#i did this months ago but this and that happened...

[heesimp]

saw your post and comment about heehoon getting off together bc they both want yn…that is so hot I want to read that. Please

I want to read that too 😋 I would love to write more of this type of content so please let me know if you’d read it!

warnings: heehoon jerk off together, mentions of wanting to fuck reader and suck on her tits and pussy, mentions of dry humping, blowjob mention, exchange of fantasies, subtle mxm context (they sit next to each other on the couch and watch each other jerk off), mentions of a sex toy, implied share use of a toy at the end.

send in your hard thoughts x

-

“Dude, are you hard?!”

Heeseung looks over to his friend who sits beside him on the couch in nothing but sweatpants and a flimsy t-shirt. The two of them have sat in silence for the past few minutes or so after their friends left their apartment with you in tow, giving them each a hug goodbye as Jay and Jake undoubtedly drove you back to your apartment.

Still, your perfume lingers in the air. It smells somewhere between vanilla and peaches.

The TV has something playing in the background but neither of them can say they’ve been paying much attention to it. Sunghoon’s been scrolling on Instagram for the past few minutes when Heeseung happened to look over at him to ask what he wanted to watch when he saw the slight tent in his roommate’s pants.

Sunghoon looks up, unashamed. He turns his phone towards the elder. “Can you blame me? Look at her?”

Heeseung squints and sees your profile. “Have you been hard this entire time?”

“Since she walked in. Don’t tell me you don’t feel that way either. I always see you looking at her ass when she walks in front of you.”

Heeseung blushes for a moment. “I can’t help it. Her ass is phenomenal and she always wears those short shorts when she comes over.” Sunghoon groans.

“Yeah, the ones where you can see her panties, right? I swear she’s doing it on purpose.”

“Have you two ever…”

Sunghoon nods his head. “Once.” He bites his lip at the memory. “It was late, really late. She was sobering up after getting drunk at our place a few months ago when you were visiting your cousin. I told her she could sleep over since I was too tired to drive and the guys already left.

“What happened next?”

“I insisted she take my bed while I take the couch but she put up a pretty good fight. She insisted I sleep there with her since it’s my apartment and we’re both adults. We ended up dry fucking, man. She woke me up the middle of the night and I think she was having a wet dream or something.”

“Fuck, really?”

Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. Her leg was over mine and she got so shy when she realized we were both awake but I was so hard since her pussy kept rubbing over me.”

“But you two didn’t fuck?”

He groans. “Wish we did but it felt too good to stop. I took off my sweats and tried to get us naked but Y/N kept rubbing herself on me like she was desperate. That shit was so hot. That was the only time I get to see her cum, too. She let me on top of her and I had to pretend that I was fucking her balls deep since our clothes were still on.”

Heeseung curses and pictures himself in this exact position, running a hand through his hair to tug at his roots. “Were her panties wet?”

“Soaked. I could feel her through my boxers.”

“Y/N is too hot for her own good.” Heeseung watches Sunghoon’s cock jump as he readjusts his position on the couch.

“Wish I could touch her, you know? Knowing she he’s really wet turns me on. Shit.”

Heeseung can’t help but think about it. He’s seen you in swimming suits before and it doesn’t take much for him to imagine what you’d look like without them on. His cock stirs in his pants when he thinks about you gushing for him. Something about Sunghoon’s words turn him on too.

“What else do you want to do to her?” Heeseung finds himself asking his friend.

He laugh. “What don’t I want to do to her? I want to suck on her tits, man. It kills me that she doesn’t wear a bra when she comes over because I can see everything, especially when it’s a little cold. Perky nipples and everything.”

“Fuck,” Heeseung moans. “What else?”

“I’d want to eat her cute little pussy too. Fucks me up every time she flashes us with her shorts…I want to know what she feels like on my tongue.”

Heeseung laughs incredulously. “Damn, Hoon. You’re making me hard.” Sunghoon returns the laughter and doesn’t shy away from looking at his friend’s lap. Heeseung is almost as hard as he is but that seems to make him harder. “Is it bad that I want to cum inside of her?”

“No, fuck no it’s not.” Sunghoon bucks his hips involuntarily against his sweats. “Had a dream the other night that Y/N let me fuck her and creamed all over me…Goddamn, it felt so real.”

“Sometimes I think about her when I watch stuff,” Heeseung admits. “It’s better when I can’t see the girl’s face. I pretend it’s Y/N and it always makes me cum the hardest.”

“Me too. I love those twitter videos more than anything. Sometimes I pretend she’s the one who sent it to me.” Sunghoon brings a hand to his hardened cock and palms himself without a care in the world, even if Heeseung’s eyes grow wide at the movement. “C’mon, man. You can’t say you aren’t turned on.”

“Jesus. You jump right into it, huh?”

Sunghoon scoffs. “Don’t sit there and pretend you haven’t gotten off to me bringing girls home. I hear you in your bedroom, you know.” Heeseung laughs as if to challenge him.

“And you can’t say that you haven’t gotten off when I bring girls back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sunghoon looks back at your Instagram profile and curses under his breath, gripping his cock above the fabric. Heeseung pulls his phone out to look at you too.

“Her tits are incredible,” Heeseung moans as he brings his hand to palm himself. “I wanna put my dick between them and fuck her like that.”

“Cum all over her tits,” Sunghoon adds. “I’d kill to see her on her knees for me like that. Her tits are my weakness.” Palming himself isn’t nearly enough. “Fuck it.”

Heeseung loses his breath when Sunghoon pulls his hard dick out of his pants. “Woah, now? Don’t you want to like, go to your room or something?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my cock before. You don’t usually get this shy when we share a girl.”

Fair point. Heeseung pulls his dick out too.

For a minute, the soft sound of the TV permeates throughout the room as the two of them look at your photos and slowly stroke themselves opposite each other on the couch. Heeseung hears Sunghoon grunt under his breath and hold back a deeper moans when his thumb swipes over his swollen slit that drools precum.

Heeseung’s cock is just as hard. His fingers grip himself with fervor and for just a moment, he pretends it’s your hand that’s stroking him. He imagines the look you’d give him if you were on your knees before him and throws his head back when he moans.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Sunghoon asks as he twists his wrist to stroke himself better. “Fuck, thinking about her always gets me so hard.”

“Want her mouth on me,” Heeseung says in a broken moan. “Her cute little mouth is always telling us off but fuuuuck. She should use it on me instead.”

Sunghoon squeezes himself at the base and flickers his gaze from his phone to his too to watch even more precum ooze out of himself. Thinking about you like this gets always makes him incredibly hard and wet. He can only imagine what would happen if he got the chance to fuck you.

The sounds of their arousal splashing against their cocks as their hand moves up and down is the loudest sound in the room and neither Heeseung nor Sunghoon can for certain say they aren’t turned on by it. In the past, they’ve had their fair share of threesomes with girls they’ve met at parties and past hookups who’ve expressed interest in fucking two guys at the same time, but never have they ever found themselves in a predicament like this.

You are the common denominator within their friend group. Somehow, senior year of university brought the give of you together after an assigned group project in one of your classes that forced you all to spend a good majority of your time together, slaving away for a good grade. The semester ended but the five of you still continued to see each other, project be damned.

Both of them are pretty sure Jay and Jake probably have a thing for you too. You’re hot, smart, and really funny. You’re everything any guy could ever want and it’s always a shame that you’ve preferred to keep to yourself instead of become as promiscuous as the four of them, even if they don’t judge you for it.

Sunghoon speeds up his hand and throws his phone down on the couch to cup his balls. “Ah, damn. I’m close.”

“Me too,” Heeseung breathes. He puts his phone down too and mimics Sunghoon by squeezing his own balls, pretending it was you getting him off. “You wanna cum together?”

“Goddamn,” Sunghoon says with a laugh as his arm flexes. “Why do I find that really hot?”

“Imagine if Y/N was here with us.” Heeseung licks his lips and zeroes in on Sunghoon’s cock, imagining as it disappears inside of your pussy. “Imagine if we both came in her.”

“Always wanted to try that double penetration shit. Shame we didn’t do that before.”

“Soon,” Heeseung promises. “Y/N looks like the kind of girl who’d be into that. If she let you dry hump her then I’ll bet she’s let us fuck her pussy at the same time.”

The logic doesn’t make any sense but neither of them care. They squeeze themselves until choked moans become louder than the TV in front of them.

Heeseung cums with white tall spurts ruining the hem of his shirt but the wet stain doesn’t bother him. At the same time, Sunghoon spills out much slower, his cum seeping out of himself like a water fountain as it dribbles onto his hand. Heeseung watches his friend continue rubbing himself while he spreads his cum down his cock and onto his balls.

Both of them regain their breathes and feel strangely turned on by the events that just transpired. Heeseung finds himself wondering what Sunghoon would look like when he’s got you underneath him. He tugs at his cock at the thought and surprised himself when he doesn’t soften up.

Sunghoon smiles wickedly at Heeseung when he sees his friend’s cock twitching, his own dick remaining hard. “Wanna go again?”

“You want to jerk off again?”

He nods and stands up from the couch. Sunghoon pulls his pants up just comfortably enough until they rest below his ballsack and walks to his room, leaving a dumbfounded Heeseung sitting on the couch in his soiled boxers until he Sunghoon comes back out with a toy that looks a lot like a woman’s torso, ass, and pussy.

“Fuck, you actually own one of those things?!”

Sunghoon nods. “I use it when I get off to porn. Don’t you have anything?”

“Just a fleshlight but I’ve always wondered what those feel like.”

“Kinda like the real thing by more rubbery and smooth, obviously.” Sunghoon holds it up for Heeseung. “Since you mentioned double penetration…”

Heeseung cuts him off. “Let’s practice.”

***

please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed :)

[littlelamy]

you were right!

a/n: okay, i know you guys might be tired of me doing these but this is my last one! i hope you all like it 😜 gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The blazing Moroccan sun beats down on Rafe, its intensity mirrored by the firestorm raging in his mind. Dust hangs in the air around him, adding to the harshness of the moment as he stands over the well. Below, Groff coughs and groans, his face contorted in pain, but Rafe barely spares him a second glance. His rage overpowers everything else, even the satisfaction he should feel. He narrows his eyes, voice laced with anger and finality.

“Checkmate, bitch!” he yells down, his words slicing through the hot, tense air. The motorcycle engine he’d used to get out here sits idle a few feet away, rumbling like his frustration.

He turns on his heel, muttering a curse, fists clenched. As he stalks away from the well, he pulls out his phone and dials Sofia’s number, his chest tight with the realization that everything he thought he knew was a lie.

Sofia answers after two rings, her voice as casual as if he hadn’t just found out about her betrayal. “Hey, babe, what’s up ?”

Rafe’s voice is steely, cold. “Is it true? Is it true, what Groff just told me? Is it?”

The silence on her end is all he needs. He can practically hear her scrambling for words, but she never manages to answer. His face twists in anger.

“Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” he snarls, a final, unforgiving edge in his voice. “God, after everything I did for you? We’re done. Done.” He hangs up before she can say another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a bitter scoff. Betrayed, twice over—and he’d ignored the only person who saw it coming.

He stands there, baking in the Moroccan heat, his mind racing back to a month ago in Kildare, when you and he had argued over Sofia. You’d warned him that she wasn’t who she seemed. He’d brushed you off, accusing you of jealousy—knowing damn well that there was more to it. You were his best friend, but it was complicated; that line had already been crossed too many times, with late-night kisses and tangled sheets. But you two hadn’t spoken since that fight, since the way he’d brushed you off had hurt deeper than either of you cared to admit.

Taking a breath, he pulls out his phone again, fingers hovering over your name. He hesitates, swallowing his pride, before finally pressing call.

The phone rings, and you pick up after a few moments, your voice tight with annoyance. “What, Rafe?”

Your tone makes him pause, but the way you sound almost comforts him, even with the irritation clear in your voice. You’re there—back in Kildare, probably sitting cozy in your little apartment. Meanwhile, he’s out here under the scorching sun, alone, trying to piece together his pride.

He clears his throat. “Hey… princess,” he says, voice softened, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. He can almost feel you rolling your eyes on the other end, but he presses on, the words weighing heavy on him. “I—uh… Look, I’m sorry. You were right.”

There’s a surprised pause, and he hears you shift in your seat as if you’re debating whether to hang up or let him speak. When you do answer, your tone is a bit softer, cautious.

“What happened?”

Rafe lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Turns out Sofia was exactly who you said she was. A snake. And here I was, thinking you were just being… petty. But I guess I’m the idiot, huh?”

You breathe out, and he can picture you shaking your head, lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t listen,” you say quietly, as if the words hold more hurt than anger.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his voice. “I know. I was so damn sure you were just jealous. I mean—” He pauses, grappling with how to say it. “Hell, I thought you were jealous because you… I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me with her because we…” His voice trails off, but the implication lingers between you.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I get it.”

Rafe bites his lip, letting the words sink in. “Can I see you? I’m done here in a few days, and I could be back in Kildare very soon. I could stop by, explain… properly.”

A beat passes, and when you finally speak, it’s careful, guarded. “After everything you said last time, why should I?”

He laughs softly, almost self-deprecating. “Because I think you might be the only person I can trust right now. And… I miss you.” His voice drops, laced with a warmth he can’t help. “Even if you’re just going to gloat and rub it in my face.”

You chuckle, and he smiles, savoring the sound. “I don’t know if I miss you or if I just feel sorry for you,” you tease, but the playfulness is back in your tone, if only faintly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, amusement lacing his words. “Act like you don’t care. But come on, you miss me. Admit it.”

A small silence follows, and he imagines the way your lips twitch into a smile. Finally, you relent. “Maybe a little. But you’re bringing wine. Good wine.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he says, the flirtation back in his voice. “Only the best for you.”

You scoff, but he hears the hint of a laugh. It’s the closest thing he’s had to a good moment in a long time. He takes a breath, savoring the thought of leaving this mess behind and getting back to Kildare—back to the only person who knew him well enough to call him out, and care anyway. As the call ends, he puts his phone in his pocket, a grin spreading across his face, motivating him to get that crown and go to his princess.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif

[nhlclover]

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR QUINN HUGHES

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader, (little bit of) jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: trevor invites you to a lakehouse for the summer, attempting to set him up with his friend. however, the summer doesn't go to plan when you meet his older brother who captures your eye and flips everything upside down.

warnings: very obviously angst, sort of a love triangle, jack and quinn kind of hating each other, slow burn, reader and trevor having a sibling type relationship, one singular kiss, brief appearances from trevor & luke

word count: 11.6k

notes: wooooo mama this is the absolute longest thing i've ever written. i really hope you guys enjoy it, i'm pretty happy with this.

The scene of the lake house standing tall in front of you was something straight out of your imagination. It was picturesque, the way the large house was nestled amongst the pine trees and the glimmering water sparkling behind it. It was just the way that Trevor had described it when he invited (or rather insisted) you to come to his buddy’s lake house this summer.

“You’ll love it! It’s so nice up there,” Trevor had urged, his enthusiasm infectious. You could still hear his voice, brimming with excitement. “It’s my friend Jack’s place. You guys would get along great! And his brothers are super chill too.”

At the time, you’d felt a mix of curiosity and skepticism. It’d been about three years you’d been friends with Trevor, long enough to know that when his tone got this excited and he was this insistent, he was up to something.

“Are you trying to set me up with him?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously at Trevor as the two of you sat in a coffee shop a few months ago. He had been uncharacteristically fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down while stirring his iced coffee with an unnecessary amount of focus.

Trevor had grinned at you in that annoyingly charming way he did when he was caught. “Nooo, I’m just saying you guys would vibe. He’s a cool guy. Super chill.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And his brothers?”

“Also cool!” Trevor leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But listen, Jack’s the one I think you’d really like. Just come for like, a week or two, see what happens. No pressure. I promise you’ll have fun.”

You’d hesitated, not entirely convinced. But Trevor knew exactly how to play on your curiosity, and a month later, you found yourself packing a bag for a summer getaway at some lake house owned by Trevor’s friend, Jack. Despite your reservations, a part of you was intrigued. What if Trevor was right?

The drive to the lake house had been a blur, punctuated by Trevor’s nonstop chatter and your own uncertain silence. You weren’t opposed to meeting Jack. Trevor had sung his praises for months, claiming you two had more in common than either of you realized. As far as setups went, this wasn’t terrible — you could trust Trevor to have good judgment. But still, you were unsure and slightly uneasy about the whole situation.

When you arrive, Jack is already waiting outside, leaning against the porch rail, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He’s smiling — an easy, laid-back smile that makes you smile back automatically. The sun filters through the trees, casting warm, gold light on the porch, and for a moment, everything feels serene.

Trevor wasn’t lying when he commented about Jack’s appearance. “Some people call him a pretty boy but… I mean he is pretty, but he’s a good-looking dude, y’know?” He was definitely attractive, something anyone could admit you thought, but he wasn’t totally your type.

Trevor bounds up the steps of the porch, dapping up Jack and pulling him in for a hug. You followed, stopping at the bottom of the steps, watching as Trevor whispered something into Jack's ear, Jack’s eyes catching yours as a small smile appeared on his lips.

Jack steps forward, extending a hand. “Hey, you must be y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, his voice warm with that relaxed confidence you’d expect from someone who’s used to being the center of attention.

You shake his hand, feeling the easy smile on your face widen a little. “All good things, I hope.”

Trevor laughs, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “Mostly good things.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Jack offers to give you a quick tour of the place, and you agree, letting him guide you inside while Trevor stays back, grumbling to himself about having to bring in your bags. The inside of the house is as beautiful as the outside, with high ceilings, wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake. Despite being a new build, it has a cozy, rustic feel to it. Jack pointed out each room as you went, keeping up a steady flow of conversation that put you at ease. He was friendly and thoughtful, making sure you felt welcomed, and it struck you as genuine. You could see why Trevor thought you’d get along with him.

“And this is the back deck,” Jack said as he pushed open a sliding door, revealing a sprawling view of the lake, with a dock stretching out in front of the property. The lake is glittering and relatively calm, aside from a figure disturbing the water. You squint, watching as the swimmer glides smoothly through the lake.

“Who’s that?” you ask Jack, eyes not leaving the figure as you watch him pull himself up onto the wooden dock, pushing dark wet hair from his face.

“That’s Quinn,” Jack says, following your gaze and glancing out toward the dock. “My older brother.”

The sun seems to linger on Quinn’s form, highlighting the toned muscles in his arms as he stretches briefly, rolling his shoulders to ease out any lingering tension from his swim. Droplets of water cling to his skin, catching the sunlight and tracing down his chest in slow, winding trails emphasizing the smooth contours of his muscles as they glisten.

“Q!” Jack shouts, whistling to get his brother’s attention. Quinn’s gaze snaps to the two of you, your pulse quickening as his eyes land on you. “Come up here!”

Quinn grabs his towel from the dock, throwing it over his shoulder as he makes his way up the lawn towards you. As he climbs the steps to the deck, you feel his eyes travel over you, not in a way that feels intimidating, but with a curiosity that mirrors your own. There’s something magnetic about him, something calm and steady that draws you in as he steps up onto the deck, his mouth curving into a small, barely-there smile.

“This is Trevor’s friend, y/n. She’s joining us for the summer” Jack introduces.

As Quinn’s gaze flickers back to you, you notice there’s something about the way he looks at you — subtle, assessing. His gaze has a certain depth, a look you can’t quite decipher. It lingers just a second longer than what feels typical, enough to make your heartbeat skip, to leave you questioning the flicker of interest in his expression.

“Nice to meet you,” Quinn says, his voice low and smooth, a perfect complement to the quiet confidence he exudes. He reaches out to shake your hand, and as your fingers meet, you notice how warm his touch feels, even with the cool water droplets still lingering on his skin.

Up close, he’s even more striking. There’s a sort of ruggedness to him, outlined by the sharpness of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, a greenish shade of blue, hold yours with a calm intensity that makes it hard to look away.

“Nice to meet you too,” you manage, your voice coming out softer than you intended, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You mentally kick yourself, hoping he doesn’t notice, but the glimmer in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Jack, oblivious to the undercurrent, clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Alright, well, there’s more to see, and if we don’t get back, Trevor’s going to start whining about being abandoned,” he joked.

You chuckle, your eyes pulling away from Quinns’ for the first time since he joined you on the porch. But as you turned to follow Jack back inside, you couldn’t help but glance back at Quinn. He was still watching you, his expression softened just slightly, and you felt a quiet thrill at the way he watched you.

The first week at the lakehouse passes in a flurry of days that blur together in laughter and lakeside relaxation. You fall into an easy routine of swimming, grilling, and long talks on the deck. Jack and Trevor keep things lively, always organizing something, whether it’s an impromptu game of cornhole, a daring cliff dive, or a spontaneous trip into town.

With Jack, the connection forms fast. He’s lighthearted, quick with a joke, and endlessly charming. He keeps you laughing and keeps the vibe lighthearted. His energy is infectious, and he keeps you roped into every activity, whether it’s cliff-jumping or getting you to help him with dinner when it’s his turn. You can tell that Trevor’s plan to get the two of you set up is working for Jack, as he lingers closer, laughs harder at your jokes, and you begin to feel his gaze linger on you just a little too long.

But it’s Quinn who holds your attention in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Quinn is different from Jack in nearly every way. Where Jack is open and quick to draw you into his orbit, Quinn lingers on the edges, observing and listening. When he speaks, it’s with a low, steady voice that commands attention without trying. And unlike Jack’s energy, which feels like the buzz of the sun overhead, Quinn’s is deep and mysterious like the lake.

You find yourself gravitating toward him at every opportunity, captivated by the way he moves through the days with an unruffled calm. The nights at the lake house slip into an easy rhythm, with Quinn and you inevitably being the last ones awake as the both of you are night owls. Most nights, you find yourselves lingering on the porch, wrapped in the gentle hum of crickets and the low whisper of the lake. With the others upstairs, fast asleep, you and Quinn fall into intimate conversations, shared only between the two of you.

One night, you find yourselves tucked away on the porch, the air a little cooler than the other nights. You are curled up on a rocking chair, bundled up in a hoodie you’d borrowed from Jack. Quinn sat across from you, the beer he’d started during dinner going warm in his hand.

Quinn studies you, his eyes catching the faint glow of the porch light as he swirls his bottle absentmindedly. “So,” he begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “What’s California like?” He leans forward, genuinely interested, his voice carrying a warmth that makes you want to spill everything about life on the West Coast.

A soft smile creeps onto your face. “It’s… different from here,” you admit, glancing out at the lake where the moon dances on the still water. “It’s a bit fast-paced. And warm. Lots of sun, lots of people. But sometimes, it feels like everyone’s moving so quickly that you get lost in the crowd.”

Quinn nods, his eyes steady on you. “I get it. I feel the same way about Vancouver sometimes. Coming back here… it just reminds me that there's more than the noise and rush. There’s… balance out here.” He gestures out toward the lake, his voice contemplative. “Like all of this has a way of pulling you back to what matters.”

His words resonate deeply, and you find yourself nodding. “Exactly,” you murmur. “It’s like there’s space to breathe. And you notice things that usually get lost in all the… chaos.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you came. It’s been… good to have you here,” he says quietly, his eyes soft. “We don’t have other people up here often.”

Your heart pounds a little faster at the sincerity in his voice, and for a second, the rest of the world disappears. There’s only Quinn and the quiet lake, and the feeling that he understands you in a way you hadn't expected anyone to. You hold his gaze, feeling the electricity between you grow, filling the silence with something you can’t quite name.

But then, as if drawn back to reality, Quinn’s eyes shift, his expression subtly changing. “And Jack,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “He… really likes you, you know? He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

It feels like a splash of cold water. You break eye contact, pulling your hoodie closer around you, the warmth you felt moments ago dissipating. The weight of Jack’s interest hangs heavily between you and Quinn now, an undeniable reminder of the complicated line you’re toeing.

“Right, yeah…” you reply softly, looking down, your voice tinged with a mix of guilt and frustration. You hadn’t meant for this to get complicated, yet here you are, caught between two brothers who couldn’t be more different.

An uncomfortable silence settles over you both, thick and heavy. Quinn’s eyes linger on you, as if he’s about to say something more, but he holds back. His lips press into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same conflict, the same confusion that’s twisting knots inside you.

You force yourself to look away, swallowing hard. “I think… I should probably head to bed,” you murmur, avoiding his gaze. You stand up, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

Quinn nods, his expression unreadable as he watches you ebb towards the door. “Goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze — disappointment, perhaps, or longing. You slip inside, leaving him on the porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back as you close the door.

In bed, you toss and turn, Quinn’s words and the feel of his gaze lingering with you. Your mind is a whirlwind, caught between the easy, carefree friendship that’s growing with Jack and the simmering tension you feel with Quinn. Jack is perfectly nice and, like Trevor told you, the two of you were getting along swimmingly.

But no matter how much you try, your thoughts always drift back to Quinn. There’s something undeniably different about him, something that makes it impossible to feel the same way about Jack, no matter how hard you try. Jack’s presence is light and friendly but with Quinn… it’s like there’s a hidden gravity pulling you toward him, a quiet understanding that lingers beneath the surface of every conversation. Every night on that porch, he’s become your anchor, drawing you into a world that feels more honest, more intimate.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the way he looked at you tonight — that almost undetectable spark that you’re sure you didn’t imagine. The way he listens to you, like every word matters, as he sees past the small talk and into the parts of you you rarely share. There’s no pretending with Quinn. And even though he’d mentioned Jack, it only made you realize how much more you’re drawn to Quinn. Jack might be developing feelings for you, but it’s Quinn who fills your thoughts, who leaves you breathless in a way you can’t ignore.

You pull the covers tighter around you, willing sleep to take you, but every thought seems to lead back to Quinn, to the way he made you feel seen, understood — even in silence.

The next morning, you do your best to shake off the lingering tension from the night before, determined to keep things light and normal. Under Jack’s enthusiastic suggestion, the group decides to spend the day out on the lake, hoping the sun and water will wash away any unease. It’s a sunny day, warm with a light breeze, and the water sparkles invitingly under the sunlight, making you think that everything might just go smoothly.

The boat is anchored in a calm spot on the lake and, despite the wonderful weather, there doesn’t seem to be another boat around. Trevor and Luke sit up in the bow, arguing about which mascot would win in a fight between Mr. Clean and Tony the Tiger.

Jack is quick to pull you into the action, handing you a beer from the cooler as he grins. “Alright,” he says, his smile as wide as the lake. “Are you ready for the full lake house experience? Because to really do that, you’ve got to jump off the boat at least once today.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you crack open the can. “I’m pretty sure you’re just making up rules to mess with me.”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Maybe, but you have to do it anyway,” he shrugs.

Trevor chimes in, chuckling from his spot. “Jack’s right, y/n. First-time lake visitors have to jump. It’s tradition!”

You chuckle, your gaze drifting up to Jack as he stands in front of you. The sun shines directly behind him, casting him in a golden halo, the bright rays spilling around his frame in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. For a moment, you can see why anyone would fall for that charm. But even with this picture-perfect moment, you feel a pang of regret that you can’t feel more for him, because, somehow, your thoughts are pulled elsewhere and on someone else.

Jack’s laughter brings you back to the moment, and he leans a little closer. “Come on, we can make it a team effort. I mean, if you’re too nervous, I can just hold your hand.” His voice is playful, but there’s a hint of sincerity in his words, a hope that you’ll let him bridge the gap he’s trying so hard to close.

Your smile is genuine, but before you can respond, you hear Quinn's low chuckle from behind you. It’s soft, barely audible over the hum of the boat’s motor, but enough to pull your focus completely away from Jack. You glance back at Quinn who’s sat on the back bench, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a flicker of something in his gaze as it bears down on the two of you.

Your attention is pulled back to Jack as he reaches for your hand in a gesture that feels both playful and pointed. “Come on, y/n, it’ll be an official initiation. We’ll jump together, yeah?”

Your gaze flickers between Jack’s outstretched hand and Quinn, who’s watching with an inscrutable expression, his eyes narrowed slightly as he leans back, crossing his arms. You can’t deny there’s an awkward tension here, a silent push-and-pull between the two brothers that seems to amplify whenever Quinn is nearby.

Swallowing the strange, charged feeling building between you all, you look back at Jack and nod, forcing a lighthearted smile as you stand up, pulling off the oversized t-shirt you wore as a coverup. You see Jack’s eyes scan your figure, hearing him gasp quietly. You blush, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, taking his hand. He grins in triumph, his fingers warm against yours as he helps you stand at the edge of the boat. He holds on a little tighter than necessary, and the flicker of anticipation in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ready?” Jack asks, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering a bit too long as he watches your expression. There’s a hopeful vulnerability in his face, a look that makes you hesitate for a moment. You don’t want to hurt him, but there’s a part of you that wishes he’d pull back, that he’d realize you’re not as invested in this connection as he is.

You manage a nod, hoping he doesn’t notice the small sigh you let slip. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He beams, counting down with a quiet “three… two… one!” before the two of you leap into the lake together, the cool water rushing up to meet you. When you surface, you’re greeted by Jack’s laughter as he splashes you, pulling you into a playful water fight. You laugh along, though your eyes instinctively drift toward the boat, where Quinn looks over the edge, watching you both with an unreadable expression.

Jack’s laughter fades slightly as he notices your attention elsewhere, his face falling for a fraction of a second. But he quickly masks it, pulling you back with a light splash. “Hey, stay with me here,” he says, his tone half-joking, half-pleading. And you want to, you really do, but Quinn’s gaze is magnetic, and you can’t help but feel pulled toward him, as if there’s an invisible thread between the two of you.

Eventually, Jack climbs back onto the boat, reaching out to help you up. But the moment you step back on board, the charged silence returns, thick and stifling, as Quinn hands you a towel, his fingers brushing against yours just long enough to send a spark up your arm. You catch his gaze for a brief second, and you’re struck by the quiet intensity in his eyes, a longing that mirrors your own.

Jack clears his throat, his shoulders tensing slightly as he glances between you and Quinn. He lets out a forced laugh, trying to dispel the tension. “Alright, what’s next? We could always do another round of jumps, or maybe a swim to the dock?” He says it with an almost desperate cheerfulness, trying to regain your attention, trying to keep the moment light.

Trevor and Luke, sensing the tension, start bantering about who would be the fastest swimmer, their playful arguments distracting you all for a moment, lightening the mood just enough.

────୨ৎ────

The night air was crisp as laughter and the crackling of the fire filled the space around the lake house. The lake is quiet behind you, a dark, glassy surface reflecting only starlight. You were settled in a lawn chair, leaning back, watching as Trevor dramatically recounted a story about when you nearly crashed his car.

You could feel his eyes on you, searching for a shared smile, hoping to catch your gaze even as he chuckled at Trevor’s theatrics. Every so often, he'd lean in, commenting with a low murmur meant only for you. He’d even offered you his hoodie earlier, though the night wasn’t nearly cold enough to need it. It was endearing, if not a bit overeager. Yet, despite the obvious attention from him, your focus kept drifting across the fire.

Quinn sat across the flames from you, leaning back in an Adirondack chair. His attention was barely on the story, barely laughing with the others as you had been. Every now and then you’d catch his eyes flicker your way, lingering on you just long enough to send a thrill through your chest. Your stomach tightened with a quiet anticipation each time, though as quickly as the moment arrived, it vanished. Quinn’s gaze would shift, his attention lost somewhere in the darkness beyond the flames, leaving you wondering if you’d only imagined it.

As Trevor finally wrapped up his tale with an exaggerated flourish, the group’s laughter rang out again, filling the quiet night. You shifted in your chair, stealing a glance across the fire to see Quinn looking your way again, his expression unreadable in the dancing light. The firelight cast soft shadows over his face, illuminating his quiet intensity—a contrast to Jack’s open interest. And just as quickly as his eyes met yours, he looked away, his focus deliberately elsewhere, leaving you feeling a subtle ache of frustration.

Jack nudged your arm gently, his voice breaking the spell. “Hey, want to grab a drink or something? I think I saw some ciders in the cooler on the porch.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you replied, a small smile curving your lips as you pushed yourself up to join him.

You could feel the weight of Quinn’s gaze on you, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. As you walked toward the porch with Jack, a pang of prickling guilt settled over you, leaving a heavy shadow with every step. Jack was wonderful — funny, kind-hearted, and clearly eager to spend time with you. And yet, there was an emptiness in each smile you returned to him, a hollowness you couldn’t ignore. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself to appreciate his warmth and interest. But you couldn’t deny it. There was no spark, no unspoken gravity that pulled you toward him.

The two of you reached the porch, Jack handing you a cold can from the cooler, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He shot you a quick grin, the kind that seemed to hold a hundred different things he wanted to say. But the look in his eyes—the hopefulness, the eagerness—only tightened the knot in your chest.

Jack took a sip of his drink, leaning casually against the porch railing, his gaze still on you. “It’s nice here at night, isn’t it?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable softness to his voice, as though he wanted nothing more than to keep this moment between just the two of you.

“Yeah, it really is,” you agreed, looking out at the lake rather than meeting his eyes. “It’s peaceful.”

Jack’s voice was quieter when he spoke this time like he was mulling something over. “You know, it’s been great having you up here. I mean…I’m glad Z brought you here.” he said softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a vulnerability there, one that made you want to reassure him, to ease the sting of your own uncertainty.

You wanted to tell him you felt the same, that you were excited, that his attention filled you with butterflies. But it didn’t. Not the way Quinn’s lingering gaze did, not in the way his silence could reach across the fire and wrap around you more tightly than any words Jack could offer.

And Jack could sense it. You could see it in the way his gaze fell just a bit, in the way he seemed to retreat into himself, trying to figure out where he’d lost you. A soft, sinking guilt bubbled up, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and looked at you, trying to keep the mood light.

“Should we head back?” he asked, giving you a small smile that tried to mask the disappointment behind his eyes.

You nodded, and as you followed him back toward the fire, your eyes drifted back to Quinn. Why did he have to make it so complicated? Jack was there, warm and steady, giving you his full attention, yet your heart kept tugging you toward Quinn — Quinn, who never gave you more than half-glances and unspoken hints. It was as though he knew the effect he had on you but chose to keep you guessing, leaving you in this restless, uncertain state. And every time he looked away, your chest would ache with a longing that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

You felt like you were making it up in your head. You felt like all of this was just concocted by your brain, a made-up situation. But then you’d think back to the nights when it was just the two of you, sitting across from one another on the porch, finding bits of commonality, causing you to talk for hours.

It was during those quiet nights, with only the soft hum of the lake and the occasional call of night birds, that the two of you would sit just a little closer, voices lowered as if sharing secrets with the stars. He’d be calm, reserved, but there’d always be a hint of a smile when you teased him about his stoic nature, a glint in his eyes when he’d challenge you back. It was in these moments that your doubts faded, that all the confusion seemed worth it.

But then the sun would rise again, and Quinn’s indifference would come back like the morning mist, blanketing any closeness you thought you’d found. The spark that seemed so real under the cover of night would dim, replaced by his guarded demeanor and quiet aloofness. It was maddening, this cycle of near-closeness followed by a cool retreat. He’d show you just enough to make you wonder, to keep you holding onto the memory of his quiet smile and that soft look in his eyes.

As you and Jack rejoined the group, you settled back into your chair, glancing across the fire toward Quinn once more. He was looking down, a hand idly fiddling with the edge of his sweater. There was something vulnerable about him in that moment, something that made you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same hesitation and uncertainty. You wanted to bridge that gap, to ask him if he ever felt the same tug, the same strange pull that made every shared glance linger in your mind.

But before you could even entertain the idea, Jack’s hand brushed your shoulder, pulling your attention back to him. He was smiling, his gaze as steady and warm as ever, making you wish you could return it with the same openness.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack asked, concern lacing his voice. You hadn’t realized the way you were chewing on your lip, or the way your brow was furrowed ever so slightly.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile that you hoped looked genuine. “Yeah, just…lost in thought, I guess.”

But as you said it, your gaze slipped across the fire once more, finding Quinn’s eyes fixed on you with that familiar, unreadable intensity. And for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a softness there, a hint of something deeper. It vanished just as quickly, but that one look was enough. It was enough to make you cast away the doubt that lingered in your mind, to dismiss the thought that this was all in your head.

The night dragged on, punctuated by laughter and more ridiculous storytelling from Trevor. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to call it a night. Luke was the first to slip away, yawning as he muttered something about wanting to have an early workout, clapping Trevor on the shoulder before heading inside. Trevor followed soon after, stretching with exaggerated laziness before flashing a grin and winking at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble out here,” he teased, earning a playful eye-roll from you.

Finally, it was just you, Jack, and Quinn. Jack was lingering, his eyes occasionally drifting to you with a look that hinted at something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring himself to voice. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he looked at you, then glanced over at Quinn.

"Alright, I guess I’ll head in, too," Jack finally said, his tone reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for just a beat too long, as though he wanted you to ask him to stay or tell him that you would head up with him. But you didn’t, and after a quiet sigh, he nodded, gave Quinn a brief glance, then turned and headed inside, the screen door shutting softly behind him.

And then it was just the two of you.

The quiet stretched between you and Quinn, thick and tense, as the night air settled into a stillness that seemed to wrap around you both. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the trees, and it was painfully quiet, each unspoken word between you two heavy with meaning. You could feel his presence, magnetic and steady, even across the fire. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you drew a deep breath and decided to speak.

“Quinn, can we talk?” Your voice was steady, but just barely. Quinn’s eyes finally locked with yours for the first time since before everyone began to filter to bed. Quinn nodded after a couple of seconds, giving you the silence to continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us,” you said softly. “But… fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to know if it’s all just in my head or if you feel it too. Because if there’s a reason I feel this way… I need to know.”

You trailed off, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words hung in the air between you. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, his face softened by the glow of the firelight. Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared into the flames. His silence was torture, each passing second pulling you deeper into a pit of anxiety and frustration.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, as if he’d rehearsed this response in his mind countless times. “It’s not in your head,” he admitted, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. “There’s something here, between us. I feel it too.”

The words sent a rush of relief and hope through you, a spark that reignited all those moments spent wondering and waiting for some kind of sign. A soft smile spread across your face, the edges of your doubt finally beginning to soften. But then, his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth tightening as he looked away, eyes fixed on the shadows just beyond the firelight.

“But…” His voice was barely a whisper, rough around the edges. “It can’t go anywhere. Not with Jack. He’s…he’s into you.” He looked back at you, the regret in his eyes evident, a pain mirrored in your own chest. “I can’t do that to him.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and the warmth of the fire suddenly felt distant, fading into a cold, empty ache spreading through your chest. You hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping he’d say the opposite, that he’d fight for whatever was happening between you.

You dropped your gaze, feeling foolish, vulnerable, exposed. “So that’s it? We just… pretend this doesn’t exist?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like nothing’s been happening all this time?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his expression pained. “I don’t want to pretend. But I can’t… I won’t hurt him, not like that. He’s my brother.” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. “And he really cares about you.”

You swallowed hard. It felt ridiculous—being here, feeling so foolishly hopeful, only to be left with a hollow ache and a fractured connection that couldn’t ever be more. Part of you wanted to yell at him for leading you on, for those late-night conversations and stolen glances, for every unspoken word that now felt like a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it could be different.”

The words left you hollow. Part of you wanted to fight, to tell him that what you felt couldn’t just be ignored, but another part — the part that knew him and understood his loyalty — couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to choose you over his brother. Not when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain that mirrored your own.

“Fine,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. You stood up, the cool night air prickling your skin as you walked away from the fire, leaving him there in silence. You didn’t look back. It felt like your chest was filled with broken glass, each breath painful, as you made your way back to the house.

Inside, the stillness was almost suffocating. The others had already gone to bed, and the darkened living room felt cold and empty, mirroring the ache in your heart. You climbed the stairs to your room, shutting the door softly behind you as you sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. A mix of anger and sadness filled you. You were mad at Quinn, for drawing you in only to push you away; mad at Jack, for being in the way even if he hadn’t meant to be; mad at Trevor, for ever convincing you to come here; and, perhaps most of all, mad at yourself, for letting your heart hope for something that could never be.

The next morning, a heavy quiet blanketed the lake house. You moved through the motions of breakfast with the others, but your thoughts felt distant, lost somewhere between the memories of last night and the weight of Quinn’s words. The morning was made slightly easier by the absence of Quinn who you were told went into the town early that morning to run errands and hit the gym. The guys bantered and talked about heading out on the boat, planning an afternoon on the lake, but you could only muster half-hearted nods and polite smiles. It was hard to focus, every small sound—the clinking of mugs, the soft scrape of a chair—only intensifying the ache you couldn’t shake.

Excusing yourself, you slipped away before anyone could ask questions, making your way down to the dock. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rippling across the lake's surface, and you sat at the edge, feet dangling above the water. You were still in your sleep outfit, not exactly pyjamas, but rather a comfy oversized hoodie and a pair of mens boxers. The familiar scent of pine and fresh earth surrounded you, but even the peaceful view couldn’t ease the storm of emotions inside.

The quiet was soon broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Jack. You felt him sit beside you, his presence warm and grounding. For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just let the silence settle between you both, as though he was waiting for you to be ready.

Finally, he cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you. “You okay this morning? You’ve been… quiet,” he said softly, his voice tentative, as if he were stepping carefully around broken glass. “Distant.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself as you met his gaze. His eyes were filled with genuine concern, a softness that only made this harder. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking back out at the lake. “Guess I just needed some space.”

Jack nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. His fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the dock, and after a beat, he spoke again, his tone thoughtful, almost nostalgic.

“You know,” he began, eyes cast down at the water, “when Trevor told me he was bringing a friend this summer, he was so sure we’d hit it off. He kept going on about how you and I would be perfect for each other, that we’d get along great.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I remember feeling this weird, excited energy like… maybe he was right, you know? Maybe I was going to meet someone special.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat as he continued, his voice carrying a warmth that was both comforting and deeply bittersweet.

“And when you got here…” He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, as if to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know, it just… felt easy, from the start. Like we’d known each other forever. I started to feel like maybe Trevor had been onto something.” He gave a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Things felt really good between us, and I thought you felt it too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I started to get my hopes up—thinking maybe this was the start of something real.”

You winced, guilt gnawing at you. “Jack… I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I think you’re amazing. From the bottom of my heart, I just… I mean there’s gotta be some sort of spell this fucking house puts me under because I would be insane otherwise to not like you! You… you’re so perfect that any other girl would be scremaing at me, trying to claw my eyes out for not appreciating you. But… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a mix of sadness and resignation settling in them. He looked down, his fingers still drumming but more slowly now, as if grounding himself. After a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I get it,” he murmured, though his voice had an unmistakable crack in it. “I mean… I think I get it. You can’t force something that isn’t there, right?” He gave a sad smile, one that tried to mask the hurt but didn’t quite succeed.

He stared out at the water, his expression distant, like he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong, or maybe just what he’d missed. A tense silence settled between you, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the air around you. Jack cleared his throat, seeming to steel himself, his gaze searching your face as if looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

“Can I… can I just ask you one thing?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His vulnerability in that moment was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding, bracing yourself for what was coming.

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten.

“Do you… have feelings for Quinn?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful, and a part of you wished he hadn’t asked. But the look in his eyes told you he needed to know, that the uncertainty was gnawing at him just as much as the truth might.

Slowly, you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whispered, “Yes.”

A heavy silence fell between you, and Jack seemed to shrink a little, his shoulders slumping as he took it in. Jack’s gaze fixed on the lake, and for a long moment, he said nothing. You could see the effort it took for him to keep his expression neutral, to keep his emotions tightly bound. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“So, you… you and Quinn. Is there… anything actually happening between you two?” He glanced at you, a flicker of something raw in his eyes — hope, maybe, or just the need to understand.

You shook your head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “No, Jack. We’re… we’re not together. We won’t be.”

He looked at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?” he asked softly, his confusion obvious. “If you feel that way about him, why wouldn’t you try?”

You took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Because Quinn… Quinn’s too good of a brother. He’d never go for me because of you… and because of what he knows you feel.”

Jack blinked, his brow furrowing as he took in your words. “Wait—what does that mean? Because of me?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. His gaze softened, and you could see he was fighting to keep his tone steady, like he was trying not to hope.

You sighed, feeling a bittersweet ache settle in your chest. “Quinn told me he could never be with me because he knows how you feel. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face. “So… let me get this straight,” he muttered, almost incredulously. “He’s not doing anything about how he feels—because of me?”

You nodded, and Jack fell silent, staring down at his hands, which had stopped drumming and were now clenched tightly in his lap. He seemed deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he processed what you’d just told him. The lake was quiet around you, the stillness broken only by the occasional ripple of water.

For a long time, Jack didn't say anything, just stared down at the water, his brows drawn together. You could almost feel the weight of his thoughts, the way he was wrestling with everything that had just been laid out. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, raw.

“So he… he cares enough to stay away,” Jack said slowly, the words laced with a sadness that felt almost like admiration. “That's… just like him.” He took a deep breath, forcing a small, sad smile. “I wish things were different. I wish we could just rewind, go back to the start of summer and… and pretend this never happened.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking a chord deep within you. “Me too,” you whispered, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this to happen, Jack. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.”

Jack looked over at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the easy, unburdened friendship you’d had in the beginning. “I know,” he murmured. “You’re not the kind of person who’d do this on purpose. It’s just… life, I guess. It’s complicated, ‘n messy as hell. And… maybe Trevor was right. We do get along. Just… maybe not in the way he thought we would.”

He smiled, a genuine one this time, though tinged with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Maybe someday… I won’t feel this way,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the soft lapping of the lake against the dock. “But for now… I think I just need a little space. Time, maybe.”

You nodded, understanding that this was what he needed, even if it hurt to hear. “I get it, Jack. I do.”

Jack gave a nod, his gaze returning to the water, the weight of unspoken words settling over the two of you. In the next moment, he reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze—a quiet truce, an understanding. Then he stood, brushing off his shorts and glancing back at the house.

“I’ll be up at the house for a bit,” he murmured, the distance in his tone unmistakable. With that, he turned and walked back up the dock, his footsteps slow and heavy.

In the following days, there was a noticeable shift in the air; everyone felt it, though no one dared to name it. Conversations were stilted, laughter felt forced, and even the once-lively dinners had become quiet affairs, each of you treading carefully as if one wrong word might shatter the fragile peace that held you all together. Jack avoided you and Quinn as much as he could, lingering at the edge of group activities, his usual easygoing energy replaced by something more closed off, guarded.

Quinn, for his part, kept his distance too, his usual calm presence clouded by an unspoken tension. It was as if he knew that the delicate line he was walking might snap at any moment, sending everything spiraling out of control.

You couldn't ignore the heaviness that had settled over the house, a tangible sense of tension that made everything feel off-kilter. As much as you'd wanted this summer to be an escape, it had become the very opposite — a painful reminder of all the ways things could go wrong.

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself wide awake, thoughts racing. The decision took shape slowly, a reluctant resolve that you couldn’t shake. You needed to leave. Staying here, caught between the fractured pieces of what had been and what could never be, was too much to bear. The thought of facing both brothers day after day, watching Jack’s guarded smiles and Quinn’s restrained distance—it was too much. They deserved space, and, you realized, so did you.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and booked a flight out for two days later, the earliest you could manage. You barely slept, running through potential conversations in your mind, eventually deciding you were only going to tell Trevor and slip out quietly, not wanting to cause anymore issues.

You forced yourself to push through the pain and awkwardness during the two remaining days until you would be returning back to California. As the days inched closer to your departure, the weight of unspoken words grew heavier, settling into every corner of the lake house. You caught glimpses of Jack, his face turning away when he thought no one was watching as if even looking at you and Quinn felt like reopening an unhealed wound. Quinn’s glances were no less fraught, though his were filled with a wistful restraint, as if he was already mourning the loss of something that had barely even begun.

The dinners, once filled with laughter, now passed in subdued tones, each person more focused on their plate than the conversation. You found yourself counting down the days and hours, conflicted between the need to escape the tension and the ache of leaving it all behind. In those last two days, you kept reminding yourself that soon, you’d be on a plane back to California, back to your own life — away from Jack’s pained looks and Quinn’s longing stares.

Your final day there, you packed your belongs up quickly, hoping Trevor would buy your excuse of not wanting to miss your flight as a good reason for him to take you to the airport early, and not because you couldn’t bear to spend one more hour in this suffocating oasis. Everyone else was lounging by the water, with the exception of Jack who lingered in the kitchen, opting to do the dishes rather than be around the others. He was lost in thought when he heard the patio door slide open and shut, the sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood. He turned to the entrance of the kitchen, seeing Quinn wearing his boardshorts and a slightly guarded look.

Quinn stopped at the threshold, eyes flicking briefly to Jack’s hands as he scrubbed the dishes. They were tense, knuckles white around the plate he held, and the silence between them was palpable and heavy. Jack set down the dish with a clatter, bracing himself on the edge of the sink, not looking at Quinn. Jack didn’t give Quinn time to speak. The words erupted from him, fueled by everything he’d been holding back.

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” Jack’s voice was low and seething, barely contained. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t dare let Quinn get a word in. “You’re hurting her, Quinn. A perfectly nice girl, who came here not looking for this mess but got dragged into it anyway. And the worst part is, you know it. You know it, and you’re still just… sitting back like a damn martyr, thinking that by staying distant, you’re somehow making it easier for everyone. That by holding back, you’re sparing her, sparing me.”

Jack’s words cut through the quiet, sharper than the silence that had settled in the house over the past days. The vulnerability in his tone was raw, scraping against Quinn’s stoic expression. Quinn shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt; he only looked at Jack, his gaze unwavering.

“And you know what? I kind of hate you for it,” Jack continued, voice unsteady. He turned his head just enough for Quinn to catch the anger, the hurt in his eyes. “I hate that you waltzed in and just took her from me without even trying. And, yeah, maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I never really had a chance, but she was still there, and I was trying. I was there, damn it!”

Quinn finally took a step forward, but Jack cut him off again, his hands clenching at the counter. “And I hate you for pretending like you’re doing the right thing by telling her nothing will happen. You act like you’re some noble saint by ‘staying away,’ but it’s a lie, Quinn. It’s a lie, and we both know it. You’re holding back because you’re scared — scared to go after what you really want, and in the end, you’re just making it worse for everyone. For her. For me.”

Jack’s voice wavered, then cracked, as he finally fell silent, chest heaving from the force of his confession. The words had cost him, as if each syllable had drawn blood. The only sound in the room was the dripping of the faucet, each drop amplifying the tension between them.

Quinn stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze steady as he absorbed every word. He studied Jack, weighing something unspoken. “Would you hate me if I went for her, then?” His tone was gentle, almost hesitant, a softness that Jack hadn’t been prepared for.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably would.” He ran a hand through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I mean I hate you right now for making her feel the way she does. But it shouldn’t matter, Quinn. Not if you two… if you actually care about each other.” Jack’s voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his own honesty. “Look, I’ll get over it. In time. But don’t waste what could be something good just because you’re trying to spare everyone. It’s pointless, and it’s selfish. You need to get to her before it’s too late.”

Quinn could feel Jack’s anger and pain, an emotion so raw and tangled it clawed at the air between them. For a second, Quinn thought of how different things could have been if he had stayed on the sidelines, if he hadn’t let himself get close to you. But as Jack’s gaze softened, an odd understanding settled between them. Jack wasn’t letting go easily, but he was letting go.

Jack’s shoulders slumped, exhausted, as he ran a hand over his face. “She’s leaving today, you know?” he said to Quinn, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Trev told me last night she booked her flight out for this afternoon.”

Quinn’s face fell, and the guarded look faded, replaced with something dangerously close to panic. He hadn’t known—hadn’t expected that this was it. That today was the end.

“She’s leaving?” Quinn asked, Jack nodding. “Why didn’t she say anything? W-why is she leaving?”

“Because why would she stay?” Jack said. “She’s going to protect herself. She’s not gonna stay here, hoping for something that won’t happen. She’s too smart for that.”

The realization struck Quinn like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. Jack's words echoed in his mind, each one sharper than the last. She’s leaving. Of course, she would. She wasn’t the type to hang around hoping for some half-hearted promise or for Quinn to finally decide what he wanted. She deserved so much more than waiting for him to get his act together.

Jack's voice softened, pulling him back to the present. "Quinn, it’s not too late. She hasn’t left yet. If you really care about her, don’t let her go like this."

Quinn’s gaze faltered, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his expression. Could he really undo the damage he’d done by staying away? Could he find the words to convince her that, despite his silence, he’d felt everything just as deeply as she had?

A heavy silence followed before Quinn found his voice. “What… what should I say to her?”

Jack shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You really think I’m giving you advice on how to get the girl I wanted?”

Quinn’s face softened in a rare, grateful smile. “Fair enough.” He hesitated, then turned, steeling himself as he left the kitchen, leaving Jack to his own fractured thoughts.

Quinn climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing with every step, anticipation and fear warring within him. As he reached the top, he saw Trevor just exiting your room. Trevor paused, giving Quinn a look that held no small amount of concern.

“I don’t know what went down between you three,” Trevor said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I care about her, and I don’t like seeing her like this. You going to fix whatever mess this is?”

Quinn’s chest tightened. He knew Trevor had been close to you, learning this summer just how much of a big brother figure he was to you. He couldn’t fault him for looking out for you.

“I’m going to fix it,” Quinn said, his voice quiet but firm. He met Trevor’s gaze, hoping to communicate the sincerity in his words. “I have to.”

Trevor didn’t say anything else, but he gave Quinn a long, steady look, as though weighing whether to believe him. Then he gave a nod and shifted your duffle bag, stepping aside to let Quinn pass. With a final glance at Trevor, Quinn walked to your door, his heart racing. Quinn stood outside your door for a moment, his hand hovering above the doorknob. He knew what he needed to say, but a part of him feared that the damage was already done. Bracing himself, he knocked gently before pushing the door open.

You were standing by the window, your zipped duffle bag sitting on your bed. Your back was to the door when Quinn entered, and for a moment, he almost turned around, the words caught in his throat. But then you turned, your eyes meeting his.

“Are you really going?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet and strained.

You nodded, stepping away from the window and closer to Quinn. “I think it’s best. This whole summer has just… it’s too much, Quinn. I didn’t come here expecting any of this, and now I just feel… caught. And I can’t keep feeling this way.”

Quinn swallowed, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though he was battling something heavy, words lingering on his lips, waiting to escape. He stepped forward, close enough that you could see the faint circles under his eyes, the fatigue that seemed to pull at his features.

“I didn’t expect any of this either,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And I get it — you’re right. I hurt you. I know that. I thought… I thought if I kept my distance, it would somehow make it easier for everyone. That maybe you'd move on from this — move on from me, and be with Jack. I thought it would hurt less.”

You held his gaze, your voice low but unwavering. “Do you have any idea what that did to me, Quinn? All summer, feeling this… this connection between us, and thinking that I had to be imagining it because you couldn’t even look at me. And you’re saying you did that on purpose? To protect me?” Your voice trembled. “That’s not protecting me. That’s running away.”

Quinn took a shaky breath, stepping closer, his expression taut with regret. “I know I messed up. I was spineless and I should have told you the truth sooner.” Quinn said, bowing his head briefly before forcing himself to look up at your hurt eyes. “I told myself that it was better this way, but all I was doing was lying to myself. Because every time I saw you… every time I heard your laugh, or watched you talk to Jack, or caught you looking at me — I couldn’t breathe.”

Quinn took one last step forward, less than a foot away from you. He raised his hand to reach you, fingertips grazing your arm gently, as if he feared you might pull away. “But I care about you, more than I thought possible. And I was afraid of that. Afraid of hurting Jack, afraid of hurting you… and afraid of wanting you this much.” He swallowed, his voice growing rough. “But I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel. I want to be with you I — I need to be with you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession settling over you like a warm, crushing weight. This was what you’d wanted, but it also brought a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crashing down. You took a small step back, just enough to put some distance between you, needing space to gather your thoughts.

Quinn was saying everything you wanted to hear from the beginning. Laying his feelings bare, and exposing his heart in a way you hadn't expected from someone as reserved as him. It was like seeing a hidden part of him, one he’d kept carefully guarded. The vulnerability in his eyes made it clear that this was as terrifying for him as it was thrilling for you.

But in the back of your mind, Jack lingered, his hurt and disappointment woven into every stolen glance and quiet moment of the summer. The image of his face as he realized how you felt about Quinn was something you couldn’t shake. The memory clawed at you, guilt mixing with the longing Quinn’s words evoked.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,” you said, voice catching. “But Quinn… Jack — he tried so hard with me this summer, and I couldn’t give him what he wanted because of… well, because of you.” You hesitated, torn between the longing in Quinn’s eyes and the memory of Jack’s earnest, hopeful glances. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. And I feel like I’ve done enough damage by just… being here.”

Quinn’s gaze softened, his hand lingering just above your arm, hovering close as if he wasn’t ready to let you go. “I know,” he murmured. “I know it’s complicated. But I talked to Jack this morning. He told me… he told me to come up here and talk to you. To tell you how I felt. He wants you to be happy, and he knows that’s not with him. He’ll get over it.”

“Jack said that?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Quinn nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips, though there was sadness in his eyes. “He might hate me for a while, and I can live with that. But he said I’d regret it if I let you go. And… he was right.”

His hand, warm and steady, traced down your arm, his fingers slipping around yours with a gentle firmness. The touch, gentle but insistent, sent a jolt through you. “I know I’ve messed up,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll make it right. I want this, us… if you do too.”

You nodded, words escaping you as Quinn stepped even closer, his free hand lifting to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you could feel the slight tremor in his touch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

His lips barely brushed yours, soft and tentative. Your breath mingled together briefly before your lips locked together. He lingered for a heartbeat, savoring the closeness as if he, too, couldn’t believe this was real. Then, with a surge of emotion, the kiss deepened, all the restraint and hesitation of the summer dissolving as his hand rose to cradle your cheek, holding you to him as though afraid you might disappear.

His stubble that had grown out over the last couple weeks of summer scraped along your jaw and chin, leaving a faint burn that only added to the rush of sensation.

When you pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you got here,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

You giggled, staying close and feeling his heartbeat echoing against yours. The silence that followed was thick, but it was different now — no longer tense or uncertain like it had been for most of the summer. It felt as though the weight had been lifted from both of your shoulders.

But even in that moment, you knew the reality of what this would mean—for Jack, for Quinn, and for yourself. There was a part of you that still ached, remembering Jack’s quiet disappointment and knowing it would take time to heal the wounds this summer had left behind.

You swallowed hard, raising a hand to Quinns face and brushing aside his dark locks that fell over his eyes. “I still think I need to go,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want this. I do. But I think both of you need time, and maybe I do too. To let everything settle.”

Quinn nodded, understanding settling over his expression. “I get it,” he replied, taking your hand in his and giving your palm a soft kiss. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Take all the time you need.”

Quinn let you slip from his arms, his heart squeezing as he watched you grab your bag and exit the room. As you descended the stairs with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you saw Jack waiting near the door. His expression softened as you approached, a bittersweet smile crossing his face.

“So, this is it?” he asked, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of acceptance.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s best. Thank you, Jack. For understanding. And… for everything.”

Jack gave a short nod, his gaze momentarily flickering towards the stairs where Quinn had stopped to watch from a distance. He returned his gaze to you and managed a small, sincere smile. “Go live your life. I wish you and Quinn all the best.”

You hugged him, both of you holding on just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, you could see the mix of emotions in his eyes, but there was a sense of peace there too. He’d let go, not because it didn’t hurt, but because he genuinely wanted you to be happy. You felt your heart swell, gratitude mixing with the faint sting of regret for the friendship that would never quite be the same. But Jack’s words lifted the weight off your shoulders, letting you and Quinn move forward.

With a final look, you stepped outside, Trevor waiting to drive you to the airport, his brow furrowed in confusion at the way you suddenly had pep in your step, a small smile present on your lips that had been missing for weeks. As the car pulled away, you stole one last glance at the lake house, catching a glimpse of Quinn watching you from the porch. He raised a hand in a small wave, and you returned it, a soft smile on your lips.

This summer hadn’t turned out anything like you’d expected.

[alex51324]

Now, more than ever, we need to be careful about spreading misinformation and rumors

I can guarantee that over the next few months, we'll be hearing about a lot of alarming things going on here in the US. Some of those things will be true, and some won't. (And some will have both true and false or exaggerated elements.)

It's going to be absolutely vital that important information is not drowned out by misinformation, rumors, and ragebait.

That means, when you see something that would be important if true, before sharing, you check whether it's actually true.

In library world, we use the acronym SIFT:

STOP: Don't spread the information, or get caught up in your emotional reaction to it, before you've checked it out. INVESTIGATE: Who is saying it? How do they know? If there are links or sources in the post, do they actually say what the person is saying they do? FIND other coverage: Do an internet search for key details: quotes, people's names, specific locations. If something major is happening, there will normally be a lot of coverage. TRACE claims, quotes, and media back to their original context.

Usually you don't need to do all four things: just STOP and then pick what makes sense from the other three. If you decide to share the information, you can also say what you did--"This is a firsthand account from XYZ protest; it lines up with what the local TV station is saying, but has a lot more details about what the cops did," or whatever.

The more urgent the information seems, the more important it is to make sure it's reliable.

If we're hearing every other day that this or that vulnerable group is in immediate, life-threatening danger--but 49 times out of 50 it turns out to mean Trump rambled somewhere about something which, if actually implemented, could end up having the described consequences at some point down the line--then people aren't going to know the difference the one time in 50 when the danger really is immediate.

Think, here, things like immigration crackdowns, CPS investigations into parents who affirm a trans child's gender, or demands that health care providers report miscarriages to law enforcement. We all know that these are things Trump World talks about a lot and would like to be able to do, in some form. For the sake of the people affected by these topics, we need different ways of talking about, "Here they are, back on their bullshit," versus, "This is a policy proposal for a real thing that could happen," versus, "Holy shit, grab the kids and run."

We cannot go to "Holy shit, grab the kids and run" every time Trump, or someone in his inner circle, decides to bloviate about something that could disastrously affect people lives. The people who are most in danger can't stay at DefCon 5 every day of their lives, and when they do really have to grab the kids and run, we need that alarm to be heard over the constant background hum of dread.

The same goes for action items--whether protests, ways to help, or little things people can do to stay safe/sane. There's going to be plenty going on, and nobody is going to be able to do everything, so do your part by passing along those things that you can vouch are true and important, and skipping the things you aren't sure about.

I'll leave you with an example. Remember how a few years ago, we were all-in about hand hygiene and disinfecting surfaces? And then it turned out that those were not actually very important in terms of preventing the transmission of COVID-19, and what we really need is better air filtration in public spaces--but, at my work at least, we still have canisters of surface-disinfecting wipes sitting around, and tattered old signs up about hand hygiene, and no air filters.

At the time, early in the pandemic, we were sharing the best information we knew about how to stay safe, but people got a little too fixated on that initial advice--remember how people would wipe down their groceries? And those little sticks for pressing elevator buttons?--and then when the advice changed, they didn't want to hear about it.

Distrust, fatigue, superstitious attachment to the old grocery-wiping ways--there were a lot of reasons, but the key thing to take away is that attention, energy, and goodwill are all finite resources. Try to avoid wasting it with grocery-wiping--or worse, shilling for the guy selling little sticks to press elevator buttons with.

[delilahsturniolo]

i love you, i’m sorry

— m.s

in which . . . matt accidentally confesses something he shouldn’t have in the heat of an argument.

genre/trope . . . enemies to lovers, angst. (resolved)

warnings . . . arguing, kissing & more.

written by . . . @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or re use my works. do not take inspiration without asking permission first. happy reading! :)

“lay on the horn to prove that it haunts me.”

“i love you i’m sorry.”

you and matt have known each other your entire lives, which was unfortunate for the both of you. you may be asking yourself, if you’ve known each other for so long shouldn’t you be best friends?

well, it was quite the opposite actually. you and matt have hated each other for whatever reason, it was a rivalry between you two. you guys couldn’t even be in the same room without bickering, when your family and matt’s family hung out it was absolute hell for you.

all you wanted was to avoid matt at all costs, no matter the circumstances. however, you always got along with matt’s brothers.

you and matt never had a reason to hate each other, in fact you tried being nice to him sometimes. you both just never got along, bickering and complaining about each other 24/7. if you got a dollar for how much you both piss each other off everyday, you’d be filthy rich.

but, matt wasn’t a complete jerk. he didn’t completely despise you, sometimes he held the door open for you. other times, he would slam it shut in your face. matt absolutely adored teasing you, and doing small gestures just to make you annoyed at him. that was something he never failed at.

you had sort of a mixed and unsure feeling about matt. you were confused, you didn’t know how he felt about you. did he hate you, or not? even better question, did you truly hate him?

yes, of course you did. you were supposed to, you can’t love him. but…you felt something different over the past few weeks. as much as you hated to admit it, nowadays you didn’t mind his presence. just a few months ago, you’d rather get hit by a bus than be near him. but other days, he pissed you off more than anything. you hated him…but you didn’t at the same time.

you didn’t know what this feeling was, it made you sick. falling for your childhood enemy? it was impossible, it couldn’t happen. you hated it, you couldn’t make it stop. all you could do was push down your true feelings, and keep pretending.

so now here you were, in the present. it was pretty late in the night. you were at the triplets house, in the kitchen. nick was out for a space camp photoshoot, while chris was sleeping in his room.

you leaned against the counter, scrolling mindlessly on your phone as you popped a potato chip in your mouth, feeling the salty sensation sink on your tongue. quietly humming to yourself, you took in the peaceful silence. that is, until you heard the front door open.

matt walked in the house, going right into the kitchen. he huffed as he saw you, rolling his eyes. you bit your lip, not even acknowledging him.

matt walked over to the counter, shoving you over with his body so he could get by. you grunted, your phone clattering to the floor.

“dude, can you not?” you scoffed, pissed off as you picked your phone up from the floor. matt turned on the sink, beginning to wash the dishes.

“can you not with the attitude?” matt mocked you, not even batting you an eye. usually you would just flip him off and leave, but you didn’t this time. you wanted to confront him, show him that you weren’t a pussy.

to the both of you, arguing was a competition. you would just keep going on and on until one of you backed down, and usually it would be you. however, not this time.

“i don’t have a fucking attitude.” you crossed your arms, the back of his head facing you as he aggressively scrubbed a plate. you were testing his limits, and you found pleasure in that.

“whatever floats your boat.” matt shrugged, laughing to himself. “do you always have to be so annoying?” he continued, which only provoked you more.

you rolled your eyes and sealed the bag of chips shut. “do you always have to be so mean to me all the time?” you shot back at him. matt turned off the sink water, wiping his hands before turning around to face you. “i’m not mean, sweetheart. come on, is that all you got?” matt teased you, knowing it would make you annoyed.

“shut up!” you raised your voice at him slightly, making him scoff in disbelief.

“what the fuck is your problem?” matt raised his voice back at you, you weren’t in the mood for this right now. your frustration was building up by every passing second.

“you, matt! you’re my problem!” you shouted back at him.

“my fucking goodness, y/n. you’re always starting shit, aren’t you?” matt complained, throwing his hands up in the frustration. you simply said nothing.

“what? cat got your tongue?” matt darkly chuckled. you rolled your eyes, starting to walk away. matt only followed after you.

you stomped outside into the driveway, it was the dead of night. you suddenly felt matt grab your arm, turning you around to face him.

“let me go, matt.” you spoke fiercely, trying to yank away from him. his grip only grew tighter, he completely ignored your protests.

“y/n, stop it. listen to me.” matt told you, you only shook your head.

“get away from me, matt. i hate you.” you remarked, matt shook his head. “no you don’t.” he pulled you closer.

the cold wind blew in your hair, matt’s eyes pierced into yours. “what are you talking about?” you questioned him.

“you don’t hate me.” matt shrugged, you weren’t even trying to pull away from him anymore. something was drawing you to him, and you didn’t mind it for once.

“yes i do! you don’t care about me!” you argued back, matt completely snapped at you.

“of course i care, y/n! how could i not care? i care more than anything in the world.” he shouted.

“since when did you start caring about me!?” you scoffed in disbelief.

“since fucking forever, you idiot!”

and those exact words, the moment they came out of his mouth silenced you. which by the way, was a rare occurrence. your lips parted slightly. “what?” you murmured.

matt let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i love you, okay? i love you so fucking much, goddamnit! i’m sorry i fell in love, i can’t do shit about it and…i didn’t want it to happen, y/n.” matt blurted out. what? this was the absolute last thing you were expecting.

“you…what?” you spoke softly. your mind was racing with a million thoughts at once. matt was in love with you? your heart began to beat faster as you looked into his eyes.

“you think i wanted this to happen? trust me, i’m just as confused as you.” matt’s voice broke. you both stood across from each other, goosebumps raising onto your arms.

“i love you too, matt.” you whispered. matt’s gaze immediately softened.

“but…the thing is i can’t. i can’t love you. it won’t work out. we can’t be together and you know that.” you muttered, looking away from him as you said that.

“you don’t get it. it’s not that easy to lose feelings for you, if i could i would. i can’t lose feelings for someone i’ve loved for so fucking long.” matt’s voice came out shaky as he expressed all of his emotions.

you sighed, stepping closer to him. he looked down at you, his eyes growing glossy. your hand traveled up his chest and to the side of his neck, matt’s breath hitched at this action.

before he even knew what was going on, you leaned in, pulling him in for a kiss.

both of your lips connected, your heart felt full, as if you had been needing this your entire life. matt groaned against your lips as the kiss grew more and more passionate, more hungry.

you both wanted this badly, you craved each other more than anything. this felt so wrong in your brain, but yet so fucking right in your heart.

matt’s hands gripped your waist tightly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips continued to dance with his, you felt his soft and supple lips crash against yours once more.

matt pulled away from the kiss, not letting go of you though. you looked up at him, a smirk creeping up on your face.

“mmm..you’re not so bad after all.” matt hummed, his finger lifing your chin up with dominance.

“i’m gonna murder you, sturniolo.” you teased, matt only chuckled, his hand moving to your cheek, caressing the skin gently.

“you wouldn’t.” matt smiled down at you, before leaning into your face once more, his lips colliding with yours again.

maybe loving him wasn’t so bad after all.

© delilahsturniolo

join the taglist here! ✉️

[drewsbraziliangf]

funny seeing you here | Drew Starkey x black!fem reader

summary: after seven months of not seeing his face, you find yourself at the same party he’s at. And he clearly made it his mission to be noticed by you. So what are you gonna do now?

warnings: alcohol consumption, suggestive smut

a/n: Here's part 3 of nothing to say when heaven falls. As the title called it, it was 100% inspired by ‘funny seeing you here’ by Jack Harlow which I recommend listening to during the reading. Comments and reblogs are never required but always very much appreciated 🫶🏻

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

"Hey," he said and you could barely hear the smile on his voice. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

No escape.

"Hi," you replied with a low voice, unsure if he had heard it over the loud music. "Yeah, I'm with Frankie."

"Uh, yeah, I saw her," he voices as he scoots slightly closer to you. "This does look more like her scene."

At that, you nod and mentally curse the fifth generation of this damned bartender who has yet to finish your drinks.

Everything around you is spiraling at this point. You were not ready for this, especially with how casual he's being about everything. It was not in your plans to run into him tonight and all you wanted was to get as far away from him as you could.

Your salvation comes in the shape of your friend, who you can see right past her excitement about how much she just wanted to take you out of that situation. She held your arm lightly and, it was as if you weren't waiting for almost ten minutes the bartender returned with both your drinks.

"Hey, uhm, what's taking so long?" Frankie says and pretends to be shocked when she looks up at Drew. "Oh hey! Long time, no see." As the words leave her mouth you notice how the stiff smile on her face shows her displeasure at his presence.

"Hi Frankie," he says a little taken back by her and you notice how he starts tapping his fingers against the glass the same way you were doing moments ago. A shared habit that the both of you didn't get to brush off of one another it seems.

"Let's go, babes! I still have so much to tell you."

With your drinks at hand, you followed her and immediately felt a weight fall off of your shoulders. Still, you weren't able to hold back and you looked over your shoulder just to see him checking you out.

Your face was burning after that and you just prayed to whatever God that Frankie was able to distract you enough to make you not act on the alcohol in your veins.

It wasn't a secret to anyone the effect that he had on you. I mean you were together for years and about to get married - obviously, you had to be attracted to him. And he just had this thing about him that made it very hard for you to ignore.

He looked handsome, but that was no surprise. He always looked so fine, except this time it seemed like he had filled out more. The black shirt he was wearing fitted him perfectly, the sleeves stretched around his biceps, and even from a glimpse you were able to notice how much bigger they were since you last saw him. His outgrown hair now looked more like a growing mullet and, god, that did work with him. At this point, you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or your brain talking about how insanely good he looked.

“Y/N, honey, you good?” She asked once the both of you got back to your spot.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” You retorted to which she just stared at you with uncertainty.

“I don’t- I don’t know, you just looked like you were about to vanish in thin air back there,” she voices smoothly still looking at you.

“Yeah, I uh, I guess I just wasn’t expecting that to happen,” you confess.

She nods and sips on her drink, her own eyes scanning the room this time, and once she looks up at you once more you see a glimpse of regret there.

“I didn’t know. Had I known I wouldn’t have brought you here,” She declares with sorrow and you shake your head quickly.

“Hey, I know that! Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

At that, neither of you is sure enough.

You could feel that it was way past one in the morning, the air just felt different. The party was less crowded but the music was still blaring through the speakers. Frankie was entertained in a talk with a tall dark-skinned man who was whispering in her ear every now and then earning giggles from the brunette.

You had been nursing the drink in your hand for a while now, the condensation around the glass caused your fingertips to be wet. You were much more drunk than you’d normally get, but for once in a long time it felt good to let yourself go.

Still the numbness the alcohol brought, did not evade the feeling of what happened earlier. It had been so long since the last time and you were not expecting to see him like that. What would’ve happened if Frankie had not interrupted him? What would you have done?

“Hey,” You heard Frankie’s voice closer to your ear this time, “Would you mind if I left for a while? I promise I’ll be back and you won’t even notice.”

It amazed you that even with the amount of drinks she had, her pleading eyes didn’t fail to convince you. And honestly, she needed to have fun with the hot guy as well. So with a nod you sent her off watching her excitement as she followed him.

At least you were alone with your thoughts and could think and rethink everything, from your coffee orders to your love life as you downed the last of your blue coloured drink. But as if they were trying to prove a point, the spot next to you did not remain empty for long.

The same cologne that woke forbidden memories hours ago was flooding your space once again but this time it was subtle. Almost as if it was fading and taking with it your sanity.

“I thought we’d never get the chance to talk again,” was what he said and it didn’t take you long to notice that he too was a few drinks in.

Guess this isn’t a sober conversation, huh.

“I’d rather if it stays like that,” you mumbled as you watched him push a bottle of cold water towards you.

“Come on, this is a quieter spot. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now,” He leans in, just like Trent did with Frankie.

It felt so weird being close to him like this after so long. It felt like getting something you’ve wanted for so long but you were scared that you got the wrong thing. Does that even make sense?

“How's your sister and your niece?” You asked since there was no escape.

“They’re fine. Both of them, Lily still cries a lot but they’re good,” he voices as he sips from his own drink.

You unscrew the water bottle and take a big gulp out of it. Why were your hands so sweaty now? You didn’t have an answer to that so you just nodded and looked around the room as less and less people filled the dance floor and the bar.

“You look beautiful,” his compliment breaks the silence and goes straight to those confusing thoughts you were having. You have to control yourself. “I thought a lot before talking to you earlier, but I just couldn’t help myself when you looked like this. So pretty”

Even with his sweet words you couldn’t forget who he was and the history between the two of you. It was hard because even if you denied it a part of you still missed him so much. I mean, you shared years of your life with him so it isn’t that easy to ignore how much his absence affects you sometimes.

“What are you doing here, Drew?” The words leave your mouth before you could even process the thought.

He doesn’t say anything for a while and you finally look at him. His hair was slightly darker than it was months ago, the low cut shirt he is wearing gives you a peak of his chest hair and some freckles he has there. Looking into his eyes made your blood freeze for a second, it was like you were drowning in the bluest sea.

He scratched his overgrown beard while he looked down at the cup he was drinking from.

“I miss you,” He confesses with a sigh.

You shake your head as you set the water bottle back on the table.

“No, you can’t do this now,” You say and pray that he can hear you over the music. “Not after everything.”

“I-I fucked up and I know that,” he admits and that makes you feel dizzy. “I want to make things right between us.”

“Oh, now? You don’t even know if I have someone,” you scoff. “How’s Odessa by the way?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s been a while since I last talked to her,” he says.

“Well so it’s best if I look over your shoulder since she might pop up from thin air,” your snide remark doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not here to talk about anyone else but us. So can we please do that? Let’s find somewhere where we can actually talk because you just left and I know that what I did was the radon to that, but still.”

Your eyes met his for the second time that night and without much thought you found yourself nodding. You texted Frankie letting her know that you’d be getting an Uber home so she didn’t have to worry about you and in the next second you were following your ex out of the club.

It didn’t shock you that he was still living in the apartment you used to share. It looked almost the same just a few new pieces of furniture decorating the space and you couldn’t help but ask yourself if she had helped him to pick them out.

“Do you, uhm, wanna drink something?” He asked after he locked the door behind you.

“Yeah, I could use a glass of water.”

“Okay, lemme get that for you,” he says and walks to the kitchen.

You stay in the living room and take it all in. Why does his house feel this warm? Why did you feel comfortable in a place you chose to leave? Why wasn’t this freaking you out anymore? Before you could begin to dwell in any of those questions, his footsteps against the wooden floor pulled you from your thoughts.

“Here,” he hands you the filled glass.

“Thanks,” you say before taking a small sip from it.

“So, how have you been?” He asks and you can see that he immediately regrets it, “Fuck that’s a stupid question.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that and he quickly follows suit.

“I am okay. I’ve been worse, I’ve been better” you admit to which he only nods.

“I felt like shit, you know? I knew I was fucking up but I was so entranced by everything that was happening that I didn’t realize how much it was affecting you,” he says as he leans against the wall.

“It wasn’t easy for me to come up to you and say those things but I was so fed up that I didn’t know what to do anymore,” you admit as you take a step closer to him without even realising.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t care about you or your feelings.”

“I guess I just didn’t want to be an intruder in our own relationship. There was a point where I felt like I needed to talk to her to get to you. And I know there is history between you two, I just didn’t want to doubt that there was still something going on.”

You sigh as one of your fingers traced the rim of the glass.

“I mean, there were a few times that I called your phone and she was the one picking it up. That made me feel so insecure and so scared that I was being lied to.”

“I-what? I didn’t know that.” He truly seemed surprised by your words.

“Well,” you scoff as you shake your head, “I guess she never told you that I called you then.”

You turn around and put the glass on the centre table. He simply watched you and even if he might not admit it yet seeing you in his house again made something in chest warm. Something in him just told him that you belonged there.

“You see, this is what I am talking about.” You add without turning to look at him. “This shouldn’t be normal.”

“I really didn’t know and when I looked at my calls registry your name wasn’t there so I assumed she was telling the truth.”

He did feel guilty about that, but he wasn’t lying. He truly didn’t know of that happenstance.

You sigh and you look back at him, your eyes burning as you feel a deep sense of deja vu.

“I really thought you were it for me, you know?” You confess and a tear streams down your face.

As if it was a reflex thing, he immediately reaches for you and wipes the tear off your face.

“I am so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that,” he says looking into your eyes.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the vulnerability that enveloped the both of you, but you couldn’t help more tears from following that first one. It felt so calming to be talking about this with him after so long, like a ton was being taken out of your chest. Obviously you had people to talk to but it wasn’t the same.

You rested your head on his shoulder as his hands were on the back of your neck. He went in for the first touch, his lips kissed the top of your head. That made you tense up for a second and as you looked up your gaze was immediately captured by his.

His nose touched yours first and as he leaned in for your lips, you couldn’t help but pull back. That happened twice more and you knew that he was frustrated but you were just so scared of opening up to him again.

“Please,” he begs with a breathy voice and as you look into his eyes you are able to see the same man you fell in love with years ago.

After that you didn’t resist anymore and his lips quickly found yours.

Oh.

One of his hands cradled your face as he deepened the kiss and the other was occupied squeezing the softness of your hips. Now, you could’ve lied to yourself about many things, but this was never one of them. He knew exactly where to touch you and how to do it.

You pressed your body against his and the sigh that left your lips when you felt his bulge pressed on your stomach. He moaned on your lips at the pressure and in a blink of an eye you had your legs wrapped around him.

He now held you with one of his arms as he guided the both of you towards the bedroom. His lips didn’t leave yours, the only time he broke the kiss was when he pulled your lower lip between his teeth, but in the next second he was devouring them again.

When he reached the bedroom he didn’t bother to close the door. He laid you on the bed and you breathlessly watched him pull his shirt off with one hand before he knelt between your legs.

Please God, don’t make me regret this.

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[priisprii]

I am trying to tell you somethin, somethin I already said - C.SC

Summary: Parties are all good, but getting fucked by your hot fuck buddy is better.

Warnings: dom! Seungcheol, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected sex, oral (m&f receiving) , spit kink, pussy slapping, light degradation.

Word count: 2.3 k

Minors don't interact.

All your friends warned you about Seungcheol, he was a bad influence, Heartbreaker, red flag blah..blah.. blah.

You actually didn't really gave damn about the rumours and gossips surrounding him, he's a Playboy.... So what? If blessed with that beautiful face and delicious body it would be waste to not to get laid left and right.Choi Seungcheol was fever dream for you.Buisness major, good gpa, athlete, plays guitar, looks like Greek God and so on. He was perfect and you want him.

So you plan on getting him.

Confessing to a guy a getting rejected might not be the worst thing that could happen right? You were sure Seungcheol felt something for you too, his lingering gaze on you in a crowded room was enough proof for you. Even though you both never exchanged any words, there was a strong pull between you too , which your bestfriend described as delusion. Turns out it wasn't your delusion, You confessed your feelings through Dm, ready to get rejected but all you got a one line message, meet me after class.

Six months passed to that incident, and you have Seungcheol in your life.Not as a boyfriend though but as fuck buddy and it was enough. Afterall all you wanted was to be one of his girls. So here you are attending some useless party, locked up in one of the room upstairs and getting used by Seungcheol just as you always wanted to be.

" I am gonna make you ride my shoe if keep sucking like stupid inexperienced whore. Come on I taught you better than that" Seungcheol warned, his voice dripping with lust. He was getting impatient with the way you were sucking him without any effort but what could you do? The way he was bobbing your head up and down was intoxicating, the rough carpet brusising your knees,his cock touching the back of your throat in most delicious way, he was big, so big that your lips started hurting, lipstick ruined long ago, spit dripping straight to your exposed tits, mascara ruined, Seungcheol would trade half of his life to see you like that forever.

Your grip on Seungcheol's thigh tightened, you tried taking him deeper in your mouth than he already was, gagging uncontrollably around him, your moans sending vibrations straight to his spine. The way he was grunting made it clear that he was close to his release, so you increased your speed, desperate for his cum and his pleasure.

"Yes babe Just like that, soo good"

His voice was so sweet now unlike the scary tone he used earlier, he rarely praised you and whenever he did it made you lose your mind a little bit. He was everything you wished for and he fucked you just like you wished, he fulfilled all your depraved fantasies, he was your first and when he gotta know that, he was absolutely gentle with you, cause he didn't wanted your first experience to leave bitter taste in mouth, the memory making you curl your toes, pussy dripping uncontrollably, crying for some stimulation.

"Open wide" Seungcheol purred, removing his dick from your mouth, you whined loudly not liking the emptiness you were left with, your action made him lightly slap your cheek, not in mood for your complaints. Nevertheless you obeyed mouth streching widely ,tongue out. Pathetic. Seungcheol thought to himself.

He pumped his cock few times before exploding on your tongue, you knew better to not swallow until he gave permission to do so, he purposely aimed for your cheek and forehead, something about you being covered in his cum made him go absolutely feral, he loved seeing you so vulnerable and fucked up,no one looked as pretty as you in his eyes.

"Swallow"

His one command was enough for you to quickly swallow his cum which was already over dripping from your lips. You looked at him with doe eyes, vision blurry with tears, waiting for him to give attention to your wet weeping pussy. He scooped the remaining cum from your cheeks and forehead by his fingers and put them straight to your lips mouthing suck which you compiled almost like a dog. With his two fingers he streched your lips wide, creating enough space for him to land spit directly in your mouth, the actions making you clench your empty wet cunt .

"You like everything I do with you, don't you?" Seungcheol asked cockily, none of his previous partners were as freaky as you were and none of them made him as wild you made him, you bring that side of him that no one knows.

"Please Cheol.. Touch me please"

you begged breathlessly. panties were soaked with your arousal and sticking against your folds, crying for his, fingers, his tongue, his cock, him. Cheol let out a chuckle, laughing at your neediness nevertheless you were so turned on that his voice alone could make get you off.

"Get on the bed"

Your heart cried out in happiness ,finally getting what you wanted since evening, when he invited you to this mediocre party, you got on bed almost immediately lying on your back, not caring about the pain in your knees, or your iron deficiency, you were already drunk on Seungcheol. He was better than any drug. Seungcheol discarded his pants which were barely hanging around his torso, his black T-shirt coming off next, your mouth watering at the beautiful sight infront of you, his abs, oh how much you wish you could ride them, well that's for another day. He climbed on the bed, not breaking the eye contact, his intense gaze making you squirm. You were almost naked, the only article on your body were your useless panties, who did a terrible job of hiding your arousal. Seungcheol pressed two of his fingers against your cunt and a breathless moan escaped your lips ,pleased with your reaction, pressed down deeper against the fabric.

"Always so wet and ready for me"

He removed your panties in blink of an eye, your bare cunt now fully visible to him, he eyed you up and down, his intense gaze making you try to close your legs, which earned you a slap on your thigh from Seungcheol.

" Try closing your legs again and I will tie you against bed and leave you like this all naked and desperate mess" Seungcheol threatened you , you immediately spread your legs as far as you could, the shame flying out your body.

"Please, Cheol I am sorry, please fuck me, I promise I'll be good"

He didn't replied to your begging but, a smirk made it's way on his lips, he eyed your pussy, diving straight to get a taste. His tongue lapped against your clit while his fingers aimed for your g-spot, burrying them deep inside your cunt and scissoring them deep inside, the sudden pleasure was overwhelming for you, you held yourself back from closing your legs, not wanting to disobey him. You gripped Seungcheol's hair, burrying his face deeper into your pussy, you could feel his smirk against your folds, your whole body trembling with pleasure. You were a blabbering mess , moaning Cheol's name like a prayer.

"Fuck Cheol, I am so close... Please don't stop"

He grunted against your cunt, blowing hot breathe against your folds, he knew you could combust any second but he had other plans, he liked denying you, keeping you on edge was addicting to him. Just when you were about to get your sweet release, Cheol removed his fingers and mouth, discarding you fully and delivering a sharp slap against your cunt, the sudden overwhelming force making you whimper and cry out in pain.

"Oh, poor baby wanted to cum?" Cheol asked you, lacing his voice with fake sympathy while moving his fingers up and down against your bare pussy.

"Please Cheol, fuck me" you cried out, giving him your best doe eyes. Seungcheol again slapped your cunt hard enough to make your whole body jolt up with pleasure.

"You like it, don't you? You could easily get off by me slapping your cunt" Seungcheol cooed, an evil idea plaguing his head, you were beyond stimulated, even a light touch could make you cum right then and there and the intensity with which he was smacking your cunt was enough for you to squirt uncontrollably.

"No.. please want your cock" you pleaded, squirming against bed, you just wished for Seungcheol to fuck you without any more teasing.

Maybe it's your tears or the desperation in your voice which made Seungcheol line his cock against your cunt, the movement sending you to clouds, even though he fingered you thoroughly, you were not prepared for his cock, the warmth of your walls making him grunt out in pleasure, your pussy was his favourite place right after your mouth.

"Always so tight"

"That's it, take it"

Cheol didn't gave you time to adjust, he grabbed your left thigh and without wasting any time started thrusting into your wet needy pussy. You let out string of broken moans , overwhelmed by sudden delicious strech . Seungcheol captured your lips for a ferocious kiss, his tongue diving straight to your mouth, nothing was cute or innocent about this kiss, it was dripping with passion and fire Seungcheol had for you, which he wasn't able to confess yet, he only hoped you would understand his incandescent desire.

"God, you're so beautiful" Seungcheol whispers against your lips, his unforgiving thrusts never stopping , he drags his tongue slowly against your lower lip, making you clench against his cock harder, with his free hand, he grabbed your tit, pinching and twisting your sensitive bud , you let out a yelp which was swallowed by him, he kept fondling with your tits pushing your body deeper into the bed, he was drunk on your scent.

"Cheol, Cheol hand, your hand please" you voiced out incoherently , trying to reach out to grab Seungcheol's hand , he stopped his movements for a second, processing your words, then it clicked to him , you wanted to intervene hands with him, how romantic he thought to himself before continuing his punishing thrusts and grabbing your hand, intervening your fingers with his and bringing it up to kiss your knuckles, the action swelling your heart with unexplainable feeling.

"You're mine" Seungcheol said , rolling his hips against you, he could feel that you are near with the way you were arching your back almost painfully, the room was filled with echos of skin slapping and strong scent of sex , all overwhelming your senses, you loved this. Loved getting used by him as he desired and he knows you love it too.

"All yours" you whispered, voice breaking with each syllabus, those words were enough for Seungcheol to pound against you harder, chasing his release along with you.

"Fuck Cheol, I am so close" you cried out, feeling your your orgasam ripping through you, your moans grew louder with each passing second. Seungcheol himself wasn't able to maintain a steady pace, your walls engulfing him , making him chase his own release.

"Cum for me, babe"

His words were enough for you to let go of all thoughts and cum "G-God, oh God, Cheollie," you whine, your eyes shut because of overwhelming sweet pleasure, it feels  too fucking good, you kept spaming around his cock like crazy, making him cum too.

"“Fuck, gonna let me fill this little pussy to the brim pretty, fuck keep squeezing me like that baby" Seungcheol breathe out, pushing warm ropes of cum deep inside you,His thrusts slowing down dragging his cock in and out of you, his breathe ragged against your lips , he halted after ensuring every bit of his cum was deep inside your womb, he crashed on bed beside you, engulfing you into a tight hug.

"So good for me" he purred, his fingers making its way to your bruised cunt, pushing the overflowing cum back inside with two fingers, you yelped, body burning with over sensitivity. You tried grabbing his hand but he didn't let you .

" Can't let any of the drop go to waste" Seungcheol said cockily, after few more strokes , he shoved his fingers to your mouth, you sucked them immediately not needing any further command, his sweet taste overpowering your senses.

Seungcheol pulled you into a kiss, stroking your hair so tenderly afraid you could breake, his kiss was soft and gentle, pouring his heart to you, the words I love you were sitting right on his lips, threatening to escape his any second.

But he stopped, he will confess but not today, not until he thinks he's worthy of you, till then he will settle for your having you in his arms like this, outlining I love you on your back with his fingertips not knowing that you understood each stroke.

A/N : Thank you for reading my first work after so many years, i apologise for the cranky writing, i promise I will be better.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Cat claws

Day 2: Scarred.

Summary: Maybe he can forgive Nuts.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1177

Warnings: cat being mean to hazel :(

A/n: azzie just loses his mind in tis lmao nd you cant blame him hazel's the most adorable little thing ever 🥹 yall just wait till she begins talking azs going to sob his eyes out (subtle foreshadowing 🎀)

@azrielappreciationweek

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel watched, amused, as Hazel attempted to crawl towards the black furry creature that sat in the corner licking its paw.

Hazel had only started crawling a week or so ago, and Azriel absolutely loved watching her drag herself around. It was often amusing to see her get angry when the carpet slowed down her movements when it caught on her clothes, or when she bumped into the couch and glared at it.

She would always turn to search for Azriel when that happened, letting out the loudest yell her tiny body could muster as if ordering him to get rid of the offending item.

Even barely eight months old, Y/n always said Hazel had her father’s ability to glare and grumble.

Azriel always scoffed in return to that statement before forcing himself to stop and realise him being grumpy only proved his mate’s words to be true.

Hazel was currently looking at her father with her brows furrowed, and Azriel blinked, coming back to the present as he realised she was trying to move over the carpet. He grinned at the anger on her face and stood, bending down once he was close enough to pick her up.

He set her down closer to the cat Y/n had insisted on getting after Hazel’s birth, her reasoning being that their daughter needed a friend and then named him Nuts.

Hazel and her best friend Nuts.

‘Get it? Hazel-Nuts’ She had giggled.

It made Azriel laugh back when she had suggested it, but soon enough he’d realised she was not joking. At all.

Azriel watched on with a smile as Hazel reached Nuts and tried to grab his fur. Nuts walked away without a look in her direction, which always pissed Azriel off. Who did the creature think it was?

"Azriel, that’s a cat. He does not understand how to act with a baby-" Y/n called out from the kitchen, having peeked into the living room to see what had caused her mate to get so mad that his emotions reached her through the bond.

"Well how long does it take to learn? I swear to the mother one day I'm kicking him out if he continues to bully my daughter."

Azriel heard Y/n sigh and walk closer to him as Hazel crawled towards Nut again. He now sat closer to the hearth, where a fire burned red to ward off the winter chill that was beginning to set over Velaris.

"Az-"

But Azriel did not hear the rest of Y/n’s sentence.

His ears began ringing as he stepped forward as if in a daze, eyes sharp on the raised paw of Nuts, who, having seen Hazel get close to him again, tried to hit her.

The firelight glinted off his claws.

And then Hazel’s loud cries filled the room as her head reared back, eyes clenched shut in pain.

She had a habit of flopping on her back when she was mad. Azriel had never really worried too much about that particular habit of Hazel’s until now, when she was too close to the fire and the tiniest movement would end up with her-

No, Azriel did not want to complete the thought.

In that moment of panic, Azriel did not care that there was a glass covering separating the fire from the room, and that no matter what Hazel did, she would not be able to be burned.

In that moment all that mattered to Azriel was that the fucking cat living in his house had the audacity to hurt his daughter.

Azriel grabbed Hazel, frantically looking over her to check for her injuries. There weren’t any big claw marks, but the tiny scratch on the chubby flesh of her upper arm connecting it to her shoulder made Azriel see red.

He turned to glare at Y/n as he pulled Haze close.

"I am telling you Y/n. If by the time I return, that bastard is not out of this house, I will drop him into the sidra myself."

Y/n’s eyes were helpless, but Azriel did not wait for a moment longer as he walked out of the main door and took flight, his only mission to find Madja and get his daughter healed.

He did not want her to be scarred like the hands cradling her.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Flying back home, Azriel decided that he needed some time alone to figure out why he had reacted so harshly.

He knew Y/n had been right. Nuts was an animal. He did not understand how to treat babies. But Azriel did not want to admit that.

The stars were out, so clearly visible as Azriel flew his daughter back home. It had been over an hour since he’d left the house in such a hurry, wishing he could strangle the cat.

He had taken to the skies after Madja had assured him that Hazel would be fine, and had his emotions not been so high and panicked, maybe Hazel wouldn’t have cried at all. After long moments of being assured by Madja, Azrie finally calmed down and left.

"I’m sorry baby. Did I scare you?" Azriel mumbled, glancing down at his daughter who stared up at the sky with wide eyes. She only giggled back in answer.

The innocence in the sound made Azriel smile.

The smile faded just as quick as it had come when his eyes fell on his hands cradling her head and back.

They once were soft and smooth like Hazel’s. They once had grabbed his own parents hand with as much love as he now grasped his daughters. Only now, they were uglier.

If Y/n heard his thoughts, she would have yelled at him and forced him to say they were beautiful. But Azriel knew better. They weren’t, and they never would be.

The only thing he liked even a little about his hands was the fact that their texture was so different from other’s hands, Hazel always immediately figured out she was in her father’s arms.

Y/n always talked about how the same scarred hands he despised were the reason she and Hazel felt safe. Those words echoed back to Azriel when he began doubting himself. It always made him feel better.

Hazel squealed loudly when Azriel dipped lower, air pushing gently against her back.

She was so pure, so innocent. She did not even know of the cruel world she was born in.

And Azriel swore to keep it that way. He had hoped the world outside his father’s dungeon would be better, once, and quickly realised that there were people in the world that would pounce at the chance to scar innocent souls just for the sadistic pleasure of ruining their lives.

He did not want her soul to turn out as scarred as his too.

As he finally landed on the front porch of his home and heard loud meow’s coming from inside, he contemplated letting the cat stay.

Maybe a cat’s claw scratch was not that bad.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[lethalchiralium]

Waiting Room | Happiness Series

a/n: yes, i’m posting twice in the same month! crazy lol (always thanking my lovely @as-is-above-so-below for editing)

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, medical stuff, injuries, simon spiraling

The ICU is bare at this time of night. There are no alarms for nurses to attend to, and the lights are dimmed. The doors shut, and meal trays were taken away hours ago. Triangle lights above the doors are filled in with red or green lights. The only sound in the corridor is of boots thumping against the floor.

Calloused hands gripped the nurse’s counter. Your name prattled quickly off his tongue with a question of where you were. A room named off, and he was already out of sight, running and escaping the nurse calling him to come back. When he reached your room, his hand didn’t tremble as it did the whole way to the hospital. He calmly and slowly pushed the door open.

All he saw was no bed, and John Price sitting on the couch below the window, hunched over and murmuring into the phone against his ear. He looked up and ended the call, standing quickly to walk towards him.

“Simon-”

“Where is she?”

“Still in surgery.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Price stiffened slightly, and the air between them suddenly stifled. Simon’s dry eyes stared him down, and Price could feel his failure crushing him. He promised to keep them safe and sound, yet here they were, barely thirty minutes into emergency surgery before your husband arrived.

“According to Laswell, she made them take Winnie to the park–her and Roach. She was home with Mel and König when they were ambushed.hey shot him, and took the girls.” He looked down at his phone, then pulled up the pictures of the damage to his front entrance–showing them to Simon. “…Your father took them to a cabin in the Lakes District witht he intention of selling her and Melody to traffickers, in a bid to exploit you for money.”

His heart began to race, hard, like a hammer against museum glass. Shattering it into his ribcage, the thumps of his lungs against his liver and spine like an out-of-control wave.

“She escaped with Melody, and uh… well.” Price swiped, and Simon was met with a caved-in face. But, he picked out the silvery scars on his father’s forehead from when he beat him himself, many years ago. “She beat the shit out of him.”

“Is he dead?”

“He is.”

Pride would be the word he was looking for, if not for how intense the injuries were to his father’s face. Your hands must be mush. “Good.”

“She was found in a valley. She tucked Melody in a dense fir tree; she has some scrapes and bruises, and was freezing to the touch, but we found her. She was calling for your wife.” Price slid the phone into his pocket, settling back on his heels. “Only reason we found them was because she was crying. She’s upstairs in the NICU; Laswell and Roach are there with Winnie, whenever you’re ready to see them.”

“Okay.”

Yet, he made no hurry to move from his spot, hovering in the center of the near-empty ICU room, the space left for your bed, the machines that would be attached to you, and the fear that would radiate off of you and permeate the silence like no other sound. Could he leave this spot to check on his children? Could he escape the betrayal he indirectly caused when he failed to protect you? Would he be able to pretend that he isn’t full of rage for his superiors, barring him from keeping his promise? But, should he be able to stay upset with Price, his closest friend, in finding and saving his wife and child?

Could, would, should. All words with no meaning without action.

Simon’s eyes met John’s, and a brief silence fell upon them.

“Go see the girls, Simon.”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation, “I can’t.”

John didn’t even breathe before speaking again, “Then stay. I will go sit with them.” He quickly ushered Simon into the chair he had occupied only moments before. Simon practically collapsed into it. His head in his hands, heart torn into shreds of silken fabric, drowning in a sea of despair. The thin plastic chair would do nothing to soothe his aching bones, his body a fresh arrival from London to base an hour ago. Never did he imagine he would have to rush home, in the midst of a panic attack over losing you the way he lost Grace, losing another unborn baby, and his infant. He didn’t dare pretend like he could hold this weight, the fear, the panic, the imagination of the sound of your screams.

There, in the white chair after thirty-six hours of being awake, he watched John leave him alone. And there, leaned over his knees, he let out whimpers that sounded much like the ones that escaped him as a child.

He didn’t wake again until he heard a collection of clicking. His arms tightened across his chest as he heard footsteps fade away. He rolled his head up before opening his eyes - all he saw was the hospital bed, and your figure covered by thick blankets, nodes pressed onto your forehead like thorns on a rose, a breathing tube taped to your chapped lips, and a level of calm on your face that he’d seen only a few times. The sound of the chair screeching across the floor, closer to the bed, closer to the iodine smell that permeated the room from you. His hand slipped under the warming blankets, lifting it to seek out your arm, gazing at the wrapping on your hand before he settled his own on the undamaged skin of your forearm. Covering you again, he silently thanked the nurse for keeping the bed rail tucked away. He leaned forward and settled his head against his arm - listening to the soft wheeze of the breathing machine.

His mind was void of words, but his tongue spoke from the root of his pain, just a gentle, “I failed you.”

In the dim light from above the bed, Simon’s thumb traced warm circles on your lukewarm skin, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember before he left for the hospital, couldn’t remember the mission, only…emptiness. An overwhelming urge to vomit ichor into his lap as he sped through red lights. A softened part inside his stone-cold heart rotted, black like tar, gooey and burning every inch of his injured rib cage.

His lungs filling with warm breaths, fighting to ignore the iodine stench only found him asleep again, body hunched over as if to find some solace in protecting you now - when the void of his betrayal burned harsher than the dance of bourbon on his tongue.

Simon doesn’t greet your brother, and doesn’t dare move his temple from the blanket tucked beside his head, eyes glued to the TV in the dusty corner of the room. Below it hung a whiteboard detailing your name, age, gender, and nurses. Following that was a rotation with the times they would be by for checks, medication, replacing the cold blankets with warm ones, and moving you so bed sores don’t grow on your already fragile skin. The BBC show wasn’t anything interesting, not his favorite but something to do that wasn’t throwing up what little breakfast he had into the trash can.

He’d been visiting Mellie the morning before, brought in by Price after she was discharged. Her one-day hospital stay was officially over, and he had finally seen her - but guilt nestled in his esophagus as he pressed his nose into her scalp, her little body curled as far as it could into his chest. He would have been a better father to tend to her first, but the thought of losing you was more apocalyptic than he ever imagined. He couldn’t leave this room, could barely piss in the bathroom without the door open to keep an eye on you, and barely spoke to anyone who came in; whether it be a nurse or the task force, they were all given silence in exchange for their pleas for him to go home, take a shower, get a fresh set of clothes.

“You smell like shit, dude.”

Jake, your older brother, moved a chair beside Simon on his right, his hand gently patting your ankle as he sat. Your husband may have snapped at him if he wasn't absent from his mind. Simon was nestled in a deep corner of his consciousness, only pretending to be human for his friends and children as he rotted beside you.

He didn’t answer his brother-in-law, eyes flickering from character to character on the screen, as if that was a good-enough distraction from his painful thoughts.

“That Soap guy said you haven’t showered in four days. You smell like it, go take a shower.”

Simon huffed out a humorless chuckle. “Not leavin’ her.”

Jake paused for a moment, pensive for just a millisecond. “The bathroom is right there. Yes, she’s protected at all times with you here, but she’s safe when I’m here too. So go. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to smell your ass when she wakes up.”

“Fuck off, Jake.”

“You have to at least wipe down if I’m going to sit next to you. You reek.”

“Then don’t.”

“Not a chance, bud.”

A gentle but firm hand settled on Simon’s shoulder, and he barely reacted, only a rumble of disapproval from his throat. He wanted to wretch his shoulder backwards, get Jake’s hand off, scream at him, ask him what makes him think he’s right. Ask what made him think he truly knew the answer to Simon’s mistake, miscalculation, the broken promise that lay like glass at his feet. What makes him think that Simon could accept his help at all?

He would’ve fought his brother-in-law off if there was any point, but he had been sitting at your bedside for two days straight and you hadn’t woken up yet - even when they shined lights in your pupils, checked your wounded hand, adjusted nodes on your forehead, checked the back of your head. So Simon found himself standing, Jake’s hands ushering him to the bathroom, but he slammed his hand against the door when Jake tried to close it.

“Leave it open. Wanna see her.”

Jake didn’t make a sound, just gave an understanding nod. “Try to use the curtain. I’d like to avoid seeing your dick, and I’m sure the nurses would appreciate it.”

Simon doesn’t even remember keeping the curtain open, getting under the hot spray, and just… standing there. The water hit the crown of his head, spilling down and over his face, his chest, his stomach - his body ached from the lowest muscles in his calves to the tenderness nestled in the nape of his neck, yet he could feel nothing in between. No tremor of his lungs, no twitch in his bad knee, no rumble of his heartbeat. Even as the scalding water cascaded over his lips, eyes, and cheeks, he felt nothing. No prick in his eye to cry, as if he had already cried everything out and had nothing left to give.

There was nothing in this hospital room shower, just a shell of a man who wanted nothing more than to switch places with you.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Mess with her hair.”

The wrapping around your head was changed this morning, leaving more of your hair visible, and Jake was combing it with the shitty brush he bought down at the gift shop. “She always had a thing for her hair to be untangled. It bothered her a lot as a kid.” He set the brush down by your side, his fingers quickly remembering the braiding motion as he continued to speak softly, “Learned how to braid on her dolls so I could braid her hair for her. She didn’t like Mom or Dad doing it, only me.”

Simon rested his head on his arm again, watching the morning news. “Looks like shit.”

“I’m out of practice. Like you could do any better.”

“I have two daughters. I can do better.”

Jake could only half chuckle, almost lifeless. For a few moments, the only sounds were the breathing machine, the rustle of your hair, and footsteps approaching the door. Simon raised his head, watching over you like a hawk as the door creaked open; his hackles relaxed instantly as Winnie bounded in, followed by Price, who held Mellie. Simon was quick to sit back, allow his child to climb into his lap, and bury her face in his neck - he cradled Winnie close, kissing her hair and reclining back.

Her hair was in a messy ponytail, curls unruly and Simon felt acidic bile creep up his throat when she started crying.

She couldn’t say a word; neither could he, when he truly needed to. He needed to comfort his daughters, tell them that everything would be okay, that the doctors are taking care of Mama. He should be taking accountability with his children for failing to uphold his promises, yet, he kept his lips pressed to his eldest’s hair. His hand rubbed light circles on her shoulder blade, his eyes flickering to his brother-in-law and then his brother-in-arms. His infant was curled identically into Price’s chest, her little fists grabbing at the worn Metallica shirt, curls finger-brushed, onesie covered by a thick coat. Simon’s eyes fell back to you, the braid settled against your shoulder as Jake moved to the side, gently rubbing your bicep for a moment.

“You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to take care of her hair,” Jake mumbled. Simon didn’t miss the tears that rimmed the man’s eyes.

Simon didn’t make a sound, listening to his daughter’s sniffling as Price spoke, “She’s been taking care of everyone but herself, and we will keep taking care of her.”

Winnie whimpered; Simon kissed her hair again, keeping her close for as long as she’d let him.

12:39 am. Simon could barely make the time out from across the room. The heel of his hand rubbed into his eye, and he flipped up his phone, squinting to see the date. Four days. Four days since you were rushed here, four days since he hasn’t left you alone. A sigh settled deep in his bones as he let his phone fall, his tingling hand gently rubbing your forearm before he leaned up, wiping his face. He flicked the crust from his eye away, turning to look at you before laying his head down again.

His eyes fluttered closed, his stomach churning just a little before he settled again. His chest weighed like a bell, his heart laying limp in the comfort of his cushioning lungs, his mind wandering, pondering whether he would ever see your eyes again-

He sat up instantly; your eyes were staring at him, wide, almost painful. The look made his stomach roar, his hackles raised, eyebrow furrowed, eyes full of tears and concern.

“Sweetheart, it’s me, it’s okay-”

An alarm blared from your heart monitor, and the call button you rapidly pressed with your less injured hand. Simon’s heart clenched as your tears mirrored his, and the sound of you choking on the breathing tube made his stomach acid toss like salad dressing. He stood, and you flinched; he knew what was happening. He scrambled away, found the switch for the blinding overhead light, and flipped it before he moved to you again. The flood of tears in his eyes made it hard to see you recognize him, but you did. You reached for him as the door burst open - making you jerk again, a whine-like cry escaping your throat.

You thought he was Lloyd.

Simon couldn’t blame you. He spent years breaking mirrors because he looked like his father, his abuser.

He stumbled back, his wrist to his nose as nurses flooded your bedside, his eyes never leaving you. The nurse closest to him helped remove the breathing tube while the other injected something into your IV, and the last furiously typed on the computer. Simon could only keep himself a few steps away, listening to the sound of your whimpers and watching your weak attempts to move away from the help. His nails met his teeth, the quick already bloodied as he had chewed them down two nights ago. The emptiness in his chest had surged as if it was a flood, knocking his respiratory system around like a ping-pong ball against his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe, his heart felt as if it was beating so fast that it would catch fire, the tears leaking into his mouth were like acid.

Of course, you would think he’s Lloyd, the man humorlessly chuckling in his clouded head. Simon looked so much like him that they could be considered brothers, not father and son.

A deep part of him knew this would happen. The one thing Simon fought the hardest to protect was an easy domino to fall, the most direct way to get Simon’s attention, hit him where it could and would hurt the most. He’s kneeling and bleeding, his heart pouring blood as he has to watch his wife cry out when a nurse even grazes her skin.

Simon would be lying if he said he could handle this.

He doesn’t get frustrated with you when you turn your face a little to the left when he brings the spoon to your lips. He put it back into the ceramic bowl as he softly sighed to himself. You’ve barely eaten all morning since they took out the breathing tube, visiting hours are almost starting and Jake would be here, asking a million questions that Simon would need to answer. If the best you could do was five half spoonfuls of broth, it would have to do. He pushed the rolling table away, moving the blankets farther up on your abdomen and tucking it close to your body. Your gaze felt like knives on him, he was barely strong enough to look at your face when the profound sense of guilt only seemed to take his words. He refused to be upset with you when your hand touched his, even though he felt like he needed to rip his skin off.

Your thumb brushed over his bruised knuckles as he kept his hand settled on your hip, staring at the minute gesture that meant so much before, but now… felt bitter. Simon would have thrown up again, recognizing the way your comfort now felt painful.

“You gotta eat more later.” He mumbled, hunched over your bed, wanting to rip his hand from yours but also needing it to stay there. “You need to sleep too, you have to be tired- Ow!”

He looked up at your face, ignoring the dark bruise on your throat, to see just a little smirk. You had pinched his hand, and he furrowed his brows, confused.

“Was that funny?”

A tiny movement like a nod, and he huffed out a flat laugh. His free hand raised a little, in your vision, before slowly moving to settle on your face. He hovered his thumb along the bruise on your cheekbone, his fingers cradled your jaw like porcelain. Your head only moved into him, eyes never moving from him. He wasn’t sure you’d ever be able to look at him like Simon again, after your reaction a couple hours ago. He wouldn’t blame you at all if you couldn’t. He wouldn’t blame you if you left him after this, take the girls and move far, far away from him and everything that came with him - enemies, lies, pain. He wasn’t even sure how safe you were now and that killed him, destroyed his sense of safety and replaced it with so much fear.

“Mel…ody.”

Simon snapped back into reality where your eyes were narrowed slightly staring at him, and he instantly answered. “She’s safe. Just some bruising, she’s home with Jake and Price and Soap.”

Relief washed over your face, your head settled back on the pillow as your gaze finally moved to the ceiling. It’s at times like this where he wished he struggled to know what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. But, he could read you like an open book.

“You did good,” He spoke, your name escaping like the prayer he needed days ago, “Our baby is safe. Mellie’s okay.”

You pinched him again before you looked back at him, and he let his thumb lightly graze your bruise, you didn’t even flinch.

“New one’s okay too.”

A whine escaped your throat, tears instantly falling from your face as relief washed over it. He patted your hip.

“You did good, Mama. Did really fuckin’ good.”

[severinageto]

A terrible idea (or just things without context) — ONE SHOT

Satoru had a long, exhausting day. Boring meetings with the higher-ups, endless administrative work, and Panda, Maki, and Toge somehow more unbearable than usual. So when he got back to his apartment, he didn’t bother picking up a book or turning on any of his consoles. He just dropped himself onto one of his expensive sofas and, without even taking off his blindfold, closed his eyes.

His hair fell in shining waves, his skin smooth and pale like fine porcelain, his cheeks flushed, his sleepy cat-like eyes, and his slightly parted lips—all coming together in that same exquisite way Suguru always did. To top it off, with one finger resting on his lips and lying on his side on the bed, his eyes sparkled with that same look he used to give Satoru years ago, full of unspoken desires.

“Why don’t you lie down next to me, Satoru?”

Satoru knocked himself on the head a couple of times. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. You’ve taken so long. Weeks, months, years. I think it’s finally time, Satoru.”

Satoru looked out the window. None of this made any sense. He searched for something out of place, some sign of where he was, but his room looked exactly the same as always. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember how he’d ended up here.

“Time for what?”

Suguru sat up in bed, motioning for Satoru to come closer. Naturally, he did. Suguru cupped his face, kissed him softly on the lips, and, very slowly, whispered:

“To kill me.”

Suddenly, the room filled with a black haze, surrounding them both. Suguru began to laugh and rubbed his right arm as if it hurt.

“This is a dream,” Satoru murmured.

“Took you long enough to figure it out. Well…” Suguru started combing his hair with his fingers, and Satoru noticed them beginning to stain with blood. “…that’s my point. You’re always late.”

Satoru grunted. He knew what was coming, but, as always, he wanted to try probing his subconscious just a little further.

���Suguru, do you…do you want me to kill you?” he asked softly, in the gentlest way he could, given the nature of the question.

Suguru stopped laughing.

“I’m already dead, Satoru.”

Satoru shot up, his heart pounding intensely as the memory of the nightmare still lingered. His breathing was rapid, almost gasping, and he felt a few cold drops of sweat trickle down his forehead. For a few moments, he stared at the ceiling, as if that could somehow erase Suguru’s words from his mind. He could feel the weight of the anguish in his chest, the emptiness that vision left behind, but little by little, his breathing steadied. With a deep sigh, he got up from the sofa and walked to the kitchen. As he calmed down, he opened the fridge, grabbed a tub of ice cream and a can of Coke, then sat down again and started eating in silence.

Suddenly, an idea struck him like lightning. He picked up his phone and opened Instagram.

“Every time I dream about you, it’s because…” he murmured to himself, typing Suguru’s username. “…aha.”

A genuine smile spread across his face when he saw that, once again, Suguru had unblocked him.

What a terrible idea.

A moment earlier

Suguru was rubbing lotion onto his hands, taking his time, reflecting on his day.

Three exorcisms, two meetings with investors, and one interview. A pretty busy day, but they were all like that. The life of a leader wasn't easy-there were countless things that needed his attention, which kept him running around constantly. He didn't complain, but he was tired. Really tired.

Miguel and Larue noticed how his busy life was taking a toll on him, so they offered to take the twins on a weekend trip. At first, Suguru refused, saying he wasn't tired, that they were imagining things, that it wasn't necessary. But after the sorcerers listed some things he could do in peace-like taking a bubble bath, having a few glasses of wine, or watching a movie-he decided to go along with it.

Maybe it was exactly what he needed.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, smiled, and began combing his hair. It felt strange to have time for himself; he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed it.

"What can I do now?" he wondered aloud, inspecting his eyes up close. He grunted slightly, noticing his skin looked a bit dry.

"Right. Good idea, Suguru."

He went to the bathroom, applied a face mask, and set a twenty-minute timer on his phone. Then, he lay down on his bed.

"Just while it sets," he murmured, yawning loudly before closing his eyes.

Suddenly, he found himself in a store he hadn't visited in years-since his teenage days, to be exact. He felt thirsty, craving one of those sodas he used to get there all the time. He started looking for it in the coolers, but they weren't there. Instead, he found four doors, each in a different color: yellow, red, and blue. He clicked his tongue. He didn't want to go through any of them. He turned around to leave the store, but the place had turned into an ethereal force field.

"I hate these dreams!" he exclaimed as he turned back to face the doors. He examined them and, after a minute, figured out the obvious. He let out a deep sigh.

"It's not fair that you get two colors," he muttered, opening the blue door.

"It's not my fault," said Satoru, appearing through it. "You know that."

"What are you doing here?"

Satoru shrugged.

"It's your subconscious, bangs."

Suguru looked at him for a moment. The Satoru in his dream looked exactly as he had almost ten years ago. Slightly longer, fluffier hair, the school uniform, and his ever-present glasses. He laughed. He'd been thinking about his teenage years a lot lately, so this made sense.

"Why do you look like a kid?"

"'Like a kid?!"

Suguru burst out laughing.

"You know what I mean."

Satoru pulled a piece of candy from his pocket and began chewing it.

"I think it's because of the door color."

Suguru glanced at the doors again, then raised an eyebrow.

"Who's behind the yellow one?"

"You, if you hadn't killed all those people. Wanna see?"

Suguru scoffed, then shook his head.

"Not interested."

"You scared, bangs?"

Geto moved away from Satoru and stood beside the red door. He put his hand on the doorknob and smiled flirtatiously.

"I assume behind this one is you in that annoying mummy getup."

Satoru laughed and offered him another candy.

"You love it. Admit it."

"Uh-huh."

Gojo got close, their noses almost touching. Suguru swallowed. He knew this was a dream, but even so, he couldn't shake the guilt he felt getting aroused by a fifteen-year-old kid.

"You love all my versions," Satoru whispered, bringing his hand down toward Suguru's crotch.

"Okay, okay, if this is gonna be one of those dreams, I'll take the mummy!" Suguru blurted, moving away and cracking open the red door.

"Too late to change your mind," Satoru replied, looking over his glasses.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you open it, you get neither. Know why?"

Suguru sighed. He already knew the answer.

"Because blue and red make purple."

"Bingo! And what's behind the purple door?"

As soon as he said this, a fourth door appeared. Suguru's heart began to pound, a nearly paralyzing fear creeping over him.

"I don't know..."

"Nah, you know, Suguru."

Geto didn't answer. He backed away from Satoru, desperately searching for an escape.

"I want to wake up."

Satoru walked over, grabbed him by the neck, and pulled him toward the door.

"Open it first," he ordered.

"Let go of me, jerk!"

Gojo tightened his grip, and Suguru started to feel short of breath.

"We're in this fucking mess because of you, Suguru, so open it!"

Suguru shook his head, repeating over and over that he wanted to wake up. Satoru released him, only to grab him by the hair.

"WANT TO WAKE UP? OPEN IT!" He threw him against the door, and Suguru had no choice.

As he opened it, Satoru walked through, and the teenage version vanished.

Suguru, catching his breath, looked at this version of the albino with curiosity. It was the same Satoru he'd seen less than six months ago, but instead of his blindfold, he wore a black headband over his eyes.

"Suguru! Are you alright?" Gojo knelt down and hugged him, thin tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Suguru. Please, forgive me. I had no choice. You...you didn't leave me a choice."

Suguru didn't reply. He just clung to him, fear freezing him in place. He hated being there, hated how real it felt, and hated finding comfort in this Satoru-his executioner. Gojo stroked his hair, continuing to beg for forgiveness.

Fed up with being trapped in his own mind, Suguru broke free from Satoru's arms. He looked at him closely and saw, even under the thick headband, that Satoru's eyes were full of pleading.

"How... how can I ever escape you, Satoru?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Satoru slid the headband down to his neck, his tear-filled eyes locked on Suguru's.

"You can't."

Suguru woke up suddenly to the sound of his alarm, his heart pounding like he’d run a marathon. Quickly, he rushed to the bathroom, ripped off his mask, and his body doubled over, tense, as he vomited. Panting, he sat beside the toilet, waiting for his breathing to steady. His mind was blank, and all he knew was that he wanted to feel better and forget what he had dreamed. At that moment, he wasn’t asking life for anything more.

Suddenly, without knowing why, he reached for his phone. He opened Instagram, went to Satoru’s profile, and unblocked him.

“If I can’t beat you, then…” he murmured, pulling out another mask.

What a terrible idea.

A moment later

Satoru didn't wait even a second to message Suguru. He knew Suguru had unblocked him so he'd see his photos and stories, but more than anything, so he'd talk to him. This game was a familiar one for both of them.

You unblocked me, Geto-sama.

Suguru noticed his phone light up six minutes after unblocking him. Seeing Satoru's name and photo, the weight of that dream lifted, if only for a moment. He opened the chat and set a nine-minute timer. It seemed like a reasonable amount of time to leave him on read.

When Satoru saw his message had been read, he scoffed but felt his heart speed up. Even though he knew Suguru was doing it on purpose, a part of him feared he'd get blocked again before he even got a reply.

Once the timer went off, Suguru grinned.

Mischievously, he began typing nonsense in the message kithout sending it, just so Satoru would see the "typing" bubble for a few minutes. Occasionally, he'd stop, letting the bubble disappear, then start again-an orchestrated symphony to get on the albino's nerves.

Satoru, on the other end, had an unprecedented urge to wring his neck.

Suguru finally stopped typing. He waited a minute, sighed, and then picked up the phone again.

I suppose I did, Gojo Satoru.

—————-continues in https://archiveofourown.org/works/60470752

[msheadcannons]

languages

sydney lohmann x reader

you forgot to tell syd about the languages that you can speak

you’ve settled into bayern quite nicely. 

you’re able to make friends with many of the players, even the non-german ones. 

it helps that you are fluent in english, spanish, french, and german– which surprised many of your teammates.

sydney and you have hung out nearly everyday since you’ve moved to munich. 

morning coffee runs, lunch after training, concerts, movie showings, late-night cookings.

even though you're not german, your german fluency comes as a surprise to sydney since you've never spoken it with her before.

when you went to a resturant with sydney for the first time, the waitress seemed to prefer to speak in german. sydney was nervous, wondering if she would of had to translate your order back to the waitress. 

the waitress asked you, “and what can i get for you?” after sydney finished ordering.

speaking to the waitress in perfect german, sydney’s jaw dropped as your accent and grammar was perfect. 

“since when did you speak german?” sydney says with shock after the waitress walks away. 

“since two years ago, you’ve never bothered to speak to me in german syd.” you smirk. 

“yeah because sara never told me that you knew multiple languages?” sydney’s eyes raised in admiration. 

“my bad!” you smile. 

a month later after a champions league match against psg, you're speaking to sakina in french. 

you used to play with her at lyon, so the conversation flows naturally.

“how is you and what’s his face?” you laugh about forgetting about the guy's name as sakina’s jaw drops in shock. 

“ew don’t mention him!! nothing ever went anywhere and things ended almost three years ago.” sakina punched your shoulder gently as you hold onto her in laughter. 

sakina and selma were your closest friends when you first joined lyon in 2020. those two + ellie helped you a lot with your french. 

sakina moved away from lyon the season after you joined, and you guys forgot to keep in touch, so it shouldn’t be a shock that you didn’t know about her ex-talking stage ending that long ago.

most of the psg players understand the french exchange with sakina.

earlier during the match, things almost got heated between you and elisa, one of the psg players. this gave you deja-vu from when you played at lyon and went up against PSG. 

elisa gets into a disagreement with you over a foul. 

the exchange becomes heated until sydney steps in and breaks it up.

sydney, confused, asks what happened. you respond that elisa is being ridiculous, as she often is about fouls.

bayern defeats psg in the first group stage match, and later, in a match against madrid, sydney hears you speaking spanish with misa, madrid's goalkeeper.

sydney is surprised to learn that not only do you speak spanish fluently, but that you and misa are friends, which she never knew.

sydney starts to realize that you have friends on nearly every team you play against.

sydney has been trying to learn spanish with guzman's help, but seeing your fluency, she knows she can find another teacher in you.

“you speak spanish too?” sydney speaks to you in spanish, after you walked away from misa. 

“yes, i do love.” you smirk. 

[sunglassesmish]

It just really seems weird to me that journalists and such (like max gao) are telling us to get over it and move on when… it just happened? We’re not allowed to be upset by tv shows anymore? They wrote a whole episode just to make the breakup hurt more but we’re not allowed to express our hurt?

And these people said nothing when Lou was being harassed endlessly? Or when previously love interests were being harassed? That doesn’t need to be discussed or stopped, but asking questions about a confusing and poorly written break up and being upset about the dismissiveness in interviews afterward is wrong? This is all so weird to me!

i mean first of all, people like him are happy it’s over, they’re happy lou and tommy and bucktommy is gone now. they don’t care what people who actually liked the ship think. imo they likely think people like us ruined the fandom somehow.

it is so funny (not funny haha funny weird) how they can let months and months of constant harassment towards lou and bucktommy go by but as soon as people question oliver for a second it’s like GUYS STOP LEAVE HIM ALONE LOU AND BUCKTOMMY IS GONE SO DEAL WITH IT.

i’m sure there are people who are saying crazy stuff about oliver, and that absolutely should not be happening, but just the way that it’s been happening to that actor (as max likes to call him) for months, yet they stayed silent until now. and the previous love interests were all treated the same, did oliver or anyone stand up for them?

and it’s not like lou isn’t still being attacked, just a few hours ago i saw a reply lizzie responded to ‘omg these people are horrible’ to which lizzie said ‘yeah nobody, like ME or lou even i guess should get death threats and be treated like this’ only for someone to reply with a screenshot of the person she was replying to fullying @ing lou saying ‘your father never loved and you don’t deserve any good things’ quite literally 2 days ago. the hypocrisy and stupidity is WILD.

[mariistaa24]

oh lord they make me ill (don't mind bill he's just being silly) ALSO 2 POSTS IN 1 DAY??? saturdays are awesome man BTW THE @ IN THE DRAWING IS MY TWITTER!!!! side note anyone who unironically calls twitter X dni /j -- LORE -- fiddleford and emma-may were arranged years ago and have lived together in a lavender marriage. they are on good terms. stan is bisexual and ford is gay. fiddleford went up to gravity falls where he and ford fell in love and happily worked on the portal together. however, ford's growing obsession with bill and violent tendencies whenever he was posessed put a heavy strain on their relationship. eventually, after the whole portal incident with fiddleford, they got into a huge fight and fell out. fiddleford is too ashamed to go back to his wife and son empty handed because he was the breadmaker and emma-may was probably struggling financially without him around. (they both work btw it's just that fidds makes more money) so he began to keep a journal /j traumatized from what he saw in the portal he invented the memory gun, which, while succeeding in erasing his memory of the event, also caused him to completely forget the fallout. he wandered back to ford's house thinking nothing happened and met stan, initially very confused as to why and how ford had magically sprouted a mullet and was dressed like a hobo. obviously they clear things up and stan explains what happened to ford. fiddleford, having forgot all the awful things ford did to him, is still totally head over heels and is devastated hearing that he's gone. over the course of a few months or so, stan falls in love with fiddleford, and is way more guilty about it than ford was (because stan has a way bigger appreciation for family and feels awful being a homewrecker and ALSO this is his first time falling in love with a man so that's a whole other story with his upbringing and morals being questioned blah blah blah). fiddleford on the other hand is grieving the loss of his bf HARD. and it's even worse having to see his face every day but none of the things that truly made him him. but when stan finally told fiddleford how he felt...? god, he couldn't tell you what came over him. fiddleford could have sworn it was just like the first time he and ford had kissed. he was left panting, gasping for air while the latter gently caressed his face with broad, calloused hands. he felt guilty, telling stan he felt the same when his heart was still so set on his twin, but... he'd never know, right? wrong. stan was a con man. of course he could sniff out lies like a dog. and the worst part? he couldn't even blame fiddleford. after all, his brother was the better twin. he was smarter, more successful, and loved more than he could imagine. he was just a dumb, good-for-nothing loser. that was fine. it was a truth he'd come to terms with a long, long time ago. but through it all, he couldn't stop the tears that pricked his eyes while they shared that kiss. and he swallowed the words that tried to bubble up as he pulled away. "i know who you pretend i am."

[hetfieldlovebot]

JAMES FUCKING READER WHO IS DAVE’S GIRLFRIEND AFTER KICKING HIM OUT OF THE BAND (sorry dave 😭)

YOU ARE SICK AND TWISTED AND I LOVE IT

i did a drabble on this before but it was never public so using some stuff from that hehehe (80s jamey obviously)

hetfield x afab reader

part 1(?)

cw: smut, pre established story, cheating, fingering, light degrading, praise, sneaking in

_________

you and James had been messing around for months, despite your terrible guilt youcouldn’t resist James, it had all started months ago when you were at a party hosted at Metallica’s shoddy little group house they shared. you were quite tipsy, Dave had filtered off somewhere and passed out while talking to Lars, James had sat down on the couch next to you and offered you a cigarette which you graciously took.

you really did care for Dave but as of recent you couldn’t take his behaviour, that night they had argued and Dave’s hotheaded temper left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you promised Cliff at least you’d be at that party. A few drinks and a couple cigarettes later, you and James were feverishly making out on the couch and getting a little too handsy in the absence of everyone else, the two of you had connected as friends but it all devolved with the drinking and talking.

the next morning you swore to yourself you’d never let it happen again. but a sobering fact was thrown in your face, Dave was kicked out of the band, suddenly he was on you like a fly on shit being so clingy. you felt awful, you were planning to break up with him because of last night’s events left you considering your relationship and the passion you were missing but Dave was such a sweet guy, you couldn’t do it. the guilt was immense but you couldn’t add to that right now, it’d be so cruel.

that never stopped James, for the next few weeks the cocky bastard would sneak into you place, climb through you bedroom window, sometimes even when Dave was there, he’d find a way to get to you.

this particular evening you were laid on your stomach on your shared bed in the home you shared with Dave, kicking your feet idly, studying for a course you were taking, the air was nice and breezy, the window wide open on that particular summer evening. it was around 7pm and the sun showed no signs of setting, casting a warm glow all across the house through the windows. you were twirling and fidgeting with your hair as he was reading, humming lightly to a Metallica song (yikes) as you read your textbook, your mind just absorbing as much information as possible and getting so lost in it you didn’t even hear the sound outside the window fully. you assumed it was Dave who was downstairs playing guitar and shrugged it off, your mind drifting off to James for a second and you felt your whole body fill up with adrenaline, lust, excitement and heavy guilt all at the same time. A confusing mix that left you breathless, always.

and when James was around? you were practically a brainless and needy mess even if you would repeat over and over again how they couldn’t, how violently wrong it was, how they couldn’t do this, James would always get you in the end.

the two of you hadn’t gone the full way yet but something in James’ brain knew that you wouldn’t be able to resist him much longer. he could tell you felt so giddy whenever you thought about James, he’d seen it in passing before he’d crawl through your window most nights, the way your eyes would light up randomly whenever his songs came on or you discovered something he’d left subtly to mark his territory as - that’s what he considered it as.

he was your secret, your horrible, awful….dirty, exciting, secret and you had absolutely no idea James was currently climbing up to and slipping through his window for the umpteenth time these past few weeks, approaching you from behind sneakily to get you spooked.

It wasn’t until you felt cold hands brace the bottom of your back, curling around your hips that you squealed, that was until a large hand came around to cover your mouth.

“miss me, baby?”

he cooed quietly, a shit eating grin on his face as he met your eyes in the mirror by your bed, chuckling softly as your body relaxed, he took those few seconds to flip your body to face him, your legs dangling off the edge of the bed as he leaned over you.

“James! you scared this shit out of me! you can’t be here!”

you’d protest, as usual, and as usual it would fall on deaf ears. his hands were already working away, tugging your shirt up and pulling your shorts down.

“don’t lie, sweetheart, you missed me so much, look at you…already soaking…mm, Dave really has to up his game before i steal you away for myself, huh?”

he purred in your ear, condescending as usual but he knew you liked it, being belittled and praised all at the same time. the power he had over you made him dizzy, made him crave this over any other random hookup he could get, obvious in the way he touched you with outright desperation, eager fingers delving into your panties and right over your clit in torturous circles.

“s-stop! stop, Jamey, we can’t! he’s downstairs! i told you not to come here anymore…I-…”

the moan that escaped your lips was even more desperate than his frantic touch, you knew in that moment that you’d given as much away, and judging by the sly grin on his face and the small tilt of his head, you were in for it.

“oh? did you say something, darling? i can’t quite hear you over those needy moans of yours.”

you tried to protest again, honestly you did, but before you could even make a sound, his fingers slipped in and curled right up to that sweet spot that had you trembling.

“you were saying?”

he teased, pumping his fingers slowly, just enough to have you whimpering which was quickly silenced by his lips, crashing against yours in a frenzy, a deep sigh of satisfaction escaping him as you let him in once more, tongues exploring. he’d been waiting for this all fucking day, between long hours at practice and droning conversations with managers and people who thought they knew better than him, relief teetered right on the edge and he intended to take it.

“what? can’t speak all of a sudden?”

you hated how he got to you like this, but you nodded in agreement anyways, it was agony, pure sweet agony,. he kept hitting the right spot each time, every pump his pace picked up, the whimpers and moans escaping your muffled mouth were filthy and he loved it, his hand over your lips adding to the taboo of the whole ordeal and as much as it was awful, it was intoxicating and it got you off like nothing else. soon enough that familiar feeling was brewing, taut in your belly like a string about to snap, your eyes met him in a silent beg.

he grinned once more, that familiar smile that he knew you hated because it always signalled mischief, he pulled his fingers out right when you needed them the most, leaving you looking dumbfounded and pathetic. tonight was the night, the night he would truly have you, he cupped your face and leaned in for a surprisingly gentle kiss, leaving the both of you dizzy and flushed, he nipped on your lower lip before pulling back and whispering.

“spread your legs, sweetheart, i’ve got plans for you, can you be a good little slut and take it?”

[katiascraft]

BLOG MASTERLIST

works by cate :) hope you like it 💌 feedback is always welcome.

FORMULA 1

Charles Leclerc

“Am i too much for you? Maybe I’m too much for everyone” -> Reader feels insecure but Charles makes sure she knows how important she is to the world (specially his world).

“Tender is the night for a broken heart” -> You been feeling very sad lately. Your emotional stress is taking you places you didn’t want to back in ever again. And Charles knows it - just wanna make sure you know you are loved despite it all.

“You think you won ‘cause you got the man. But honey, you’ll always be a fan” -> Charles has a new girl and she’s obsessed with you.

Lando Norris

part 1: “opposite”, part 2: “sue me” -> Reader and Lando broke up a few months ago. You both assist a mutual friend’s birthday party and Lando has a new girl. Then reader has a girlfriend and thinks she’s all right. But did she really move on?

part 1: “so long, London”, part 2: “L’AMOUR DE MA VIE” -> You and Lando have been engaged for a while. You thought you were end game but he didn’t love you anymore. Then, you moved on. But Lando didn’t.

“If you were my boyfriend. And I was your girlfriend. Probably wouldn’t see nobody else” -> you are just ‘friends’.

“If nothing else get you through. Then darling, I’ll cry with you” -> Lando was fighting the championship until the Brazil GP happens. Max wins and Lando pretends it’s not a big deal. But you know, it is.

Oscar Piastri

“I’ll pay the price I guess” -> the world hates you’re dating Oscar.

“This is how you fall in love” -> Oscar is truly, madly, deeply in love with you.

Franco Colapinto

“But we were something, don’t you think so? And if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you” -> You and franco broke out a year ago. You are now Williams Racing social media manager and he’s an F1 driver. Your job just got a bit harder because of him. Is possible a second chance?

Lewis Hamilton

“Can’t believe you’ve noticed me” -> Reader and Leiws are on vacation. One day under the golden hour he decides to sing you a song he wrote for you.

Made in Argentina : The series

Reader is argentine and Franco Colapinto's bestie.

Lando’s Version -> part 1

Oscar’s version -> part 1

Franco Colapinto

coming soon.

Like , reblog & comment if you like! Support your fave writers!

[smiley-mcdoggington]

FIRST POST YAY YAY YAY (tw: smut, stancest, dubcon, beware!)

Unicorns were, by far, the most irritating creatures Ford has ever come to know of all the anomalies of Gravity Falls. The amount of trouble it took to sedate that unicorn made Ford want to grab fistfuls of his own hair were they not already filled with the holographic strands from said unicorn. It had taken all day, but it would be worth it - once his house was Bill-proof, it would be worth it.

He fumbled with the frozen doorknob before shouldering into the house with a loud noise. “Stanley! I'm back!” He called, kicking the snow off his boots and reaching for the lightswitch.

There was a takeout menu taped over the thing. Ford rolled his eyes. Of course Stanley couldn't make the trip to the grove on his broken leg but he could snoop around to beg for food.

He tugged the paper from the wall - but then his eyes caught the stocky writing on the back.

‘I'm sorry, Sixer. You can put me in a home or something when it's over, I know I shouldn't have done this without saying but it's the only way to protect you from him forever, this way you don't have to worry so much. Please take care of yourself. -Stanley’

Ford struggled to fit the pieces together. He looked further into his dark home. “Stanley?!” He called again.

He strained his ears, but he couldn't hear any sort of response.

He flicked on the lights, reading over the note again, and making his way deeper in.

“Hello?!” He practically shouted up the stairs.

He almost thought he didn't get a response - then he heard a very faint “Hello..?” from his brother. Ford’s shoulders dropped with relief.

He stormed up the stairs. “Stanley, what is the meaning of this note? Is this about Bill? I told you what the unicorn hair was for--” He found his brother sat on the floor or his bedroom wearing Ford’s favorite trench coat that had gone missing that morning.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Ford asked.

“My leg hurts.” Stanley said astutely, and Ford eyed the leg that Stanley had taken out of its boot.

“Yes, that tends to happen when a leg is broken. Why did you take your boot off?”

Stanley looked dumbfounded. “My leg’s broken?” He asked.

Ford started walking closer when his foot met something. He looked down and saw the memory gun.

He picked it up, and saw the setting entered.

‘Stanley Pines’

He looked back at his brother - who’d cut his hair, was wearing his glasses and his clothes, and was staring uncomprehendingly up at him.

“Stanley, what did you do..?” He asked faintly. Of course he had theorized - but it was just that, a theory, one only meant to be proven when all other options ran out.

His brother had a confused frown. “I'm Stanley?”

Ford’s hands shook where they held the gun - the one Stanley pointed at his own head. He threw it across the room, getting to his knees in front of his brother. “Yes. Stanley, what do you remember? Do you remember making a deal? Anything?”

Stanley leaned away from him. “Uh. Sorry, man - I don't, uh. Do I know you?”

“You do.” He said immediately. “Stanley, you know me, it's Stanford - you know me--” He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, the same way he had done two days ago, but instead of him calming down he just seemed more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Stan, doesn't ring a bell.”

“I'm not Stan, you're Stan and I'm Ford.” He corrected immediately.

“Yikes, that's gotta be confusing. So Ford, would you tell me where the hell I am?”

He genuinely didn't remember. Ford felt sick.

‘You can put me in a home or something when it's over,’ Stanley had said in the note he left. He knew what he was doing to himself. Why would he--

Ford got to his feet, storming out of the room and down the stairs, down to the basement - the second floor of the basement, the floor he’d been avoiding for months. He grabbed the lighter from his pocket and started lighting dusty candles.

He sat himself in the middle of the circle, anxiety overwrought with anger. He recited the incantation he knew by heart and forced his mind to open.

But nothing happened.

He tried again.

Nothing.

He looked up at the ceiling. “Bill!” He yelled into the air. “I've come to make a deal!” He lied, but nothing happened. There was no possible way Bill would pass a declaration like that up - just like Stanley said, Bill was getting desperate, he wouldn't pass up a chance for Ford to let him in his head.

Stanley was dressed up like Ford. Stanley knew how desperate Bill was, knew he would shake hands with Ford no questions asked if he thought Ford offered up his mind.

He ran out of the room, back up the stairs so quickly he ran out of breath. When he got back to the second floor and his brother was face-down on the floor. “Stanley?!” He was over immediately, a hand on his neck looking for a pulse.

Stan smacked his hand away with an annoyed huff, sitting himself back up on his own. “Hey, Phil - thought you left.”

“Ford. What were you doing, Stanley?”

“My leg’s broken.” Stanley said in explanation. “I was thinkin’ of driving myself to the hospital.”

“You could have called me!” Ford argued.

“I did! I thought you left and I wasn't gonna keep on yowling for help like some sick cat, now are you gonna drive me to a hospital or am I gonna drive me to a hospital?”

“Drive myself - grammar.” He corrected, and Stanley gave him a blank look as if unaffected by their usual topic of bickering. “Just - let me help you up.”

Ford hefted Stan's thicker arm over his shoulder and hoisted him to his feet - mostly his left foot, his right dragging behind them as they started walking.

“Hey, uh. Buddy. Stairs are that way. This ain't the first floor.”

Ford wanted to drop him, frankly. Stan again forgetting his name made him perhaps a little too angry. “Wise deduction, but you came from that way - and you walked into my room with a boot on. A cast, too, but I don't want to see what chewed-up mess you made of that. I'm assuming you hid it there.” He said, lining up the back of Stan's knees with his bed and dropping him. Stan didn't make a sound, but the short drop made his eyes wide - still afraid of heights? Or something else?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Stanley was blinking up at him with eyes that still didn't quite recognize him. Ford kind of wanted to punch him. Or the wall. Or Bill when he got back.

He busied himself with scanning the room - everything had a fine layer of dust, his bedroom hadn't been used quite possibly since the day he made that deal with Bill to increase time spent on the portal past all of his waking hours. He had most of his wardrobe in the basement, and needed nothing comfortable to catch him when he passed out.

He opened the closet door of his room - filled with summer attire for all the good it did him in February. At the bottom was the plastic boot the hospital had given Stanley, and just as he suspected the torn up remains of his cast, still with a pair of bent kitchen scissors lodged into the thick material.

A new cast would be easy to make, but the boot would help as a guideline. He didn't want to go to the hospital with Stanley again - not after the looks the staff gave him every time previous.

He grabbed it and headed downstairs again, already logging what he would need. Fiberglass, cotton, calcined gypsum, calcium sulfate, polyurethane, bandages - he was sure he had more than enough lying around for something as simple as a cast.

He started nosing through the clutter in his house, picking up everything he needed and putting it in an old grocery bag he found to take upstairs.

Once he was satisfied with his haul, he went back upstairs. He checked back in his room and Stanley was right where he left him.

Stan was also looking at the bag like it was his saving grace, then back up at Ford with a determined set of his shoulders. Ford ignored it, going over to the bed and dropping the grocery bag next to the cluttered nightstand

Stan was looking at him still - scanning him. Ford had no idea what his brother could be thinking until he opened his mouth. “Can't get on my knees that well with the leg, John.”

Ford’s mood soured. “Ford. It's Ford, you don't even have to remember two syllables, Stanley.” He snapped, but Stanley just tilted his head down like a scolded dog.

“Sorry, Ford - I'll call ya what you want.” He said, once again eyeing the bag for a second too long to be inconspicuous.

Ford sighed. “It doesn't matter - will you just - just sit there? Sit still?”

“Yes, sir.” Stan said, and then dropped into his back, completely ignoring what Ford just said, but Ford was still reeling from the use of “sir” by his twin brother. Ford didn't look nearly that old - or maybe he did, he had broken all the mirrors weeks ago - but Stanley was the same age as him, regardless!

Finally collected on why this offended him, he turned to look at Stanley again but then lost his train of thought.

Stanley was looking at him. He had taken his glasses off and was staring down at him expectantly over his own chest - was his back arched? Ford opened his mouth and Stanley’s legs visibly inched apart.

“... Stanley?”

“Yes, sir?” The title again - but now in a vastly different context. Why the hell was Stan looking at him like that? Sounding like that? Acting like that?

“What?” Ford said in summary of all his questions.

Stan tilted his head coyly. “Just doin’ what you want, sir.” His eyes flicked to Ford’s bag of supplies and then back. “Bag like that of food ain't cheap. Lemme make it worth your while?” He purred, and Ford’s usual urge to correct him didn't even notice that Stan thought his cast supplies were normal groceries.

Why was the thought of a bag of food making Stan act like a cat in heat? Was his brain damaged with the memory gun or is this such a frequent occurrence even the memory wipe couldn't rid him of it? Ford wondered just how many times Stan had looked at a stranger the way he was looking at him right now. Was he even clean?

Disgust and guilt and something else rolled in his gut - was this a con? Had Stanley still not put together that they're brothers? Would he still be lying on the bed that nicely if he did?

Stan's arms itched upwards and the sides of his knees couldn't go any farther apart from where they hung over the bed - that must hurt, with the leg. Stan didn't react to that, though, instead staring intently down at something while his fingers slowly dug into the dusty sheets.

Ford looked down as well.

Oh.

Ford cleared his throat awkwardly, tugging the front of his shirt down. Stan was looking up at him again, an easy smile on his lips. “You gonna just look at me? You can do whatever you want, s--”

“Sixer.” He corrected, his voice sounding off in his own ears. “You'll call me Sixer.” He said with more confidence than his sweaty palms suggested. He vaguely justified the change in his head while he watched Stan's fingers drag along the sheets.

Stanley, again unaffected by being corrected, leaned up on his elbows. “Alright, Sixer. You want me on my back?” He was scanning Ford again. Ford began answering when Stanley added another question. “... You want me to start by myself--?”

“Yes.” He said in response to the first question, because rolling over might shift the bones in his leg, and then felt shame burn in his throat when he registered the second. He moved to correct himself but Stan moved quicker.

He was undoing the buttons of Ford’s trench coat that Ford had yet to make him take off. His fingers sliding over the large brown buttons with ease, revealing more of the collared shirt he had seen just peeking over it.

It was no wonder he had closed the jacket Ford normally left open - the button-down was also Ford’s, and it looked it, stretched over Stan's larger frame. Ford’s eyes drank up the peeks of skin between buttons where fabric had bowed out, the buttons straining to keep from either undoing themselves or ripping from the their threads entirely. Dark hair wiry and obvious with the white background.

Stan shucked the trenchcoat, leaving it under him while he went for the smaller buttons of his shirt - Ford’s shirt that he had probably stretched beyond recovery. The long sleeves were like a second skin on Stan's forearms as his hands went deftly over the top button.

The button over Stan's pecks, the one most strained, popped open before Stan could even touch it, and Stanley’s breath hitched. He was staring right at him. “Sixer?” Stan asked, still releasing the buttons from their strain. Ford waited for Stanley to say anything else, breath shallow and eyes watching Stanley’s fingers.

“Sixer, come on.” He said, it sounded almost like a whine, like a twisted mimicry of when Stan would tell him to keep up as children running across the sand. Ford’s mouth went dry. Then he felt the warmth of Stan's wrists under his palms as he yanked his hands off that godforsaken button-down. Ford froze like a deer in the headlights when he realized what he’d done, but Stan was looking up at him like he was fucking smug about it.

Ford grabbed him by the back of his roughly chopped hair and dragged him into a kiss that was mostly teeth. Ford bit Stan's lower lip and Stan huffed a laugh like he had won, somehow. Perhaps he had, now that Ford was indulging in this - this incest.

He broke the kiss, going down to undo the last stubborn button and get the shirt off.

“Fuck you've got big hands…” Stanley huffed in almost a whisper, and really? That was Stanley’s candid reaction to the extra digits? Ford almost wanted to cry, instead he went back to kissing Stan like his life depended on it while his hands ran over his arms to get his sleeves off. Stan started pawing at Ford’s own button-down, but Ford just pulled it over his head easily - he had lost a few pounds before Stan got there.

Stan didn't seem to mind at all, hands running down his sides and leaving goosebumps. The distraction let Stan push forward in the kiss, technique much different - better. One of Stanley’s hands started itching down the front of his pants and Ford made an embarrassing noise that had him freezing up.

Stanley stopped, breaking away to get a look at Ford, but Ford just grabbed his wrists again and pushed them into the bed. “No touching.” He said, trying to sound authoritative instead of like someone liable to come in his pants at some heavy petting.

Stanley obediently kept his hands where they were when Ford let go, leaning down to meet Stanley again. Ford tried to copy what Stan was doing earlier, and Stan hummed in his mouth.

Ford slowly moved down to Stan's pants - still his, it seems he didn't even attempt to squeeze into Ford’s stiff slacks. Or maybe he did and hid the ripped remains somewhere. He undid the fly and button and Stan groaned. Ford, spurred on by the noise, started pulling down his pants and underwear at once.

Stan chuckled in his mouth - voice low and harsh and scratching at Ford’s brain. “You wanna stretch me or you wanna watch?” He asked, nose running by Ford’s cheekbone.

“Watch.” Ford said. It was only smart, he had never done something like that before, all of his college trysts were with women. Stan scooted backwards on the bed - barely wincing when his leg shifted. He looked Ford in the eyes and started laving three of his fingers in saliva for a second, before pulling away, a string connecting them to his lips for a moment as he reached down, passing his erection and going further.

Ford watched Stan shove two in immediately - really, how experienced was he? He started pushing them deeper and then back out. Ford watched him work himself open, want making his stomach ache. He reached down and started palming himself, and Stanley groaned again. Ford’s eyes snapped up to his face.

“Sixer? Six - get - lemme see? I wanna see.” He was looking directly at Ford’s crotch, fingers slow and making faint wet noises.

Ford hesitated - one of Bill's many efforts to demonstrate his lack of bodily autonomy was to go to a tattoo and piercing parlor and get what he thought would shame Ford as much as possible - publicly and privately.

“Sixerrrr…” Stan's voice dragged, his hands moving faster - three fingers, now. “Please - God - please lemme see, jus - please, Six I just wanna see…”

Ford undid the front of his pants like they were on fire, and Stan's hand in himself slowed to a crawl. Ford swallowed thickly, pulling himself out of his underwear.

The small barbell glinted off the light. Stan made a breathy sort of whine as his hand sped up again. “Please.” Stan said, more easily than he had ever begged for anything. “Wan’ it - Sixer, Sixer - Shit--” Ford grabbed the hand Stanley had half-buried in himself and pulled it out. His hole was red - open and flexing to the beat of Stan's panting. Ford lined himself up. “Wai - wait.” Stan licked his own hand, the one he just had in his asshole, and then reached down. He ran his five-fingered hand up and down Ford’s length twice and Ford moaned. Stan squeezed his base to keep him from shooting off early and Ford’s cheeks burned.

Stan was looking up at him like he was gorgeous, though. “You good?” He asked gruffly, and Ford nodded.

Stanley leaned back again, resting on his elbows and bending his unbroken leg up. Ford lined himself up again and slowly pushed in.

Stanley was hot - he was saying something, but Ford didn't recognize what. He was so hot - his muscles spasming around Ford and Ford had to grab his base again, whimpering as his orgasm failed again.

Stan started thrusting down onto him - fucking himself, shit - and Ford started tentatively following, slowly releasing the pressure from his hand.

“Shit, Six - Sixer. You gotta move, you - you're killing me here.” Stan whined, back arched, and hands gripping the sheets. “Please.” He begged, and Ford drew his hips back and slammed them forward.

Stan moaned. “Tha - Fuck - That's it, Six - Jus’ like that--” Ford started thrusting in earnest, Stan making these huffing noises to the pace of it. Then Ford’s unfortunate piercing caught something on the drag out and Stan's gasp hitched. He groaned obscenely. “The - their - right there sweetheart - Sixer - Fuck!” Ford’s mind pulled up a diagram of male genitalia - specifically the location of the prostate. Should be…

“FUCK--” Stan sobbed. “Please please Sixer Sixer Sixer F-Ford--”

Ford’s body was overtaken by static, spine curling forward until his nose was buried in Stan's chest hair while his spend flooded his brother. Hands started carding through his hair while he trembled and groaned, he felt himself slowly relaxing into the big arms around him and the soup of endorphins in his head.

The last thing he thought before his mind drifted away was that he could have sworn he was supposed to be staying awake.