing nipples and each breath.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck me...Oppa... fuck your sister... Fuck you're big...shit...shit...Ohmygod."

I was so turned on by the dirty mouth she got as I fucked her, she never spoken like that before, and I began to pound her harder. Her moans got louder in approval as I pounded at her and her little hole nearly dripped in enjoyment.

Finally I moved with her still impaled on my cock over to the window, set her down, and looked her right in the eyes as I pulled out just past the tip and then began to thrust back into her slowly. Our looks both shouted that we loved and wanted each other so badly. My cock fit perfectly inside my sister's tight little pussy. I knew my orgasm was coming, and I could tell by the look in her eyes that hers was too. She looked back at me, pleading with me to keep going, and we both watched between us as my cock disappeared inside her again and again. The pleasure was agonizing and we never wanted it to end.

Each stroke brought us closer to our impending climaxes and I looked over her body one final time. She was just barely glistening with sweat and her face was flushed. Her chest, and firm breasts with it was heaving with each moan. She once again pulled me into her with her legs, and used one hand to bring my face to hers. I brushed the hair from her face and grasped her hips with my other hand. We were oblivious to anything else now but the sensation of her wet tunnel grasping at my cock. We alternated between quick, fulfilling strokes to slow and pleasurable ones where we held our breath for an entire thrust.

We ground against each other, feeling our bodies pressed together and our tongues dancing drunk with lust, and we were both seconds away from release. For a few strokes we looked deep into each other's eyes, wanting to see the other pushed over the edge. I pulled out one final time and Hanni's teary eyes begged for that one final advance. As I thrust into her, she screamed aloud, and I nearly blacked out as I began releasing inside of her. Her walls contracted around me, flowing with fluids and I pumped my seed again and again into her, trying to thrust in deeper as I did. She was clutching at any part of me she could with her hands, unable to breathe until her orgasm began to fade. Her legs held me inside of her, and I could think of absolutely nothing as a wave of such intensity washed over me that I went temporarily blind. Hanni quivered again and again as her own orgasm rendered her limp in my arms. Her pussy squeezed the last bit out of me and we both held each other, speechless for who knows how long.

I began to pull myself from her and the tenderness of our lovemaking made it almost impossible to move without both of us trembling at the feeling. As I finally moved completely out of her, we both felt an intense emptiness, which I remedied by quickly laying her down in the window and sliding in behind her. I held her tight as we spooned on the cushions, every sense heightened, and our desires for each other stronger than ever.

We lay like that for a long time, just feeling each other breathe, still unable to form words or thoughts at what had just transpired. All I knew was that I had just had the experience of a lifetime, and I wanted it to last as long as it possibly could. As if reading my mind, Hanni finally managed,

"I can't believe what you just did to me, that was...." I was hanging on her every word, "fucking incredible," she finished.

We both smiled at her phrasing, and I knew she felt the same as me.

"I love you so much Hanni, and that was the best thing that will ever happen to me," I said back, knowing that words really couldn't describe fully how I felt.

Hanni turned to me with a look on her face I didn't understand, "best thing that will ever happen to you, Oppa?" she questioned. "What about next time?"

...to be continued

#njz smut #newjeans smut #hanni smut #gg smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #newjeans #njz #hanni #smut #kpop #newjeans hanni #njz hanni

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softaestluv · 2 months ago

Text

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3

You’re entirely too eager to return to ‘Ghost’s Garage.’ Maybe you walk through the front doors of the rundown shop a little early, definitely do.

Your shitty pick-up probably only needs to be topped off, but you did drive 3000 miles, and it’s not like being on top of maintenance would hurt.

So, you brush your arrival off as maintaining the integrity of your pick-up, and not the fact that sweat drenched skin and a Manchester accent hasn’t left the confines of your mind since.

Unfortunately, you’re not greeted by Simon when you arrive, instead, blonde hair is replaced with a brown Mohawk, said English accent replaced by a Scottish one.

“Oi, hello lass!” The man greets, a wide smile on his lips.

“Oh, hi,” You respond, giving him a tight smile in return, “Is Simon not here?”

“Aye, he’s busy wi’ another car right now, but ah can help ye, nae worries,” He explains, with an encouraging nod.

You try your best to hide the disappointment in your tone, but its hard when you did your hair this morning with Simon in mind, when you wore your uncomfortable pencil skirt to work with him in mind, when you showed up after work instead of on your day off because you had been hoping that you could see him just as filthy after a full days of work.

“Ah, okay,” You mumble quietly, “I just need my oil changed is all.”

You can’t help, but mourn the money you’re about to spend on an oil change you don’t really need, when the whole reason you were so adamant to return isn’t plausible. It’s too late to walk out now, how desperate would you look if you left because Simon wouldn’t be the one working on your car?

So, you accept your fate, that it wasn’t in the cards, listen to the new man’s instructions and pull your truck into the service drive.

Guilt eats at your chest because it’s not really the mohawked mans fault; he isn’t even ugly, definitely a sight for sore eyes— desperate eyes that is. He wears less than Simon had, a white tank top that’s a little too tight for him, and worn in jeans with more than one rip in them. Wears it a little braver than Simon had, smug and confident, probably a heartthrob for all the mom’s cars he works on, probably flirts with all of them too with no actual intentions, just to make them feel good.

When you park in the service drive, your wandering eyes find Simon across the garage, bent over the hood of a car. It’s not your truck; you won’t get to talk to him, but you think it’s worth it when he’s bent so low over the sedan that his white shirt rises over his hips as he reaches forward. The sliver revealed is paler than the rest of his bronzed skin, freckles littered across the lighter flesh, draws excess saliva in your cheeks, embarrassingly so, over an inch of skin.

But it makes your mind wander, filthy images of connecting the sun marks with timid fingers and shaking hesitation, find out how far down the brown freckles trail.

You don’t have to imagine for long, not when he realizes you’re standing across the garage, gawking at him with a ravenous hunger in your eyes, and starts to walk over to you. He dabs at the sweat on his hairline, makes his shirt rise even higher, reveals light brown freckles curled over his abdomen and a blonde happy trail disappearing into his coveralls.

It’s almost impossible to force your eyes up, find his gaze when he’s walking around like that. With his fucking happy trail on display between the sweat drenched skin and grimy oil marks. The spitting image of a hard working man, powerful and stout, makes a stinging warmth coil in your limbs, thighs pressing tightly together.

“Hi,” You squeak when he stops in front of you, cheeks burning hot in embarrassment because you can’t decide if getting caught drawing lewd shapes with his freckles outweighs the reward of him approaching you.

“Hi, sweeth’art.”— and you decide right then and there that getting caught was worth it when the deep timbre of his voice washes over your shoulders.

He’s positively filthy, more so than last time.

Wet, greasy.

You can smell it on him just as strongly as you can see it on his skin. Like car oil that sat out for too long, the rubber burnt off tires.

A heavy musk, acrid, pungent odor.

You have half the mind to know you should be disgusted by it, that a dirty mechanic calling you a term of endearment should crawl under your skin and make you uncomfortable, but it does the complete opposite. It’s not like you have much of a fight in that game when you were just greedily memorizing his blonde tufts of hair, picturing how it would curl over his pelvis, matted and damp from his hard work.

Even still, you’re pinpointing all the places fingerprint grease stains would imprint on your skin in his wake. How thick the layers of sweat and grime would taste on your tongue.

“Johnny, I got ‘his one, okay?” He shouts to the other side of the garage.

Johnny wears a devious smirk on his face, but Simon doesn’t let you see it for long, shifting to face you just as quickly as he wore it.

You’re not sure if you took a step forward or if Simon was standing this close to begin with. Maybe he was just truly this massive, but you have to tilt your head back just to look at him. He doesn’t necessarily make it easy either, not when he stares down at you with piercing eyes, makes you feel out of your own skin.

“You jus’ need yer oil again?” He asks.

You nod, licking your lips, “Yes, but I thought you were busy? You don’t have to stop to help.”

“Don’t y’worry,” He reassures, shaking his head, “I’ll do it, told you t’come back ‘n you listened didn’t ya?”

You can’t do anything else but nod because you did listen, practically thought of any excuse to find yourself back in his office, his thick build over your engine over you, as soon as possible.

Simon’s lips twitch at your agreement, “Jus’ sit in my office, yeah? No worries, I’ll take care of you.”

You find yourself back in Simon’s office, a warmth to your skin that you can’t seem to shake, not when you keep thinking of every imaginable way he could take care of you. It only gets worse when you perch yourself on the edge of the seat to get the best view of him working on your pick-up.

Maybe it’s something primal, but seeing his large frame bent over, working on your truck and not someone else’s sedan flares satisfaction in your chest. Especially when you watch his sweat drip from his forehead onto your engine, splattered droplets on your blue hood.

If it was anyone else it would make your stomach twist in disgust, gnawing at the back of your mind until you could wipe the hood clean, but it’s not. You’re not entirely sure why you feel this way, maybe it’s his physique that allows you to brush these things off, but it scratches at something carnal in your conscious.

You don’t get much time to appreciate the divots in his shoulders and neck like you truly wanted, like a specimen of his kind really deserves, when Johnny walks in the room. You fall back into the chair quickly, trying to hide the way you were practically leaning forward desperately to see Simon.

He wears a knowing smile, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about it, “Didnae think ma work would be up tae par?”

You chuckle lightly, shaking your head, “No, Simon insisted.”

“Never heard of tha’ man takin’ on extra work willingly,” He jokes, leaning against the window sill— quiet irritation settling in your stomach as he covers Simon completely from your view.

“Must be that skirt yer wearin’.”

Your eyes widen, face burning, “Jus’ my work clothes.”

You’re not lying, they are your work clothes, just happen to be the more form fitting ones, is all.

“And your work clothes?” You remark, arching your brow at him, gesturing from head to toe, because his outfit is entirely more barren than yours is.

“Workin’ man’s uniform,” He shrugs nonchalantly, but he struts across the thin office and does a twirl for you, propping his hip out as he poses.

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, Simon walks into the office.

“Johnny, I thought I told ya to stop harassin’ our customers.”

“Ah’m doin’ nae such thing. Just tellin’ lass here she might’ve got oil grease on her skirt.”

You furrow your brows at his words, looking down at the front of your skirt with a pout because you really didn’t want to stain the skirt without a purpose, except you don’t see anything.

“Nae, nae,” He shakes his head, gesturing to your back.

You do a spin of sorts, arching your head to find what he’s referring to.

“Johnny.” Simon spits.

His tone has more bite to it than you completely understand, but he grabs your arm, pushing you to face forward again.

“There’s nothin’,” Simon explains.

You’re still confused, brows still pinched together, until you look at Johnny, a proud smile smeared across his face.

“Aw, come on, ye liked it jus’ as much, Si,” Johnny teases, realization dawning on you, throat constricting in embarrassment, but he mumbles an apologize when he meets Simon’s scowl.

“Your pick-ups ready for ya,” Simon says, ignoring Johnny.

You follow him out of the office gratefully, too humiliated to even think for yourself right now.

“Is it too much?” You ask Simon with a frown.

“Huh?”

You tug on the seams of your skirt as an explanation.

“Oh,” He says before pausing, “No, no ‘ts not— you look great.”

“Thank you,” You murmur bashfully, atleast you got a compliment out of the whole ordeal, “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothin’.”

“No!” You protest, “You have to let me pay you back somehow!”

You’re not prepared for the way his expression changes, irises dipping into something dark, and you’re definitely not prepared for his next request.

“Do a twirl just f’me?”