#this reply is me Trying to Write after a while of Not Writing

[smutmind]

hi may i request park myung soo x winter where winter have no choice but to get fuck by him because he is a senior in the industry or something please,,

Glass Doll ft. Winter

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I'll just do something close to what you want. I don't want to fantisize about Myung Soo so I won't write him :D If that's your kink feel free to just replace the MC with his image inside your own head.

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tags: PowerPlay, OlderManYoungerWoman, CastingCouch, IdolTraining, ReluctantConsent, KpopErotica, DaddyDom, PublicSuccessPrivateSubmission, SugarBabyFantasy, EmotionalManipulation, ForcedObedience, OralWorship, FacialFinish, HotelRoomSex, ControlAndCorruption, PredatorAndPrey, SilentSubmission, CorruptedInnocence, FakeMoansRealControl, CelebrityDomination.

The studio lights sparkled like frost over a field of clapping hands.

Winter bowed with a practiced blush. Her lips curled, soft and sweet, and the pale bow in her hair trembled every time she turned her head.

The variety show throbbed with bright energy. Hosts laughed, sound effects chimed, and applause hit on cue. She was the shiny new toy—bubbly, pink, perfectly palatable.

“Winter! Can you show us your aegyo face one more time?”

Her hands formed fists under her chin. She tilted her head and squeaked, “Oppa~!”

Laughter and coos exploded around her. One of the older cameramen audibly sighed.

The lead host, Mr. Jang, leaned closer on the couch. “You’re going to melt a thousand hearts like that,” he said with a grin that never touched his eyes.

Winter laughed, cheeks pinker now. “I’m trying my best, sunbaenim.”

He nodded, eyes fixed on her lips as she spoke. “I can tell.”

They moved into the next segment. She juggled tangerines blindfolded. She sang one line from a children’s song in a chipmunk voice. She coughed through a bite of too-spicy pickled squid while the audience howled with delight.

Mr. Jang never left her side.

“Brave girl,” he murmured once, brushing her shoulder when the cameras weren’t looking. “That’ll take you far.”

Winter blinked, lips frozen in a half-smile.

After the final take, the lights faded into warm tones. The crowd exited. The cast huddled together for a group selfie.

“Come here,” Mr. Jang said, gesturing.

Winter stepped into place.

His hand slid around her waist—low, too low. She froze.

“Smile,” he said, lifting his phone.

She leaned in, forced her lips into something soft and grateful.

Then she felt it.

His hips pressed against her ass. Firm. Intentional.

Hard.

The shutter clicked. Again. Again.

Winter didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Good job today,” he whispered, lips near her ear. “Come see me after we close. Just a quick chat.”

The lights dimmed further. The chatter grew distant.

Winter stepped away, her smile still fixed like a ribbon that couldn’t come undone.

She knew that tone.

And she knew exactly what it meant.

The dressing room pulsed with a quiet hum, warm with overhead light and the scent of wine and cologne.

Winter perched on the edge of a velvet-lined couch, spine straight, palms resting flat on her thighs.

Mr. Jang sipped from his glass, leaned against the vanity like he owned not just the room, but the air inside it.

“You were sharp today,” he said, swirling the dark red liquid. “No fumbles. Even your mistakes looked cute.”

“Thank you, sunbaenim,” she replied, eyes lowered.

He moved slowly. Not pacing—circling. Each step padded, deliberate, like a man studying a rare bird that had landed too close.

“You know, girls like you don’t come around often. Bright. Polished. Willing.”

She blinked. “Willing?”

“To learn,” he said, with a smile that didn’t correct the undertone.

He stood behind her now. She didn’t turn.

“Do you know how many names I helped build?” His voice dropped lower. “IU. Taeyeon. Son Ye-jin.”

Winter’s heart ticked faster.

He walked again, slow orbit around her still body. “They were like you once. Soft-spoken. Curious. Eager to earn their spot.”

Her eyes flicked to the table—his watch, a second glass, a room key.

“They came through this show and left as women who knew exactly how the world works.”

Winter lifted her gaze, carefully. “I want to grow too.”

He smiled, pleased. “That’s good.”

He crouched beside her, too close, elbow on his knee. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You have the face of a doll,” he murmured. “But I bet there’s something sharp under all that lace.”

Winter didn’t respond.

“Tell me,” he said. “Do you want to be remembered like them? Immortal?”

Her throat felt tight. “Yes.”

He rose to his full height.

“Then show me you understand.”

He turned to the counter, poured a second glass, and placed it gently on the table in front of her.

The wine shimmered dark as blood under the low light.

“One sip,” he said. “That’s all. If you’re not ready, leave it full.”

Winter stared at it.

The silence held like a held breath.

She reached out with slow fingers, lifted the glass.

And drank.

The wine was warm, velvet on her tongue, thick with something unspoken.

Winter set the glass down with both hands, the stem clicking softly against the table. Her face was blank.

Mr. Jang watched her closely—more like a collector than a man.

“You just made a choice,” he said quietly.

Winter didn’t speak.

He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a single keycard—gold-edged, sleek, with the discreet logo of a luxury hotel stamped in black.

He placed it gently beside the wineglass. “The Ritz. Floor twenty-three.”

She stared at it.

“Come tonight. No need to knock. I’ll be waiting.”

He stepped closer, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His breath was warm, faintly sour with red wine.

“And wear that tank top from your MV,” he added. “The pale blue one. With the string straps.”

Winter looked up, slow. “You remember that?”

He smiled. “I remember everything I want to fuck.”

Her breath hitched—almost imperceptibly.

He stepped back, cool again. “Midnight. Don’t be late.”

Then he left her alone with the key, the empty wineglass, and the weight of what she'd just agreed to.

The hallway carpet muffled her steps.

Winter stood in front of suite 2423, pale blue straps clinging to her shoulders. The tank top clung like second skin. No bra. No sleeves. Her jeans were low on her hips, makeup soft but deliberate.

She knocked once.

The door opened immediately.

Mr. Jang was in a black robe, loosely tied. Bare chest underneath. His eyes traveled the length of her without shame.

He smiled. “Exactly like the video. You look incredible.”

She stepped inside. The room was hushed and warm, dim lights glowing from wall sconces. A single bottle of wine rested in a bucket of ice.

“I knew you’d come,” he said, closing the door.

Winter didn’t answer. She stood in the entryway, eyes low, hands at her sides.

He circled her once, slow. Like a buyer appraising silk.

“You’re smart,” he said. “You understand things most girls don’t. How to move. How to read a man. How to survive.”

She turned toward him. Her lips barely moved. “I want to do well.”

He raised a brow. “And you will.”

He stepped back toward the plush couch, sat down, legs spread under the robe. One hand rested on his thigh.

“I think you already know how to do it,” he murmured.

Winter walked toward him, knees brushing the rug. She sank slowly, gracefully, like she’d rehearsed it in silence. Like a ritual.

He sighed, hand sliding through her hair.

“Like a well-trained geisha,” he whispered.

Her lips parted. She touched him gently, eyes raised to his.

He leaned back, breath deepening.

The wine sat untouched. The robe loosened.

And Winter, still as water, began to serve the price of her ambition.

The carpet pressed warm against her knees.

Winter looked up, lashes trembling. Mr. Jang’s robe hung open, soft belly rising under his chest, salt-and-pepper hair brushing his sternum. He looked down at her with a kind of hunger that had nothing to do with love.

She wrapped her fingers gently around the base of his cock. Thicker than she expected, heavy with years, veins mapping under her touch.

“You’re so hard already,” she whispered, voice barely a breath. “Is it because of me… or the tank top?”

He groaned low. “Both.”

Winter smirked faintly. She ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft, slow as honey.

“I’ve never had a fan this devoted,” he said, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “You girls… you don’t make idols like this anymore.”

She kissed the tip, then sank her lips down, inch by inch. Her throat stretched to take him deeper.

He hissed. “Fuck, you’ve done this before.”

She pulled back, a thread of saliva clinging to her lip. “Not like this. Not for someone like you.”

Her tongue worked with trained grace—circling, teasing. She bobbed gently, moaning just loud enough for it to vibrate around his cock.

“You sound beautiful,” he groaned. “That little voice… twenty years younger, and you know exactly how to use it.”

Winter flicked her tongue against the slit. “Guess I’m a fast learner, oppa.”

He laughed—a deep, pleased sound. His hand cradled the back of her head now, not forcing, just guiding.

“You were born the year I debuted,” he said with a grunt. “And now you’re on your knees, sucking me like you’ve done it for a decade.”

She moaned louder, letting it echo in the quiet suite. His cock throbbed between her lips.

“Tell me how it feels,” she breathed, tongue dragging along the side.

“Like velvet,” he muttered. “Like sin in a schoolgirl’s mouth.”

She took him deep again, gagging lightly, then pulling off with a wet pop. Spit smeared her chin. Her eyes glowed under the low light.

“You taste older,” she whispered. “Different. Heavy.”

His thighs trembled. “Don’t stop.”

Winter nodded, wrapping her lips around him once more. Her pace shifted—slower, deeper, more deliberate.

She let out a long, low moan that made his hips twitch.

“Fuck, Winter… You were born to do this.”

And still, she worked him—like every breath she had depended on making him lose his.

His cock twitched in her mouth just as he chuckled.

“You’re doing all this with your clothes still on?” he teased, brushing her hair back. “A bit overdressed for such devotion, don’t you think?”

Winter let him slip free with a wet sigh. Her chin glistened. She looked up, lips parted, breathing hard.

“You want me bare?” she asked, voice smooth and quiet. “While I suck you?”

He nodded, eyes greedy. “Let’s see what your fans never will.”

She stood slowly, letting the tank top cling as she raised her arms. The straps slid down, catching against the curve of her shoulders. She turned as she eased it off—deliberate, slow, keeping her movements soft. The cotton fell to the floor like it had given up.

Winter didn’t have much on top. Her breasts were small, tight, pale like porcelain with pink tips that stiffened under the air.

She saw his eyes pause—just for a second. That hunger deepened.

She unbuttoned her jeans next, wriggling them down her hips with a faint smile. “You like this, ajusshi?”

“I love it,” he growled, pulling her gently toward him. “Come here.”

She leaned in. His hands found her hips, then slid up her ribs. He licked one of her nipples, then sucked it—soft, slow, savoring.

Winter gasped.

He groaned into her skin. “Small doesn’t mean less. You’re perfect. Pale as milk, soft as a doll.”

She trembled, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she dropped to her knees again—naked now, flushed and wet at the lips.

“Let me finish,” she whispered.

She took him back into her mouth. This time, her tits bounced softly with each bob of her head. He looked down, fingers stroking her hair, watching her whole body move for him.

“Fuck… look at you now,” he murmured. “That’s how a real star gets made.”

Winter moaned louder—part shame, part hunger, all submission.

Mr. Jang’s cock glistened with spit, still hard, pulsing in the open air.

Winter sat back on her heels, chest rising and falling, nipples tight in the chill.

“Not yet,” he said, brushing her cheek. “I want to feel that little body of yours wrapped around me.”

She nodded slowly. Her thighs tingled as she stood, stepping closer between his spread legs. He watched her like prey—eyes locked on her pale hips, his tongue pressing against his lower lip.

“Ride me,” he said, voice rough with need. “Let me see you work for it.”

Winter straddled him carefully. His cock brushed against her folds, and she lowered herself with practiced slowness.

She didn’t flinch—but her breath caught just enough.

“Ahjussi,” she whispered, lifting her hips, then sliding down again. “Is this how you like it?”

He groaned, hands gripping her ass.

Winter rolled her hips, slow figure-eights, soft moans spilling from her lips—light, musical, every note tuned to tighten him.

Her hands pressed against his chest as she moved, bouncing just enough to make her small tits sway. She knew he liked to watch.

“You feel so big, ahjussi… stretching me out like a toy.”

He bit his lip, groaning louder. “Fuck, you sound made for this.”

She clenched around him, fake-gasping, her moans high and trembling. It wasn’t real—but it didn’t need to be. Her performance was the real act.

Winter tossed her hair back, lips parted, eyes fluttering as she slammed down harder.

“Oh—ahh, yes—deeper, ahjussi, please—”

He bucked under her, growling. “You look incredible. That face… those little sounds…”

She leaned forward, chest in his face, hips still dancing. Her voice turned breathy. “Do I make you feel young again?”

He laughed, breath hot against her skin. “You make me feel like a god.”

Her pace quickened. She let out a long, fake whimper, tightening again, milking him from the inside.

He moaned, fingers digging into her hips. “Just like that—ride me, Winter. Show me how stars are born.”

And she did—one calculated grind at a time.

Winter’s hips rose and dropped in a steady rhythm—then shifted to slow, grinding circles that made his breath catch.

“Holy fuck,” Mr. Jang gasped, head tilting back, hands locked tight around her waist. “You’re… fucking perfect.”

She moaned softly in reply, the sound smooth, practiced. Her eyes half-lidded. Her lips parted just enough.

But inside, her stomach curled.

His cock pulsed deep in her, and every grind pressed him tighter against her walls. She could feel him twitching, feel the tension coiling in his thighs as he lost control.

“You’re like velvet,” he growled. “Like you were made for this.”

Winter smiled faintly—mechanical. She let her fingers trace his chest, let her breath stutter on cue.

She bounced faster now, her thighs burning. The slap of skin echoed between them.

“Oh, ahjussi,” she whimpered, pushing her hips forward, grinding down hard. “So deep… so good…”

His hands roamed up to her chest again, squeezing her small breasts, mouth open in something close to worship.

“Tell me you love it,” he gasped.

She leaned close to his ear. “I love how big you are… how you fill me, ahjussi.”

But her mind was miles away.

She pictured a stage light. A microphone. Her name in headlines. Not the sweat sticking between her breasts or the smell of wine and old cologne.

Her thighs trembled from effort, not pleasure. She faked a deep moan, let her body shiver on top of him like climax was near.

“Ohh—right there, please don’t stop—”

He bucked up into her, groaning like a man possessed. “You drive me crazy, baby.”

She bit her lip, smiling down at him. Pretty. Empty.

Inside, she felt nothing but disgust.

And still, she kept moving.

The couch creaked under them. Winter’s thighs trembled from the strain of riding him, sweat beading along the curve of her spine.

Her hips bounced harder now, her moans softer, drawn-out—a rhythm she’d mastered.

Mr. Jang’s hands squeezed her ass, thumbs spreading her open with every lift and drop. His eyes locked on her face, desperate.

“You close?” he panted, voice tight. “You gonna come for me, baby?”

Winter smiled through parted lips. She met his gaze, eyes shining with a false sheen.

“Y-Yes… ahjussi,” she whispered. “Almost there…”

He narrowed his eyes. Something in her tone. The rhythm of her breath.

“Are you lying to me?” he asked.

Winter paused. Her fingers twitched on his chest. “No, I—”

His hands shot to her waist, gripping harder. “You are.”

She tried to move again, but his grip tightened.

“You’re faking it,” he said, voice lower now. “You’re just putting on a fucking show.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

“Get on the bed.”

Winter blinked.

“Now,” he growled. “All fours. I want to feel it raw.”

She slid off his lap slowly, knees wobbling. Her thighs ached. Her skin slick.

The bed was wide and soft, sheets barely rumpled. She climbed onto it, positioning herself as told—hands flat, knees apart. The cool air kissed her back, her breasts hanging freely, trembling slightly.

Behind her, he moved without urgency. The robe fell to the floor with a soft thud.

Then she felt him again—his hands spreading her, cock lining up, tip nudging her open.

No more pretense.

He drove into her in one thick, brutal push.

Winter gasped, her arms buckling slightly.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “So tight when you’re not pretending.”

He thrust again, harder. The bed jolted. Her fingers curled in the sheets.

She tried to moan—but nothing came out right. Her voice caught in her throat.

The slap of his hips echoed off the walls. Skin on skin. No music, no lights. Just sweat and breath and the rough scrape of dominance.

“Now moan like you mean it,” he snapped, one hand wrapping around her hair, pulling her head back.

Winter bit her lip. A sob caught in her chest—quiet, shaky.

His thrusts grew erratic, faster. Deep. Brutal.

“Say my name,” he groaned. “Say it while I fuck you like no boy your age ever could.”

Her mouth opened. “Ah—ahjussi—”

He slammed into her. “Louder.”

“Ahjussi—please—”

Her voice cracked. Her eyes burned. The tears came now—uninvited, unwelcome. She blinked them away before they could fall.

His grip bruised her hips. “That’s it… that’s real, isn’t it?”

Winter’s body rocked forward with each stroke. The sheets slipped under her knees. Her arms shook.

She couldn’t fake it anymore.

She hated the way her body responded—the way wetness still clung between her thighs, the way his cock filled her so completely she couldn’t even lie to herself about the sensation.

But it wasn’t arousal. It was survival.

He grunted louder now, hands gripping her waist like reins. “You’re not moaning now. What happened, little actress?”

She stayed quiet.

He pulled out, then slammed back in. Her breath choked.

“Say you love this,” he ordered. “Say it.”

Winter’s hands clenched tighter. Her voice shook. “I love it…”

“You love my cock inside you?”

“I…” her throat closed. “Yes, ahjussi.”

He came with a growl, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside her.

Winter froze.

He collapsed over her back, breath hot and panting against her ear.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the ticking of the hotel clock and their uneven breathing.

Then he pulled out slowly, hand sliding down her spine.

“You really are something,” he murmured. “Not just a face. You’ve got the guts for this business.”

Winter stayed on her knees, face lowered into the sheets.

Her body shook—but not from pleasure.

And deep in her chest, something cracked.

Winter’s body trembled beneath him—elbows locked, breath shallow. The bed creaked louder now, Mr. Jang’s pace reckless, hips slapping into her with a desperate rhythm.

He groaned, sweat dripping onto her back. “You feel too fucking good, baby—too tight, too warm—”

She squeezed her eyes shut. His cock throbbed deep inside her, each thrust dull and thick, punching into the end of her.

Her own pleasure was long gone. If it had ever been there.

But his was building. She could feel it in the way his fingers bruised her hips, in how his thrusts grew shorter, messier.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasped. “Right inside this perfect little pussy—fuck—you hear me?”

Winter nodded faintly, voice caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat.

Then it happened.

He slammed into her and held, cock buried to the base, his body jerking with release.

“Ahhh—fuck—fuck, yes—take it—take all of it—”

Winter whimpered as she felt the heat spill inside her. Thick. Hot. Coating everything.

He collapsed against her back, panting like he’d just run miles. His cock twitched once more, still seated deep inside her.

The moment stretched, filled only with his groans and her barely contained breath.

Then he pulled out. A slow, wet slide.

His semen dripped from between her legs, slick and humiliating.

“Come here,” he muttered, sitting up.

Winter turned on aching limbs, kneeling again in front of him.

He held his softening cock out to her. “Clean it.”

She leaned in without hesitation. Licked gently at the base, then wrapped her lips around the shaft, sucking him slowly—her own taste, his taste, bitter on her tongue.

He sighed, one hand stroking her hair. “Good girl.”

When he pulled away, he gestured to the minibar. “Pour us some whiskey.”

Winter stood on shaky legs, still naked. She moved to the counter, found the crystal decanter, poured carefully into two glasses.

She returned to the bed and handed him one. He patted the mattress beside him.

She climbed in.

He took a long sip, then set his drink aside and slid his hand to her breast. He cupped it, thumbing the nipple.

“You did well tonight,” he said softly. “Better than girls half your age with twice the curves.”

Winter turned toward him, lips curling into a soft smile. “Thank you, ahjussi. I wanted to make you proud.”

“You did,” he said. “You made me harder than I’ve been in years.”

She giggled—just enough. “Then I’m glad I could help.”

He leaned back, relaxed now. “You’ll go far, Winter. Just stay close to people who matter.”

She nodded. “I will.”

When the clock struck two, he sat up and stretched.

“You should go,” he said. “Rest. Big day tomorrow.”

She gathered her clothes quietly, dressed without a word. Before she left, he stopped her.

“One more thing.”

She turned.

His eyes were calm. “No one hears about this. Ever.”

Winter nodded. “Of course, ahjussi.”

The door shut softly behind her.

The next day, their group took center stage at the music festival.

Cameras flashed. Crowds screamed. Winter smiled perfectly, danced precisely, laughed when she was supposed to.

A week later, the variety show aired. Winter had the most screentime—her charm, her aegyo, her sweet innocence broadcast to millions.

Clips went viral. Her solo fancam topped charts. Her name trended across three countries.

The group won two awards that same night. Sales doubled. Sponsorships flooded in.

And Winter smiled through every second of it.

It had been four months since their last comeback. Four months since Winter stood drenched in lights and praise, her face splashed across billboards, her voice climbing charts, her body the centerpiece of half a dozen campaigns. They were no longer rookies. They were stars.

Tonight, they wrapped another appearance on The Jang Show—but this time, the tone had shifted. No longer guests in awe, no longer sweet girls hoping for a sliver of screentime. Now, the cameras followed them.

Winter knew what came next.

As the final segment ended and applause echoed through the studio, she exchanged quick bows, a few thanks, a picture with the panel—and then she slipped away. Past the hallway where assistants bustled. Past the catering trays.

To the back lot.

His trailer was exactly where it always parked—angled near the far fence, quiet, discreet.

She climbed the steps and knocked once.

The door opened.

Mr. Jang looked the same, maybe a little leaner. Still in his hosting suit, tie loosened. His eyes swept over her in one practiced glance.

He stepped aside. “Come in, superstar.”

Winter entered without hesitation.

The inside smelled faintly of him—cologne, leather, the stale edge of coffee.

She turned. Let her bag drop to the floor. Their eyes met. No words needed.

“Take off the jacket,” he said.

She obeyed. The blazer slipped from her shoulders, revealing the tight white stage top underneath, one strap already slipping.

He walked toward her, slow. “You were amazing tonight.”

She smiled. “I learned from the best.”

Mr. Jang reached out, thumb grazing her lips. “Still so obedient.”

Winter reached for his belt. “Still yours when you want me.”

He smirked. “That’s why I keep you.”

His cock was already hard when she freed it. She dropped to her knees without prompting, slipping him into her mouth with practiced grace.

But halfway through the slow rhythm of her lips, she pulled back slightly and looked up.

“Ahjussi,” she whispered, voice full of sugar and satin. “Can we not finish inside tonight?”

He blinked, amused. “No?”

“I can’t risk it. We’re doing music shows every day. A pregnancy scandal would destroy everything.”

He raised a brow. “You negotiating with me now?”

Winter gave a small pout. “I’m just being careful. For both of us.”

He considered her. His cock pulsed against her cheek.

“You want a different ending,” he said. “Bold.”

She nuzzled him with a tiny giggle. “I’ll still moan for you. Still aegyo. Just… maybe not in my pussy this time?”

He laughed, deep and low. “You really know how to keep your place while asking for what you want.”

He stroked her hair.

“Alright, Winter. I’ll allow it.”

She kissed the head of his cock, then took him back into her mouth, deeper this time. Her eyes stayed locked on his as she worked him, tongue curling perfectly, pace slow and loving.

The trailer filled with wet sounds, her soft moans, his heavy breath.

“Fuck, you’re good,” he groaned. “Better than ever.”

She pulled back. “I’ve been practicing… for you, ahjussi.”

He chuckled. “I can tell.”

He helped her stand, then turned her toward the mirror by the vanity.

“Bend over.”

She braced her hands on the counter as he pulled her skirt up and her panties down.

He slid into her with a single thrust. Her mouth opened in a high, practiced gasp.

“Ahhh—ahjussi, so big!”

He slammed into her again. “Louder.”

“Please—so deep, I love it—fuck me harder, ahjussi—”

He grunted, pace relentless. Her hands gripped the vanity’s edge, her back arching perfectly for his eyes.

Every moan she let out was sweet and false. Every reaction drawn from muscle memory, not need.

Still, she made it sound real—bouncing, crying out, whispering dirty things that made his thrusts grow savage.

“Look at you,” he growled, pulling her hair. “All grown up and still my little toy.”

Winter moaned louder. “I love being your toy, ahjussi. Only yours.”

Her voice shook just right.

Eventually, he pulled out.

“On your knees. Mouth open.”

She dropped instantly, looking up, tongue out, hands behind her back.

He stroked himself, eyes locked on her flushed face.

“You’re gonna take all of it. Every drop, Winter.”

“Yes, ahjussi,” she whispered, eyes gleaming. “Make me dirty.”

He came with a guttural sound, hot ropes painting her lips, her cheek, the tip of her nose.

She didn’t flinch. She smiled.

His breath steadied. He grabbed his phone from the counter.

One snap. Then another.

She looked up, still sticky, still smiling. “For your collection?”

He nodded. “You know the rules.”

Winter wiped her mouth slowly with a tissue, still kneeling.

“And the rules?” she asked softly.

His eyes darkened. “I let you speak. I let you ask. But I always choose.”

She nodded. “Yes, ahjussi.”

He helped her up, cleaned her gently, then handed her water. She sipped slowly, chest still rising from the rhythm before.

He poured himself a drink, sat back on the couch, and reached for her breast.

“You did well tonight.”

“Thank you.”

He stroked her nipple, rolling it gently. “Still soft. Still mine.”

She leaned into him. “Always.”

When the clock neared one, he stood.

“You should leave. Keep it quiet, like always.”

Winter dressed, fixed her hair, wiped the last of his cum from her jaw.

At the door, he stopped her.

“You’ll be back.”

“I know.”

She walked into the night, heels clicking on pavement, chin high.

The next morning, the internet exploded. Winter’s stage clips topped every trending chart. Fans flooded the comments with love, calling her angel, queen, goddess.

The group won two more trophies that week.

And no one knew who she had to thank for it.

[mcrdvcks]

borderline

chapter summary: When Emma Frost arrives at the mansion with a friendly land shark in tow and weaponized flirtation, Logan realizes that he has to make a move before it's too late. word count: 2.1k+ pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader notes: here is the request that inspired this! i do have to give credit to @rosenclaws and this post which finally gave me an idea/inspiration of what to write for this request. also, i have the jeff dolphin skin in marvel rivals, and he's now my home page and i giggle and smile every time i see him, he's just so cuteee warnings/tags: reader has the ability to understand animals (both what they say and what they think), fluff, jealously, emma is a flirt, jeff is a menace, title is an ariana grande song lol

“New arrival,” Jubilee called from the hallway, poking her head into the rec room. “Emma Frost. Apparently she’s moving in for a while.”

You looked up from the worn couch, still halfway through your iced coffee. “Thought she hated Charles.”

“She does. But she also hates the Sentinels more, so.” Jubilee shrugged. “Also, she brought a pet. Looks like a mutant pug mated with a pool float.”

You blinked. “A what?”

Before Jubilee could elaborate, there was a distant buzz of the front door opening, followed by a familiar voice—smooth, cool, and vaguely amused—floating down the corridor.

“Miss Frost is here,” Hank muttered as he walked past, carrying a tray of syringes for god-knows-what experiment.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead. “Guess I should go say hi.”

“Be careful,” Jubilee warned, grinning. “She’s already flirting with half the staff. Don’t make eye contact.”

You snorted but waved her off, padding barefoot through the long halls of the Xavier Mansion until the grand staircase came into view.

Emma Frost was already halfway up it, heels clicking against the polished wood. She looked exactly how you'd imagined: immaculate. Platinum hair, crisp white outfit, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. And trailing behind her was—

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Is that a landshark?”

The tiny creature at Emma’s feet made a cheerful little "mrrr!" and wobbled in your direction, tongue lolling and stubby tail wagging.

Emma halted at the landing and tilted her head. “You must be Y/N.”

You crouched to greet the landshark, practically vibrating. “Hi! Oh my god—hi! What’s your name?”

"Mrrrrr!" Finally, someone sane. Can you tell her I want snacks? Something crunchy? Preferably meat? Also, is she single?

You blinked. "Jeff?"

"That’s him," Emma replied, descending the last few steps. “You weren’t here last time I visited.”

You didn’t look up right away, too focused on scratching behind Jeff’s fin. "I would've remembered him. He’s amazing."

"He thinks you're cute," Emma said idly, and you couldn't tell if she was teasing you or translating.

Jeff burbled happily, tail thumping against the floor. I do. Also, she smells like strawberries. I like her better than Emma already.

"I'm flattered, Jeff," you said, grinning. “You’re my new favorite.”

At that moment, a familiar growl echoed from down the hallway. Logan stepped into view, stopping short at the sight of Jeff. His brow furrowed. "...What the fuck is that?"

Emma smirked. “Language, Wolverine. He’s sensitive.”

Jeff turned toward Logan and let out a squawk of disapproval. Who’s this hairy drama queen? Is he glaring at me? I'll bite his leg off. I’ll do it. You think I won’t?

You stood and placed a gentle hand on Jeff’s head. “Be nice. That’s Logan. He lives here. Mostly in the gym.”

Logan’s arms crossed. “That thing bite?”

“Only if you insult his mother,” you replied, fighting a smile. “Which... would be Emma, I guess.”

Emma sauntered forward. “Only technically. I adopted him after a very messy incident involving The Collector and a stolen shipment of sentient kelp.”

Logan just stared at her. “...You’re shittin’ me.”

Jeff waddled over to him, sniffing his boots with aggressive curiosity.

"He’s trying to determine your threat level," you explained. “And also whether you have snacks.”

Logan looked down at the creature. “...It’s starin’ at me.”

You crouched again. “Jeff, don’t be rude.”

He smells like whiskey and unresolved trauma. I like him.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

Emma arched a brow. “So, Y/N. You’re the one who talks to animals.”

You nodded. “It’s my thing.”

“Well,” she said, offering a dazzling smile. “That will make sharing a room with Jeff much easier. Unless you’ve already got company?”

You blinked. “What?”

Emma’s smile deepened slightly. “A roommate. Or a boyfriend. Girlfriend. Partner. Pet possum. Just checking.”

Logan’s jaw twitched. You tried not to let your confusion show. “Uh, no. Just me.”

“Perfect.” She looked over your shoulder. “Logan, are you going to keep glowering like a 1950s gym coach, or are you going to help with my bags?”

“Not my job,” he muttered.

Emma turned back to you. “You, however, are welcome to help me unpack. Jeff likes you.”

Jeff did a happy spin. I do. Come with us. I have a sparkly rock I want to show you.

You smiled, because how could you not.

“I mean… yeah, I could help.”

Emma nodded once, her heels already clicking as she turned. “Excellent. Logan, lovely seeing you again.”

You looked back at him as you followed her and Jeff toward the stairs. His eyes were already on you, brow still furrowed. He didn’t say anything, but there was something in his gaze—confused, irritated, maybe a little betrayed.

You gave him a small wave. “You okay?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.” But he wasn’t. Because he knew Emma.

He liked you. And now she did, too.

---

“Oh my God, is that a shark?” Rogue asked, gawking as Jeff waddled into the rec room where half a dozen students were huddled around the TV.

Jeff’s tail thumped. “Mrrr!” Big glowing box, loud noises—who’s winning? Can I chew the controller?

You hurried after him. “Please don’t chew anything important.”

Rogue knelt. “Sugar, that can’t be sanitary. Does it bite?”

Jeff cocked his head. Only if insulted. Or if someone’s shoes look delicious. Hers do. He nosed Rogue’s boot; she scooted back.

“Not usually,” you said. “Unless you’re a bad guy or a sneaker.”

Across the room, Bobby paused his game. “Yo, is that Emma Frost’s?”

“Technically,” you said, scooping Jeff into your arms. He wriggled like an excited pug. Higher, higher! The peasants must see me!

The door slid open and Logan strode in, gym towel around his neck. He took one look at Jeff in your arms and clamped his jaw shut.

Jeff bared a mouthful of tiny triangular teeth. “Mrrr!” Whiskey man returns. Ask if he’s brought snacks.

“He doesn't have snacks,” you murmured.

Logan’s eyebrow twitched. “You talkin’ to the oversized sardine or me?”

“Both.”

Before Logan could reply, Emma swept in, white fur-lined cape billowing. “Ah, there you are, Y/N. Jeff wandered off. Naughty boy.” She flashed Logan a too-bright smile. “Wolverine. Sweaty as ever.”

Logan grunted. “Frost.”

Emma’s attention slid back to you. “I was hoping you’d help me finish sorting my wardrobe.” She hooked her arm through yours before you could protest. “Jeff misses your… bilingual encouragement.”

Jeff licked your cheek. I also miss the strawberry smell. Can we get salmon later?

You cleared your throat. “Uh, maybe after dinner?”

Logan folded his arms. “She’s got Danger Room duty at seven.”

You blinked. “I do?”

He shrugged. “Figured you could use the practice. Kids love watchin’ you talk squirrels outta their trees.”

Emma’s smile tightened. “How considerate. Still, wardrobe triage shouldn’t take long.” She tugged you toward the hall.

Jeff wriggled smugly. She’s jealous. This is fun.

Logan’s eyes followed, dark and unreadable.

---

Pots clattered as you prepped snacks for movie night. Jeff perched on the island, nose twitching at the aroma of popcorn oil.

“Mrrr.” Butter is life. Sacrifice some for me.

“You’ll get a bowl,” you promised, sprinkling kernels.

The swing door creaked; Logan stepped in, hair damp from a shower. “Figured you’d be here.” He grabbed two root beers from the fridge, slid one across.

“Thanks.” You popped the cap. “You okay? You looked… tense earlier.”

“I’m fine.” He leaned a hip against the counter. “Frost always rubs me wrong.”

Jeff hopped down, sniffing Logan’s boot again. “Mrrrk.” He’s lying. He’s jealous. Do you like him? You should like him. He smells like pine and regret.

You cleared your throat. “Jeff says hi.”

Logan crouched, offering a rough hand. “Hey, rug-shark. We good?”

Jeff sniffed, then head-butted his palm. Acceptable. Provide jerky later.

“He approves,” you said, smiling.

Logan rose. “Listen… you free tomorrow? Thought maybe we could take the bike into town, hit that farmer’s market you like.”

Your heart skipped. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Before the warmth could settle, Emma glided in, silk pajama set gleaming. “There you are, Y/N.” She draped herself against the doorway. “Jeff and I missed you.”

Logan bristled. “She’s busy.”

Emma lifted a brow. “Fetching popcorn? Hardly mission-critical.”

You opened your mouth, but Logan beat you. “She already made plans for tomorrow.”

Emma’s smile was sharp. “With you, I assume.”

Jeff’s eyes ping-ponged between them. Fight, fight, fight—winner gives me snacks.

“Yeah, with me,” Logan said.

Something in his tone made your stomach flutter. Emma noticed, lips curving. “How… adorable. Well, don’t keep her up too late. Beauty sleep, darling.” She winked at you, snapped her fingers for Jeff. “Come, baby.”

Jeff planted himself at your feet. “Mrrr!” Nah, staying. The drama’s here.

Emma’s nostril twitched, but she left.

You took a breath. “So, market tomorrow?”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed. “If you still want.”

“Definitely.”

Jeff spun in a circle. Road trip! Call shotgun. Also snacks.

---

Wind whipped through your hair as you clung to Logan’s leather jacket on the back of his bike. Jeff rode in a modified pet carrier strapped to the saddlebag, goggles over his eyes, tongue flapping.

“Mrrr-rr!” Faster! I am speed!

You laughed, the sound lost in the roar.

Downtown, stalls lined the street. Locals greeted Logan with wary nods, he offered grunts in return. You sampled peaches, picked wildflower honey, let Jeff taste-test jerky from a butcher who nearly fainted at the sight of him.

Logan paid for a bag of apple cider donuts, handing you one. Your fingers brushed, heat climbed your cheeks.

“You got sugar on your face,” he said, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth. Sparks skittered down your spine.

Jeff craned from the carrier, watching like a nosy little child. Kiss! Kiss!

You stepped back, flustered. “Thanks.”

Logan cleared his throat. “We should head before students blow somethin’ up.”

“Right.”

Still, neither of you moved.

“Y’know,” you started, but Logan’s phone buzzed. He cursed, glancing at the screen. “Emergency drill. We gotta run.”

Figures.

---

The drill turned out to be a minor lab fire, luckily Hank had it contained. Hours later, you escaped to the roof for quiet, legs dangling over the ledge. Jeff nestled beside you, gnawing a donut.

“Mrrr.” You okay? Broody wolf-man’s looking for you.

As if summoned, the roof hatch creaked open. Logan emerged, moonlight catching silver in his hair.

“Figured you’d be up here,” he said, settling beside you.

Jeff padded to the hatch. “Mrrr.” I’ll give you privacy. Don’t screw it up. He disappeared.

Your pulse ticked. “Everything alright?”

Logan stared out across the lawn. “Wanted to apologize. Been… actin’ weird.”

“You?” You nudged his shoulder. “Never.”

He huffed. “Just—seeing Frost hang off you got under my skin.” He hesitated. “’Cause I—damn.” A low growl of frustration. “I like you, Y/N. More than I probably should. Didn’t wanna screw up what we got, so I kept my mouth shut. Then Frost waltzes in—”

“And you thought you’d lose your window,” you finished, heart thumping.

“Pretty much.”

Silence stretched, filled by cricket chirps—but to you they were arguing about the comfiest spot of grass.

You shifted to face him. “You could’ve just told me.”

“Yeah, well. Not great with feelings.” He met your gaze, vulnerability stark in those eyes. “But I’m tryin’.”

You smiled, warmth blooming. “I like you too, Logan.”

Relief flickered across his face, chased by something softer. Slowly, he reached out, hand settling over yours. His palm was warm, calloused.

Down below, the rec room lights flicked on and Emma’s laughter floated up.

Logan’s brow furrowed. “She’s gonna keep pushin’.”

You squeezed his hand. “Let her try.”

He chuckled, thumb stroking your knuckles. “Gonna have to take you on a proper date. No drills, no landsharks.”

Jeff re-emerged, donut crumbs on his snout. “Mrrr!” Rude. I’m the best chaperone.

You laughed, tipping your head back. Logan’s gaze dropped to your lips.

“May I?” he asked, voice rough.

Heat flooded your cheeks. “Yeah.”

He leaned in, kiss gentle, tasting faintly of cider and stubbornness. Your free hand slid up his chest, steadying both of you. Below, someone wolf-whistled—probably Jubilee. Logan flipped the air a casual claw, never breaking the kiss.

Jeff clapped his fins. “Mrrrr!” Finally. Took you long enough. Now—snacks?

You broke away, breathless laughter spilling. “Deal, Jeff. Snacks for everyone.”

Logan pressed his forehead to yours. “Think we can find a place he can’t follow?”

“Doubt it,” you said, grinning. “He’s persistent.”

Jeff puffed up proudly. Damn right. Also, you still owe me salmon.

Logan groaned. “Gonna be an interesting courtship.”

You squeezed his hand again. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The three of you sat beneath the stars—wolf, landshark, and you—while below, the mansion hummed on, unaware that something quietly perfect had just begun.

definitely needed a little fluff for the awful past few days of politics

[sortagaysortahigh]

Slim Pickins | Joaquin Torres x Reader

A/N: omg guys im so glad ts is over, yall know I love reading fluff but writing fluff is a whole other ballgame for me. However, i had fun writing most of this, very dialogue heavy, friends to lovers/idiots in love, love confessions, all that jazz! Plus my comedic timing is here, idk if its funny tho ngl i might be rereading sections too often. Thank you to chicken @love-chx for beta-ing this for me, i love u chicken <3. Also tagging @anxietyandtacos bc casserole is my biggest supporter in my shitshow writing and i love her <3

Summary: Every Friday for the past few months you've been going on shitty dates, and at this rate, you're convinced that you're either ending this life alone or settling for another douchebag. You can't find a genuinely good guy, it's not like there's one right in front of you or something!

Warnings: 2nd person POV, might be use of y/n honestly i cant remember, Spelling and grammar errors (I am who I am), cursing, mentions of violence, reader does throw things at people, self-deprecating humor and 'I'm gonna kms' humor, reader has a shitty love life, SAMBUCKY SUPREMACY WOOO (implied sambucky intimacy <3), reader does threaten to murder joaquin a few times but it's fine!! they're friends!! SMUT: nasty kissing/makeouts, choking, minor spanking, MATING PRESS WOOOHOO!! (not too detailed), giggly sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, cum eating, squirting, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, spitting, drooling, biting/bruising/hickies, praise, finger sucking

Word Count: 20.1k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

Ngl guys, I NEED THATT BARK BARK BARK BARK!!!!!, anyways heres the fic:

Every Friday night ended in the same repetitive cycle of disappointment for you, and somehow, someway, you managed to continue the cycle over and over again. 

It was a simple routine, you’d spend the week talking to some random guy from some shitty dating app, or maybe you’d meet him in a random store, at the movies, hell, even a few guys from the Air Force base! You’d text, with the occasional phone call or Facetime sprinkled in. From there they’d ask when you were free, the reply was always ‘this Friday works for me’ because it was your only genuine day off.

From there they’d plan some lackluster date, and of course, like an idiot, you’d go. The date would be horrible from start to finish, they typically fell into three broad categories: The Narcissists, The Idiots, and The Wanna-be heroes. 

Those that fell into the third category were always the worst, mainly because they were overly full of themselves while simultaneously empathetic. It made zero sense to you, then they’d go on long winded tangents about how admirable the work you did was, or how amazing it would be to work side-by-side with heroes like Captain America and the Falcon. Then, after your third attempt of drowning their non-stop talking out with a drink, they’d subtly try to ask for a connection to Sam Wilson or Joaquin Torres.

As if you were the walking LinkedIn for hero networking.

You preferred to listen to the Narcissists constantly talk about themselves while trying to gaslight you into liking and sleeping with them. 

Maybe Joaquin was right and you really were a walking douchebag magnet. 

Tonight was no different, you’d gotten dressed up, opting to gaslight yourself into thinking that maybe things would be different, or the date would be enjoyable, or at the very least you’d get an ounce of good sex for the first time in months. It wasn’t as if there were a million and one options; genuinely good men weren’t actively lining up at your doorstep begging for a chance to take you on a date.

Of course, you’d been on a few dates with guys that seemed as if they were truly good for you and you’d even tried dating some consistently. However, around the one or two month mark, something would click into place and the potential relationship blew up in your face.

There was the guy who’d just finished veterinary school, he had a great relationship with his family, shared a lot of the same ideologies and beliefs as you, loved animals, spent his off-days doing volunteer work, and even knew how to actually do his own taxes. 

Everyone had faith in him—Joaquin and Sam had even nicknamed him ‘the tax guy’. 

Then he’d gotten black out drunk after a concert with you and vented about how much he missed his ex-girlfriend while simultaneously forgetting that you were his current fling. He’d even mentioned that the only reason he really liked you was because you were pretty and the fact that you shared a birthday with his ex so ‘it had to be a sign that she would come back’.

Plus he also said you gave great blowjobs. But that was neither here nor there.

To make matters worse, you had to call his emergency contact to pick him up from your apartment. That emergency contact just happened to be his ex-girlfriend.

To say you had a terrible dating history was an understatement.

Yet here you are, glaring at your own reflection and questioning every second that led up to being stood up in a lackluster fake Italian restaurant in the middle of Washington DC. The drinks were overpriced, you were practically stranded, and the straw that broke the camel's back was your server having the nerve to leave his number on the back of your receipt while he tried to ‘comfort’ you after watching you get stood up.

Said server didn’t look a day older than eighteen, and that was pushing it.

So you did what any responsible twenty-something year old woman would do. You yelled at him, practically screaming at the top of your lungs, made a scene, and then raced to the restroom to look at your angry blurry reflection.

The fitted black dress felt too tight, your heels felt too small, the restaurant was too hot, your skin felt sticky, and your bra was digging into your back to the point that you wanted to cry tears of frustration—not to mention your thong had shrunken in the dryer and was currently clinging to your hips to the point that you were convinced you’d get a rug burn. The icing on the cake. however. was the sound of ‘Rather Be’ by Clean Bandit playing over the bathroom speakers. 

This had to be your personal hell.

It wasn’t long until you were calling someone to pick you up. You sat outside for nearly twenty minutes on top of a random pile of crates that were left outside of the restaurant. The humidity left your hair frizzy and skin moist while you debated on running into moving traffic to end your misery.

Well, you were until a very familiar motorcycle pulled up in front of you. So familiar that you had to do several double takes to process who exactly was on the bike.

Then Joaquin took his helmet off, shaking his head like a dog fresh out of water, and if you had half a mind to actually consider your best friend attractive, then in that moment you would’ve realized that several women walking out of the restaurant stopped to gawk at him, one so drunk that she’d even whistled at him and proceeded to attempt to cat call him.

Sure you noticed them, but it hadn’t ever fazed you. Joaquin was objectively an attractive guy, but you saw him as your friend.That was that. 

It wasn’t as if one day you’d wake up and figure out that you were utterly in love with the guy that had to ask his own mother to make him ‘less spicy’ versions of traditional Mexican dishes.

Joaquin flashed the crowd of women a smile and a wink, but before they could approach him, you practically rushed through the crowd with your jaw clenched, looking like the epitome of irritation.

“Jesus Christ, Cabezona, you look like shit.” He smiled as he spoke, eyes quickly taking your disheveled appearance in. Then he glanced behind you at the few women still looking in his direction, debating on asking for one of their numbers while you pulled the extra helmet out, mumbling a series of curse words under your breath.

“Yeah, no shit. How the hell did you get Buck’s bike?” 

He blinked a few times before looking back at you and nodding. “Oh uh—he’s staying with Sam right now, and I was there when you called me. He said it’d be faster than taking my truck. Besides, I look pretty damn sexy on it, don’t I?” He elbowed you, wiggling his eyebrows up and down while you scoffed.

“Whatever you say, Quino—” Then you paused, now glancing at him, noticing he was looking past you towards the women near the entrance into the shitty restaurant. Then you slowly nodded “—I’m totally cock blocking you aren’t I? Oh my god, Quino! Go—flirt or something, tell them I’m your cousin or something!” 

Joaquin laughed, shaking his head while looking back at you. For a second there was something else in his expression—something you didn’t recognize. But the second you noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s alright, Cabezona. Now c’mon, Bucky’s gonna kill me if I’m not back with this baby in the next half hour. He’s doing paperwork or something with Sam, y’know after Sam’s whole ‘I’m gonna sue you’ fiasco. Now get on the bike.”

You rolled your eyes at him, shoving him lightly before pulling the helmet on.You glanced down at your dress, shaking your head before struggling to get on the bike without flashing the entire street.

It took a few minutes, and several curse words, alongside grasping onto Joaquin’s side—grip practically bruising as you attempted to slide your dress down lower while your legs practically clung to the sides of the bike. 

“If I flash D.C. my ass, you think people would respect me more?” 

He glanced back at you as he pulled the helmet on, a muffled ‘nope’ leaving his lips.

Then you were instinctively grasping onto his waist, helmet-clad face pressed into his shoulder while you squeezed your eyes shut. It wasn’t your first time on a motorcycle, but you hated it nonetheless. 

You met Sam and Bucky through Clint Barton. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant meeting, not when Clint had actively tried to kill you during his assassin era, but after managing to clear your name and cut ties with several illegal weapons dealers and mafia-based families worldwide, you needed a job.

That job practically landed in your lap about four years ago when Sam had called Clint for a favor, and you just happened to be exactly what he was looking for. Someone well versed in weapon’s mechanics with enough global intel to land you in the Raft for life. It was a no-brainer to work for Sam Wilson.

Working for Captain America meant you weren’t a criminal, and that was enough to get you to say yes. Then with Sam came Bucky Barnes. Truthfully, you had a theory that anyone who held the shield at one point came with Bucky, even if it was reluctantly. 

You and Bucky bonded fairly quickly, and in a lot of ways, he was like a father to you. Which was odd at first because you’d never had a great relationship with your biological dad, and prior to meeting the former Winter Soldier turned Congressman, you admittedly stated on several occasions that you would’ve fucked him.

However, you would not do that now—you weren’t into the freaky things that Sarah Wilson’s dark romance bookshelf held. Hell, you tried getting into that genre of romance novels, but the second Sarah handed you something by Penelope Douglass, you read three chapters and silently returned the book, opting to re-read Lord of the Rings for the fifth time. 

It’s safe to say you also silently judged Sarah, but then again, when you had nowhere else to go after being practically stranded in Louisiana with Sam, she gave you her couch and for that, you’d forever be grateful—even if she did read kinky freaky books. 

Joaquin laughed at the way you held onto him, and admittedly, it made his heart race a little bit. He always had moments like these, moments when you were a little too physically close for comfort, moments that would tear down the facade that you and him were just friends. That he only wanted to be your best friend, that you weren’t more than that to him.

But he knew you didn’t see him that way, and it didn’t bother him. For the most part, he never really thought about it—but it always crept up on him when he least expected it.

However, the second the bike was parked in the garage under Sam’s building and you practically fell off of it as you attempted to get off, Joaquin was easily snapped out of those thoughts. Now, he was focused on holding his own abdomen as he doubled over in laughter, meanwhile you were leaning against the side of Sam’s suburban, hands braced against the windows while you held yourself up with a panicked expression and unruly hair.

“Stop fucking laughing at me! I’ve had a shitty night, Torres!” You glared at him as you regained your footing, now smoothing out the dress and pointing a singular manicured finger at him.

He nodded a few times, catching his breath while holding in laughs, doing his best not to smile at you as you stormed towards the garage elevators. Arms crossed in front of your chest while you waited for him to catch up—the key fob being the only thing that would get the elevators to actually work.

It took him a few seconds to catch up to you, offering a wide smile while he scanned Sam’s spare key then hit the button for the elevator.

“So, what happened with this guy, uh, the electrician?” 

You scoffed. “No, the electrician was last week’s idiot. This week’s idiot just happened to be mister tortured artist with an obsession with Instagram. Completely stood me up at that shitty restaurant that he recommended. I got like 4 drinks, cost me like thirty bucks, then mister barely old enough to serve alcohol hit on me.” 

Joaquin’s eyes widened, lips rolling inward as he tried not to laugh, he noticed the way you sighed, shoulders slouching lower as you shook your head.

“Laugh. I know you want to—go ahead. Sam’s gonna laugh—he always does. Just let it out now, and the usual ‘I told you so’, I’m all ears.”

The elevator opening caught both of your attention, and he motioned for you to enter first. So you did, then he followed suit before pressing Sam’s floor number. As the doors shut he glanced back over at you, raising a single brow at the sight of you pulling several bobby pins out of your previously curled hair, now it was more of a frizzy disaster.

You held them between your teeth as you took bits and pieces out of the half-up, half-down style you’d spent far too long on. To make matters worse, the heat damage wasn’t even worth it—the asshole you’d gotten all dressed up for didn’t even show up! 

Joaquin held his hand out in front of your mouth, you easily dropped the pins into his palm, then you started handing them to him as you pulled each individual one out of your hair.

“How many are in there?” he looked down at his hand then back at you, slightly concerned.

“Beauty is pain—that’s why my thong is so far up my ass I might be getting a free fucking colonoscopy.” 

Your serious tone had his eyes widening in horror, then he processed your words, and the laughter that he’d previously swallowed down bubbled out. You shook your head at him, still dropping bobby pins into his hand as you rolled your eyes. Meanwhile his laughter echoed off of the metal elevator walls.

Eventually the two of you made it back to Sam’s apartment, your hair now framing your face in an awkward frizzy afro of sorts. But you knew Sam had hair ties somewhere in his apartment for his dates, so you’d just steal from his stash.

When you walked in, both Sam and Bucky paused. They had the perfect view to the front door, watching as you walked in, kicking your heels off with a frustrated pout, meanwhile Joaquin held the door open for you, then followed you inside before locking it behind him.

Sam and Bucky exchanged a singular look. Both struggled to understand how you and Joaquin could be so close and not see one another romantically. It made absolutely no sense to them, you were perfect for one another. Yet somehow, every Friday you went on terrible dates and Joaquin was always the shoulder you’d cry on after the fact.

“So, how was the plumber?”

You scoffed at Sam, glaring at him the second you managed to get the heels fully off of your feet, then you walked into his kitchen, thankful for the open floor plan. Everyone watched as you rummaged through the fridge, finally finding the bottle of mango lemonade that Sam always kept stocked in his fridge for you.

Several months ago you’d forced him to buy one, and now it was a habit.

You were quick to grab a glass from the cabinet beside the fridge, pouring yourself some juice while mumbling a jumbled mixture between English, Russian, and Spanish curse words.

First you took a drink, then you spun around, looking at them.

“It was terrible! That idiot stood me up! What the fuck?” 

Bucky slowly nodded, looking from the tablet in his hand to you. “Have you ever considered that maybe you should take a break from the DC dating scene, I don’t think it’s ever done you any justice. Or just delete the apps. I hear they’re terrible.” 

“Have I considered taking a break from dating? Well Grandpa, I have actually because no matter what the fuck I do, everyone just fucking sucks! What the hell is this? Some shitty rom com from the 90s?!” You were shouting now, frustration evident on your features while you gripped the cup in your hand so tightly that everyone was afraid it would shatter.

When no one replied, you groaned, putting the glass down on the countertop then storming to Sam’s guest room. 

He just watched from his seat on the sofa, shaking his head at you. “Torres, make sure she doesn’t burn my place down.” 

Joaquin nodded at Sam, following after you, only to find you rummaging through the drawer that had his own clothes in it. There had been several nights when he had to stay with Sam because of work, and of course, following his accident last year, he wasn’t exactly able to live alone—so he stayed with Sam for a while.

That led to him having several clothing items here, clothing items which you were currently going through like a madman. He shook his head at your frustrated expression, slowly approaching you, then grasping both of your wrists and carefully pulling them away.

“Cariño, calm down and go take a shower. I’ll find you something to wear.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, nodding your head.

It wasn’t as if you were genuinely upset, you didn’t feel the need to cry or anything of that nature. But you were just overwhelmed, and everything was bothering you to the point that you couldn’t even think straight. 

Somehow Joaquin always knew how to ground you, it was as if his presence alone was enough to calm you down. 

While you showered, he looked through the options, settling on a pair of loose sweats, and a Twilight shirt that you’d gotten him with the words ‘Chica where have you been loca?’ on it surrounding a heart with Jacob Black’s face in it. The clothes had been oversized because after his accident that’s all he could really wear, so he knew it wouldn’t bother you the way your dress did.

He slipped into the steamy bathroom and placed the pile of clothes onto the counter, then let himself out.

By the time that you’d gotten out of the shower and gotten dressed, he managed to make himself comfortable on the bed, gaze focused on his phone while he mindlessly scrolled through TikTok, even giggling to himself at the random thirst-traps and edits people made of him—Joaquin would be a liar if he said he wasn’t deep in the ‘Joaquin Torres edits’ and the ‘The Falcon edits’ hashtags.

He liked to watch the videos people made of his clips from press releases, interviews, and the occasional interaction he’d have during his daily life. Not only did it fuel his ego, but it also made him feel like what he did mattered—and of course it was nice to know people found him attractive enough to comment things like ‘bark bark’ and ‘my legs are wide open rn’.

As you walked out of the bathroom in his clothes, you focused on braiding your slightly damp hair, you’d done your best to not get it wet in the shower, knowing that once it was wet that would be a whole other world of issues.

Meanwhile, Joaquin shifted onto his side, gaze now on you. “You feel better now?” 

You nodded your head at him, opting to walk around to the other side of the bed before plopping down beside him. Once you finished with your braids you laid down, pulling the comforter over your body while turning to face him.

“I think my love life is utterly hopeless…I’m sorry for yelling earlier, I was overwhelmed and I felt like my clothes were actively trying to murder me.”

Joaquin laughed at you, nodding his head as he turned to face you now, his phone still in hand playing the most recent edit. Your brows knit together at the song playing from his phone, and before he could fully process what you were doing, you’d already snatched the phone from him.

Your jaw dropped at the sight of the video of him taking off Bucky’s helmet, clearly at a gas station. Then the beat dropped and several different clips of him biting his lip in interviews started playing, one transitioning into the next and so on.

His eyes widened, a rosey flush overtaking his features. 

“Seriously Quino! You’re over here watching edits of yourself! Oh my god! Wait do you save them into a folder—wait back up—!” you were laughing and giggling as he tried to snatch the phone from you, but you quickly tossed the blanket onto him, then used your legs to push him back slightly before rolling over and hopping off the bed.

While you moved you also went into his TikTok bookmarks, eyes widening at the several different folders, some labeled with emojis, others pertaining to workouts, a few having to do with places to visit, then there was a folder labeled ‘Cariño’ but you didn’t look at that one. Instead you focused on the one with the eagle emoji.

Then you looked back at him, watching as he practically jumped off of the bed. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

You shook your head at him, a wide smile on your face. “You do save them don’t you!” Then you flashed him his phone, now opening the folder, the several videos buffering through, and in the few seconds that you’d let your guard down, Joaquin was practically tackling you back onto the bed, now you were stretching your arm as far away as possible while attempting to shove him off. 

The mixture of your laughter and his practically bouncing off of the walls while you both rolled around the bed, then eventually you managed to pin him down, catching your breath as you held both of his arms above his head with one of your arms, straddling his waist, while you held his phone in hand.

Before either of you had a chance to process the position, the door to the bedroom opened, and Bucky stared at the both of you with wide eyes, his lips parted while he tried to process what he walked in on.

“Jesus Christ Sam, they’re about to have se-” before he finished his sentence, Joaquin’s phone was hitting him directly in the abdomen and Bucky practically doubled over as he choked on his words. Then you quickly got off of Joaquin, heat enveloping your features while you tried to process what you’d just done to Bucky.

Joaquin sat up quickly, blinking several times as he took in the sight of you rushing over to Bucky who was gripping his abdomen with his vibranium arm. Meanwhile Joaquin’s phone was now on the floor face down, but Ride by Sir-Mix-A-Lot was playing in the background.

“Bucky I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to throw it, I just reacted! Oh my god! Sam’s gonna kick my ass! Jesus this is it, I assaulted a congressman now I’m going to the Raft!” 

You were panicking while Bucky slowly stood up, nodding his head and catching his breath.

“Anyone ever told you that you have a strong arm, kid? You ever played softball?” 

You shook your head at Bucky’s question. Brows knit together as you tried to shrug off the shame and embarrassment of practically hurling Joaquin’s phone directly at Bucky all because you didn’t want him to finish his sentence. 

“You’re not going to the Raft for hitting me with his phone. Speaking of—” he squatted down to pick it up, eyes widening at the video playing before handing it to you, awkwardly clearing his throat before leaving the room.

You slowly turned to look at Joaquin who looked equally, if not even more mortified than you. Then you showed him the specific edit playing, a compilation of Joaquin shirtless when he played in a charity basketball tournament. 

“Y’know what, at least one of us is having a better day Cariño. Now, can you please, give me my phone back and stop judging me for supporting my supporters!” 

You blinked a few times. “I think this makes you a little narcissistic, y’know. Or at the very least, chronically online. Now Buck is gonna tell Sam about this entire situation—Jesus Christ, he thinks we were borderline fucking! Oh my god, this is mortifying for me!” 

Joaquin sat up, raising a single brow, slightly offended.

“Would it really be that terrible? Damn, just call a guy ugly why don’t you?”

You blinked a few times, now looking over at him, tilting your head to the side as your eyes trailed him. “You’re not ugly though, actually—wait nevermind. Not important, what’s important is I have to live knowing I hurled your phone at James Buchanan Barnes! He’s like a dad to me! I just assaulted my pseudo-dad!” 

He laughed at your panicking, lips rolling inward as you glared at him, throwing his hands up in a surrendering motion as he got off of the bed. “Listen sweetcheeks, you’ll be fine! Besides, if anything, Sam’s just gonna make awkward eye contact with us for a few days, and that’ll be it! It’s not like we’re actually having sex.”

You nodded at that, now handing him his phone as he walked towards you. Then you let out a deep sigh, opening the guest bedroom door again and grimacing as you walked back out.

The both of you silently walked back into the living room, sitting beside one another on the loveseat, both mirroring the same awkward expression and tense shoulders the second Sam and Bucky made eye contact, then looked at you two.

A tense silence filled the room for about three minutes. Then Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Listen, if you two are getting freaky, that’s fine by me, but save it for your own place—not mine, and don’t let it screw up work.”

Your jaw dropped at Sam’s nonchalant nature, then you looked at Bucky who simply shrugged. 

“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t influence work, then you two should be fine doing whatever it is you’re doing, just don’t do it near me, around me, in front of me, or within my vicinity—”

You cut him off, “All of those things mean the same thing Buck—”

He nodded his head. “That’s the point.” 

Then you shook your head again. “—Wait a damn minute, we’re not having sex!” You motioned between yourself and Joaquin. “We’ve never, not once, ever done anything under the umbrella of sex. We’re just friends, that’s it.”

Sam slowly nodded his head, very clearly not convinced, then he glanced at Joaquin who had a distant look in his eyes, very clearly zoned out and focused on something else. “So you mean to tell me, you two have never, not even after a long night of drinking, have ever hooked up? You’re just this close and comfortable with each other with no semblance of sexual or romantic feelings?”

You nodded your head, then glanced at Joaquin, who blinked a few times as if he’d finally zoned back in.

“Yeah, we’re just friends. Best friends at that—right Cabezona?” he elbowed you slightly.

“Mhm, now stop calling me that! My head is not that big!” 

He scoffed, raising a single brow. “Yes it is. Even if it’s not literally huge, metaphorically it is, little miss ego-maniac.”

Your jaw dropped at that, now shoving Joaquin with both hands, he hadn’t anticipated it, and had to grab onto the arm of the sofa to stop himself from toppling back. “Don’t be fucking rude Quino!” 

Sam and Bucky slowly nodded at the exchange before glancing back at one another and shaking their heads in sync. 

You two were truly hopeless.

Three days later you found yourself at the grocery store with Joaquin in tow. He decided that he also needed to buy groceries, and he’d practically yelled at you over text about waiting for him to pick you up so that both of you could go together. Something about having multiple sets of eyes making the process faster.

If anything, shopping with Joaquin made things ten times slower. He was like a little kid, going through every single aisle, getting easily distracted—and you couldn’t stand how he managed to touch every single thing! Hell, he’d tried to convince you to buy snacks that he liked for your apartment under the guise that he ‘spent all of his time there anyways!’ 

You were currently in the produce aisle, looking through the tomatoes, brows knit together, biting into your tongue slightly as you focused on finding ones that weren’t overly ripe and still firm. In one hand you held the clear plastic bag, in the other, you lightly felt several individual tomatoes and rummaged through the large wooden bin of them. 

Eventually you settled on eight that you actually liked.

Meanwhile Joaquin was weighing limes, hyperfocused on getting exactly three pounds of them. He’d roped you into making him ceviche based on his abuela’s recipe, and she said that he needed exactly three pounds of limes. 

You knew she was just messing with him. Clearly, Joaquin did not.

His abuela had called you directly and given you the list of ingredients, telling you to measure the seasonings based on taste and what you thought was enough. She said that she trusted your judgement while making several jokes about Joaquin’s inability to cook, not to mention his spice intolerance.

You’d met his family three years ago when Sam had sent you with him on a recon mission in Miami. The mission was relatively simple and had been completed earlier than expected, so it gave him the perfect amount of time to head home to see his family, and he’d dragged you along with him because you’d been complaining about missing home cooked meals.

His family loved you immediately, it also helped that during your years of not-so-legal work, you’d managed to pick up some Spanish. 

Although, it did take a lot of convincing for them to finally believe that you weren’t Joaquin’s girlfriend. Everytime you’d visit Miami with him, you had to go through the same process and the same ‘so are you two together yet?’ questions from his cousins.

But you didn’t mind, not when his family was so welcoming, and of course, you loved his Abuela the most—something you’d never tell his mother. While she was strict, she was also loving, and funny, and embraced you time and time again while also letting you tease Joaquin. 

Plus, every time she saw you, she’d do an egg cleanse on you while ranting about the importance of doing a ‘limpia’ every now and then.

By the time you moved on to the onions, Joaquin had finally perfected the three pounds of limes, tossing the bag into the cart. Then you glanced over at him, raising a single brow which led to him sighing and grabbing the bag, now handing it to you. 

You gave him the onions then proceeded to open the bag, grabbing each individual lime, making sure they were the right texture and color. Meanwhile Joaquin waited, swaying back and forth on his heels while he watched you.

“Y’know you can just tell me I did a good job now. I’m pretty good at the whole produce thing.”

You scoffed at him, closing the bag again and handing it to him. “You did better than last time, when you literally brought me a bag of half-rotten limes. Now can you go get the fish from the butcher area? I don’t like how it smells over there.” 

Joaquin shook his head, hands on his hips while he stared at you with a singular brow raised.

“You look just like your mom right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t bring my mom into this, you know you’re supposed to go pick out the right cuts of fish!” 

You shook your head. “No, Abuela gave us both a list, you can read! Here—” you dug through your purse for a second, then handed him his glasses that he insisted he never needed.It got to the point where he put them in your purse anytime he’d have them on for more than an hour. When he didn’t take them from you, you shoved them right against his chest.

“Seriously?! Fine—but you owe me one!” 

You nodded at him, smiling triumphantly as he slipped the thin white wired-frames on. “Now go get the damn fish or I’m not cooking anything! Thanks! Love you! Bye Quino!” As you spoke you shoved him away from you, then clapped a few times, laughing at him as he tried to lightly slap your hands away from him.

He scoffed, shaking his head while turning around and heading towards the back of the store, leaving you to finish the produce shopping. 

About ten minutes later, as you were trying to get cucumbers, someone cleared their throat beside you. You glanced over to your right, confusion evident on your features as you made eye contact with none other than mister tortured artist that stood you up. His eyes trailed your figure, a single brow raised as he took in your fitted sundress.

It was hot, it made sense that you’d be wearing something breathable. What didn’t make sense was the idiot beside you having the nerve to clear his throat, then practically eye-fuck you in the middle of a grocery store produce aisle. 

“Can I help you with something?” his eyes met yours as you spoke, irritation and venom evident in your tone.

“Y’know, I was gonna call you, had an uh—family emergency. Damn, I didn’t think you’d be this hot.” His eyes were back on your body, which earned a loud scoff from you.

“Dude, fuck off. Besides, I’m glad you didn’t show, I got back together with my ex, I needed someone to pick me up and he just happened to be around.” The lie practically rolled off of your tongue, it wasn’t exactly a good idea, but there was no way in hell that you’d let this douchebag think he had any real effect on you.

“Oh, you sure? You don’t have to lie to me, I said I meant to call, we can always try again—maybe somewhere more private and intimate.”

He didn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he spoke.

Joaquin was your savior, walking right up to you and putting the now bagged and wrapped fish into the cart, then he noticed the way you were breathing, and your fists clenched at your sides while you glared at the artsy douchebag across from you. 

He didn’t need to know what had been said to know that you were pissed.

So he smushed himself right next to you, a hand wrapping around your waist, gently resting against your side as he planted a kiss to the side of your head. 

“You alright cariño? This guy bothering you?” 

You relaxed against Joaquin’s touch, glancing at him, a pleading look in your eyes that only he could recognize. “Yeah, I’m fine baby, this is the asshole I was telling you about. Remember? From Friday?” 

He nodded, now taking the time to look at the guy across from you. Joaquin knew his name was Dylan, that much you’d told him when you vented on the drive to the store, complaining about your terrible taste in men and rambling about how much you hated having to settle. 

Joaquin also didn’t know what you saw in this guy. Sure he was tall, but the guy was lanky, scrawny, and looked like he smoked two packs a day. Not to mention the way his ‘oversized’ clothes were mismatched in the worst possible way, and he had paint stains all over his jeans. Plus he had on god-awful boat shoes.

Maybe he managed to catfish you—that had to be it. 

Well, maybe he was funny, or something. Joaquin knew you’d ranted about constantly settling, but at this rate, the bar had to be in Hell.

“Ah, this is Daniel? Wish I could say it was nice to meet you man, but clearly, the circumstances aren't great.”

Dylan nodded slowly, blinking several times as he looked between you and Joaquin. “So this is the ex boyfriend that you’re back with? You sure you aren’t bullshitting me, I think you would’ve mentioned your ex-boyfriend being the Falcon.” 

You simply shrugged. “I like to keep my dating life private.”

Meanwhile Joaquin was doing his best to contain his excitement that someone recognized him in public. He had a fake boyfriend facade to upkeep! He couldn’t afford to squeal right now.

Dylan didn’t look convinced, and clearly he was persistent. To the point that it was starting to piss Joaquin off. So he did what any rational best friend would do in this situation, he leaned into your space, and littered the side of your neck with kisses—right in front of the guy. At first, he’d only left a few pecks—then he lightly traced his tongue along your skin.

Your eyes widened, shock evident at the feeling of Joaquin’s lips and tongue along your bare neck.

You didn’t know whether or not you wanted to whimper or gag. Either way you’d be kicking Joaquin’s ass over this later.

The public display of affection was enough to earn a loud scoff from Dylan as he walked off. 

Then you were shoving Joaquin back slightly, now whisper-shouting at him. “Seriously dude! Maybe that was overselling it!” 

Joaquin shrugged, matching your tone, “What? I had to sell it! I mean come on, ex-boyfriend?! You could’ve said I was a one night stand turned into a three night stand or something!” 

You shook your head at him. “You didn’t need to fucking lick me! You pervert!” Then you ran the back of your hand along your neck, wiping away the remnants of his spit from your skin as you grimace.

He threw his hands up in surrender. “God forbid a guy acts a little freaky with his fake girlfriend!” 

Your jaw dropped at that.  “You’re so chronically online! You freak!” 

Joaquin watched as you rummaged through your purse, finally pulling out a small pack of makeup wipes, practically ripping it open as you grabbed a wipe and ran it along your neck. He raised a single brow at the dramatics of it all.Okay, maybe you weren’t being that dramatic considering he did run his entire tongue along the column of your throat in the middle of a grocery store produce aisle,but he had a point to make!

Besides, he’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. If you’d let him do it again, he would without an ounce of hesitation.

It wasn’t the first time you had to put on a fake show of intimacy and affection in public. 

But usually that was done under the guise of working recon missions, having to blend into large crowds at fundraisers and banquets, going undercover with one another, posing as a happy—and sometimes unhappy—couple. 

Hell, once he had you pinned against a hallway wall at a masquerade ball, his lips on yours while he held one of your thighs up, wrapped around his waist as his fingers dug into the plush skin. 

He thought about that night sometimes, having to shake his head and force himself to snap out of it. 

“I am not chronically online! You’re just chronically offline!” 

You rolled your eyes at that, tossing the used makeup wipe into the nearby trash can before looking down at the list of groceries and essentials that you needed for your apartment, and the list of things for the ceviche. “Let’s go get my coffee before I wring your throat.”

“As long as you tell me I’m pretty while doing it.”

Then you shoved him again, now pushing the cart towards the coffee and tea aisle.

By the time that you’d actually made it back to your apartment and put everything away, it was nearly four. Then you’d spent half an hour chopping up vegetables while forcing Joaquin to handle cutting the fish.

He was reluctant the entire time, making faces as he tried to avoid getting any fish juice on himself. He’d even opted to wear a pair of latex gloves and one of your frilly aprons.

“This is so disgusting.” 

You laughed at his complaining, nodding your head while you focused on juicing the limes into a bowl. “Well, you were the one who practically begged your Abuela for the recipe, if you hadn’t opened that big ass mouth then we wouldn’t be here! Besides, it’ll be good when it’s ready.” 

Joaquin shook his head, now putting the last bits of the cut up fruit into the large container, then he moved his knife and cutting board directly into your kitchen sink, pulling the gloves off and tossing them in the trash can before turning the water to the hottest setting to wash his hands.

“You better wash that cutting board too! Just wash it once and leave it in the sink, I’ll put it in the dishwasher when I’m done here.” You focused on pouring the lime juice overtop the fish while you spoke, ensuring that all of it was saturated. 

“It’s fine Cabezona, I’ll do the dishes too. I owe you one after licking you like a dog—even though I’m positive you liked it!”

You nearly dropped the bowl at his words, a loud scoff leaving your lips. “Joaquin! You’re such a perv!”

He nodded while he washed the dishes, then unloaded your dishwasher, stacking each bowl and plate on the counter before putting them in the right cupboards. “I’m just saying, everyone likes being a little freaky every now and then. Besides, you’re always wound so tight—I guarantee you’re into that nasty shit.” 

You tried to drown him out as you closed the container and put it inside of the fridge, focusing on cleaning up and putting the container of cut vegetables away, followed by the additional lime juice that you’d squeezed for later.

“Joaquin Torres, now is not the time to talk about my shitty sex life! We can’t all be you!” 

He turned around, now shrugging your apron off and leaning against the counter. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You raised a brow at him, looking over at him from your position next to the fridge. “Well lets see, anytime you get laid you walk into the office, my apartment, Sam’s apartment—hell you walk anywhere and you’re all smiles and laughs as if you’ve had the best night of your life. So clearly, only one of us is having good sex here, and it’s most definitely not me.” 

Joaquin’s expression was unreadable for a few seconds as he stared at you.

“Don’t even start pitying me either, and please, I don’t have time for another ‘you just have shitty taste in men’ speech, I’ve heard it enough from literally everyone. Maybe I’m just like an idiot because I genuinely can’t find a good guy to save my life.” 

Then you shut the fridge and moved back towards the small island that you were previously standing by, now focused on wiping down the countertop as Joaquin stared at you.

“Have you ever considered that you’re blind as hell?” 

You blinked a few times, pausing your motions to look over at him. “I’m pretty sure every good guy that’s left is either dead or in a committed relationship, so either I’m blind, or an idiot—or maybe both. I’m thinking I should just call a Nunnery and join a convent.” 

Joaquin sighed, shaking his head before turning back towards the sink, now loading the last few cups before shutting the dishwasher and washing his hands again. After he patted them dry on his pants, he was at your side again, leaning against the island while you reorganized your small fruit basket, putting the oldest fruits on the top to make sure you’d get to them before they went bad.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve dated guys that don’t know the difference between their, there, and they are.” 

You nodded at that. “Honestly, probably. Jesus, even the tax guy turned out to be an asshole. Maybe I’m like a douchebag magnet! What does a girl have to do to find a guy who isn’t a piece of shit,like, men are all shitty. No offense, well you don’t really count.”

He blinked a few times, arms now crossed in front of his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean? You always say I don’t count.”

“Because you don’t count. You’re my best friend, I don’t see you romantically. Yeah. I can admit that you’re attractive, but I wouldn’t ever date you.”

Joaquin didn’t know whether or not to be offended, so instead he pressed further. “Okay, elaborate on that.” 

You looked over at him, a bit confused. “Why?”

“Because, I’m pretty sure I should be offended—but I can’t tell.”

That earned a laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t mean to offend you, it’s just, you’re my friend and I see you as a friend. I mean, if I wanted to, I’m positive I could see you romantically, but I just don’t. I like what we have and given my shitty relationship track record, I don’t want to ruin my friendship with you just for the chance to bone you. Besides, your abuela would kill you if we stopped being friends. Y’know she likes me more than you.”

He slowly nodded at that. “But you would—hypothetically bone me?” 

You shrugged again. “Why’s that important again?” 

Joaquin ran a hand through his hair, staring at you with that far-away look in his eyes again. “Can you just answer the question without answering with a question.”

You sighed, now standing up straight, hands on your hips as you turned to face him fully. “Hypothetically speaking? Like full on mind-wipe? Forget I ever said it?” When he nodded you took a deep breath, eyes trailing his figure for a few seconds before meeting his own again.

“Yes. Hypothetically, I’d bone you—but I think you’d be boning me. You’re too overconfident and cocky to be submissive at first.”

It wasn’t as if Joaquin was unattractive, there was nothing unattractive about the man. Of course, he wasn’t the tallest guy around—however he made up for that in almost every other department.

He had nice teeth, sure they weren’t perfect, but you loved his smile. His hair was always done, and his curls were to die for, they were always soft anytime you’d touch them, and you knew he spent time taking care of his hair. Physique wise? He was a wall of muscle, tan skin that was perfectly toned from years of being in the Air Force and now being an Avenger. 

Joaquin’s eyes always held so much emotion, they were deep pools of chocolate that you could drown in—if you really wanted to.

Not to mention his hands? Jesus Christ you could write a book about Joaquin Torres’s hands.

But outside of all of his physical traits, Joaquin was genuinely a great guy. He cared deeply for everyone in his life, and even those he hardly knew. He was observant and knew how to read people well—especially you. 

His words snapped you out of your daze.

“I’d definitely do the boning.” 

You scoffed at that, shoving him again. “You make me sick!” 

Joaquin smiled, nodding his head. “Well, it’s true! Besides, you’d love my hypothetical boning! Now, not to totally void the mind-wipe, but I was thinking that maybe, possibly, we could, well—y’know at least try once. You could use it.”

You blinked a few times. “Joaquin Torres, are you asking to bone me?” 

He nodded, jutting his bottom lip out slightly for a few seconds. “I guess so yeah, it doesn’t need to be like romantic—you just need to get laid, and lucky for you, I’m great in bed.”

“You’re literally offering to pity fuck me. Oh my god, is this what my life has really come to? My best friend has to pity fuck me? Jesus Christ!” With that you stormed off, leaving Joaquin standing in the kitchen with a confused expression on his face.

He wouldn’t really be pity-fucking you. 

Okay, maybe he did pity your lackluster lovelife and even shittier sex-life, but having sex with you would’ve been a win-win situation for the both of you. Joaquin would probably be able to get rid of the random fantasies about you, and you’d actually get to have a real orgasm that doesn’t require a vibrator.

Maybe Joaquin should’ve been more bothered by your blatant rejection—yet somehow he still had a semblance of hope that you’d cave. It wasn’t as if he’d ever force himself onto you, but based on the amount of stress you’ve been under, alongside your lackluster love life, this was something you needed.

Although, maybe volunteering to be the person to sleep with you wasn’t the best idea in the world.

He should’ve known you’d overreact to the simple suggestion. 

You were constantly a walking ball of emotional tension waiting to explode. He’d been used to it, and he was one of the few people that knew how to calm you down and help you relax. Granted, there were also other ways that would most definitely help you relax—but now you think that he offered to ‘pity fuck’ you, which was an insane thought in the first place.

You had to be blind. Joaquin was positive you were blind. 

Even Sam had made several quips in the past about the way that Joaquin looked at you when he thought no one else was paying attention. He was constantly overly possessive when it came to you, and sure, he did take things a little too far at times—hence the grocery store incident—but you outright refused to see him as anything other than a friend!

It was infuriating in a way that he couldn’t explain. He couldn’t just go on and yell at you or be mad that you didn’t see him romantically, not when your reason for it all was so valid and made perfect sense. You and him were best friends, you’d almost instantly clicked, it was rare to meet someone that you meshed with so well. 

If you didn’t want to ruin the friendship, that made sense to Joaquin and he didn’t want to push the issue. But he was currently trying to swallow down the minor sting of rejection while considering the best course of action.

He could easily play it off, acting as if he was joking and hadn’t meant for the joke to get that far. The only issue with that was the fact that he was a terrible liar and you always saw right through him, something about knowing his tell—whatever the hell that meant.

Joaquin could also just swallow his pride and chase after you, which seemed to be the most realistic option here. It wasn’t as if you were on the verge of starting World War III, well, not this time at least.

So he took a few deep breaths, ran his hands through his hair, then made his way to your bedroom, glancing over at the sofa, spotting your black cat sitting and staring at him as he stopped walking—hesitating as he debated on actually walking into your bedroom. 

“Binx, this is a terrible idea isn’t it?”

A meow was her only response, Joaquin pretended that it was a meow of encouragement, however he knew the cat didn’t exactly like him. If anything, she was probably shaming him for his terrible timing and horrendous ideas.

Then Joaquin walked down the short hallway, knocking on your bedroom door a few times. Of course you didn’t respond—he should’ve expected that. 

So he slowly opened the door, met with the sight of you laying flat on your bed, feet hanging off the edge slightly while your face was pressed into one of your many pillows. Then you let out something between a muffled shout and groan, raising a single hand, middle finger facing him.

“Oh come on, Hermosa! You can’t really be in here pouting right now!” He opened the door wider, arms now crossed as he leaned against the doorframe, looking directly at you while you let out another muffled shout.

“I have no idea what you’re saying right now, you do know that, right?”

Then you were sitting up on your elbows, groaning again as you looked over your shoulder at him, eyes squinted, brows knit together, and an evident pout on your face. “Fuck off Joaquin. I really don’t need your pity right now, it’s bad enough Bucky gave me relationship advice yesterday! A man who hasn’t been on a real date since the 1940s has a better dating history than me!”

Joaquin slowly nodded. “I mean, I think he’s technically dating Sam? Actually—I don’t know what the hell those two are, but I know I’ve heard some suggestive sounds from Sam’s room before. That was enough for me.”

You groaned again, face back against your pillows. 

He finally walked into the room, grasping your ankles and dragging you down slowly, ignoring your squeal as he leaned against your bed to usher you onto your back. Then he plopped down beside you, both of you staring up at the ceiling fan. 

“I didn’t mean to insult you y’know. I just figured it would’ve been a win-win. Besides, you said it yourself, you don’t see me romantically, so I thought it would avoid the whole awkwardness thing.”

You sighed, hands now folded together over your stomach, eyes following the slow rotation of the fan’s blades. “Okay, I might have overreacted. But Quino, my love life fucking sucks. People are always yapping about how your twenties are supposed to be like full of great experiences and I mean, yeah so far most of my twenties haven't been horrible—outside of being like a criminal for the first two years—but I have terrible luck with relationships and even worse luck with sex.”

Then you finally turned to look at him, eyes trailing his side profile, taking in the different curves and ridges of his face. “This shit sucks.” 

He laughed at you, a smile on his face as he finally looked at you, neither of you fully processed how close you actually were to one another until this exact moment in time. Your faces were inches apart, he could feel your shallow breaths against his face, and the smell of your minty gum lingered between the two of you.

Joaquin’s eyes traced your features. “Y’know, you’re really pretty, Cabezona.” 

You raised a single brow. “Yeah, because every girl wants to be called pretty, followed by an endearing nickname about how big their head is.” 

He bit his bottom lip as he smiled, nodding a bit before speaking. “It’s part of the Torres charm. Besides, you know how my family is, everyone has a nickname—at least yours isn’t something like Lindito. They basically call me a cutie pie because I was a cute kid—it was fine when I was six, now I’m almost thirty!”

You laughed at him, raising both brows. “Don’t make me call your Abuela and tell her you’re talking about her!” 

Joaquin scoffed, brows knit together. “I’d never! Now, can you please get up and stop wallowing in pity and embarrassment. If anything, I should be the one wallowing, you just brutally rejected me.” 

You rolled your eyes then looked at him again, except this time you made direct eye contact with him. “This is literally embarrassing, I can’t get laid to the point that you offered to bone me.”

Now it was Joaquin’s turn to roll his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything offensive by it, but let’s face it—you need to get laid. Like properly, not whatever mediocre shit you’ve been doing with guys.”

Then you sat up, shaking your head. “Yeah, but it won’t be with you, mister hot shot, now c’mon, we have to finish cooking and call your Abuela before she kills you. Not me though, I’m her favorite.” 

A grand total of four days have passed since the night that you brutally rejected Joaquin and assumed that he was offering to ‘pity-fuck’ you—whatever the hell that meant. 

Within those four days, you managed to walk in on Sam and Bucky in a very intimate position in Sam’s office, which led to you yelling at them both while they shrugged their missing remnants of clothes back on—honestly, you were glad they weren’t full blown fucking when you walked in because you probably would’ve stomped your foot and yelled at them even more.

Then you spent an hour laying on the sectional in the room with your head in Bucky’s lap as you vented about your lackluster love life and fear of commitment, which was followed by even more relationship advice from him—which you screamed into a throw pillow over.

It also didn’t help that both Sam and Bucky were acting incredibly awkward following you walking in on them, but you simply brushed it off, telling them you couldn’t care less about what they did with one another, while emphasizing the use of locks on doors.

Sam tried to argue with you about needing to knock, which you rolled your eyes at, while telling him this office was technically government property, and it was a shared space with Joaquin as well—so technically, you were within your right to walk right into the space without a care in the world. Especially since the door was unlocked.

It didn’t help that your younger sister had called and told you that she was engaged to her long-term high school sweetheart. You hated him—but he made her happy so you tolerated him. Although, given the opportunity, you would kick his ass, so you congratulated her and told him he was always on thin ice.

That sent you into a minor depressive period because truthfully, you felt pathetic. You knew there weren’t that many good guys left in the world, but the fact that your younger sister had managed to settle down before you really sent you over the edge.

Joaquin told you that you were just being dramatic when you told him that you would just end up alone with seventeen cats, you were already on the way there! Binx was your first cat, but what was to stop you from adopting seven more!.

Even today as you sat inside of Sam and Joaquin’s shared office, you were irritated and venting. 

“No you guys don’t get it! I have shit luck with love! Y’know this is the first Friday in months that I haven't had a date? Mind you, each date was shitty. But damn, at least I was trying! Now I feel like a sack of moldy potatoes. My little sister is gonna get married next year and I’ve never even been in a real committed relationship!”

Sam shook his head. “You do know you have your own office in this building, right?” 

You scoffed at him. “So what? Now you don’t even want to talk to me? You’re in a relationship with my pseudo-dad so you’re basically my step dad that doesn’t love me Sam!” 

Joaquin groaned, spinning around in his desk chair to look at you. “Cariño, you need to calm down and stop yelling at everyone, it’s three thirty, and for the first time in a while we’re not on some high-stakes mission or on crunchtime with some Avengers related deadline to meet, or handling a potentially world-ending crisis. You can’t be mad at Sam for wanting some peace and quiet.”

You blinked a few times, jaw clenched as you squinted, staring directly at Joaquin, wishing you had magical powers to light him on fire. “Peace and quiet? Coming from you? You never shut the hell up!”

He took a deep breath, over the past few days you’d progressively gotten snappier. Joaquin figured it was because you desperately needed to get laid, you were so wound up and tense that anything sent you spiraling into a fit of rage. It was most likely because you hadn’t had your weekly dose of mediocre sex to keep your inner turmoil at bay.

“Jeez, have you always been this mean and whiny?” 

You glared at Sam, who shook his head, raising a single brow. “Listen, I’ve got a sister, you don’t scare me. I’ve also fought literal aliens from outer space—wait put that down! What the hell are you doing!” 

Then you were hurling your plastic water bottle at him. He ducked right on time, eyes wide and jaw dropped as he looked at you, then he shook his head, now standing with his hands on his hips.

“That’s it, get out! You’re on time out. Go work on a report or something, get the hell out of my office.” He stared at you, eyes wide as he pointed towards the doors.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind you. They both winced slightly at the sound. The doors into the room weren’t exactly easy to slam—it was as if you’d put all of your strength into the action.

“You really are acting like her dad, man.” 

Sam scoffed, now looking at Joaquin. “And you’re acting like her shitty boyfriend. Go console her, give her a kiss so she stops letting all of her frustration out on everyone! It’s obvious you like her! Can’t you go confess your feelings and help her deal with her inner rage demon. She’s never this bad. She tried to shoot me once, but I think I’d prefer that over her hurling full bottles of water at me, in my own office!”

Joaquin’s jaw dropped, eyes wide as he stared at Sam. 

“Oh please, don’t look at me like I’ve got three heads, it’s obvious to everyone but you two. You’re basically in love with the maniac, and she’s so hellbent on just being your friend that she can’t process how un-platonic the both of you actually are! I mean come on! Her dating history is trash because she’s too slow to see what’s right in front of her, and you won’t man the hell up and tell her how you feel!”

Joaquin pursed his lips, eyes shut as he nodded a few times. He knew Sam was right, but he didn’t need the tough love, not today at least. “Listen man, I don’t know what to do about her, she’s just so—well you know how she is! Y’know I offered—”

Sam cut him off, blinking several times before speaking. “Offered to what? Don’t tell me you tried the whole ‘lets just have sex as friends’ thing. That never works!”

“Okay, it wasn’t exactly like that, in those words! But come on! She told me she doesn’t see me romantically! How’s a guy supposed to recover from that? I get it, we have a great friendship but if she doesn’t want to flush it down the drain, I get that, I just have to respect her boundaries, I can’t just bug the shit out of her until she snaps and fucks me.”

Sam grimaced, shaking his head. “Okay, a little too vulgar for me, kid. Were those her words, like verbatim?” 

Joaquin nodded. “Kind of, sort-of? She said that, but she also told me, she probably could see me romantically if she tried, but she doesn’t want to try so why should I push it? Besides, she’ll eventually relax! It’ll just take some time.”

“Yeah, how about you actually, y’know, act like the adult that you are and talk to her about your obvious feelings, and maybe little miss anger issues, might actually put two and two together and realize she’s practically in love with you, thinks you’re unattainable, so she settles for idiots and assholes.”

That conversation sparked one of Joaquin’s less-than-great plans. Instead of talking to you about things, he opted to simply do boyfriend-ish things around you while simultaneously being a little too up close and personal with you for several days, hoping you’d get the message, or at the very least, full-on reject him so he could actually move on.

It started the day after he spoke with Sam. That Saturday Joaquin showed up at your apartment with a bouquet of sunflowers—thankfully they were actually in season—and when he handed them to you, you were utterly confused. 

He was starting to think that maybe you were really that oblivious. Your reaction only emphasized that. The second he handed you the bouquet, you asked if he was apologizing for something, or if you’d forgotten about an important date—or if maybe these were ‘thank you’ flowers. 

Joaquin stared at you, utterly confused.

Who the hell just randomly shows up at someone’s doorstep on a Saturday with ‘thank you’ flowers—most people would just get them delivered. It also didn’t help that you simply shrugged, focused on trimming the stems before putting the flowers in water without any other questions. You were quiet the entire time, which also had him overthinking the gesture.

Mainly because you hadn’t been quiet in a while.

Then you decided it was time to grace him with the terrible news that you had a date on Monday. Who the hell goes on dates on a Monday?!

“Well, he seems nice enough I guess. He actually works on base, not directly with us, but I’ve seen him around. He stopped me yesterday on the way back to my office. I can’t even promise that he’ll be different—maybe if I’m lucky he’ll actually be good in bed.” 

Joaquin was glad you weren’t looking at him, he couldn’t even control his facial expressions, right eye twitching slightly at the news.

So he opted to step his game up, that day as the two of you spent time together, he stood closer than usual, and as he moved behind you, he made sure to place his hand on the small of your back, or he’d grasp your hips slightly, shimmying past you as if there wasn’t enough room for him to move without touching you. 

Throughout the entire day he helped you with your mundane tasks, and the domesticity of it all was getting to him—to the point that he had to give himself a pep talk in the bathroom

He even helped you unbraid your hair, fingers massaging against your scalp just enough to make you blush.

His final move that night was pulling you directly against his chest on your oversized sofa, arms wrapped around you, fingers gently grazing the sliver of exposed skin on your hip between the hemline of your shirt and the pajamas you wore. Hell—he even intertwined his legs with yours. 

Sure you’d cuddled in the past—but never like that. 

When you tried to question it, he hummed against your scalp, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while his gaze remained focused on the shitty slasher movie that you chose.

By the time the movie ended, the both of you had fallen asleep.

Sunday morning you were awoken by the sounds of Binx’s loud meowing and the rays of sunlight shining through your half-opened blinds. As you tried to get up, you then realized that Joaquin was still holding you in place—the motion had an unfamiliar feeling bubbling through you. 

Something similar to butterflies? But that wasn’t right—that was something associated with childish crushes and you’ve never had a crush on Joaquin Torres.

So you shoved his arm away, which in turn woke him up. Then you were up, walking to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the only goal of feeding Binx before she managed to start a feline uprising at eight in the morning.

“G’morning Sunshine.” Joaquin sat up as he spoke, yawning and stretching. Taking the time to roll his shoulders back then crack his neck slightly. The couch wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, however after a night of sleeping in the same position—he felt stiff. 

His voice was raspier than usual, and that didn’t help with the foreign emotions you were currently feeling. Your brows knit together as you looked down at Binx, who was now purring while rubbing herself along your calves. Of course the cat would be happy now that you were awake to feed her—she couldn’t give you thirty more minutes of sleep.

“Uh—morning Quino.”

Your voice was strained, and you cringed the second you finished speaking, glad he couldn’t see your face.

“So what’s on today’s agenda? Now that Sam and Bucky are on good terms, it looks like we’ll have a lot more free time.” 

You nodded your head without looking at him, now squatting down to give Binx her ceramic bowl of wet food, then you looked around, trying to find things to do that would help you avoid Joaquin’s stare. You were unfortunately, very unsuccessful, especially when the second you stood back up, he was already in the kitchen, one hand on your lower back as he walked past you, taking the time to brew a new pot of coffee.

You rushed to the bathroom, eyes wide, panic evident on your features as you looked at your own reflection. Maybe you were just imagining things, he’d always been touchy-feely with you, and it hadn’t ever affected you before. What was so different now? Maybe you were just overthinking things, this was Joaquin—your Joaquin.

There wasn’t anything different between the two of you. You were friends, best friends at that. You trusted him with your life, so why the hell did it feel like your skin was tingling from where he’d touched you, and why the hell were you blushing like a schoolgirl.

You tried to take longer with your morning routine, hoping that you’d be able to waste as much time as possible—maybe he’d get the hint and go home.

But instead, he walked right into your bathroom, which wasn’t exactly unusual for the both of you. Then he placed another hand on your hip, squeezing past you to grab his spare toothbrush and the toothpaste. Then he was brushing his teeth, standing right beside you—except he was closer than usual.

Or at least he felt like he was closer than usual.

You had to be losing it. This was normal, there was nothing different about this interaction—so why the hell did it feel so different?

The bathroom wasn’t exactly huge, so of course you’d be close. The counter only had one sink, it wasn’t as if this was a large dual-vanity bathroom with extra walking space. The bathroom had barely enough room for the both of you behind the wide-set counter, even then, you had your own organized chaotic mess of things along both sides of the white countertop.

Plus, with where Joaquin stood, his left shoulder was brushing against one of your plush towels hanging on a hook, and he hardly fit into the space between the wall and you. Usually he’d opt to lightly shove you closer to the wall, so you weren’t exactly sure why he chose that side today, maybe because it was closer to the toothbrushes.

While you swished your mouthwash, he flossed, humming the tune to Love Story by Taylor Swift. Then as you both made eye contact in the mirror’s reflection, you raised your brows at his song choice, taking a second to spit the mouthwash out, and in seconds, you were both scream-singing in sync.

“Little did I know! You were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles and my daddy said stay away from Juliet!” 

You were both incredibly off-key and pitchy. Bursting into a fit of laughter while trying to keep up with the song, except both of you only knew some of the lyrics, so you ended up mumbling and making up words while singing together.

He held one of your brushes in hand as he sang to you. “I've been feeling so alone—something about waiting for you—something something something—marry me Juliet you’ll never have to be alone!”

You laughed at him, a wide smile on your face while you shook your head, shoving him slightly before snatching your brush out of his hand. Then you opted to moisturize your face, using two fingers from each hand to rub circles against your face before tapping your under-eye cream on.

Joaquin watched you the entire time, brows knit together, focused on your movements. “The hell is all that even for? Can’t you just slap some lotion on and call it a day?”

You blinked several times, now turning to look at him, brows knit together in confusion. “You only use lotion?”

He nodded, shrugging “I mean yeah, I wash my face, then put lotion on. That’s really it.”

You shoved him once, then scoffed and shoved him again. “Of course you’d have nice skin just because. I can’t stand you, y’know that? Only using lotion, my ass—now c’mere!” 

Joaquin wasn’t exactly sure how he could get any closer to you, but then you stepped back a bit to grab one of your fancy little moisturizers, unscrewing the cap of the glass bottle, a dropper now in hand while you grasped his jaw—the motion catching him off guard, then you were focused on dotting the liquid along his face.

Before he could fully process it, you were rubbing circles into his skin, and he was staring with wide eyes and parted lips. 

“Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”

“So you’ve got flies in here? That’s disgusting, cariño. I think you actually should call someone about that.” Then you shoved him again, shaking your head at his antics.

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence as you moved on from one serum to the next, applying each product carefully to his skin as he stared at you with another unreadable emotion.

Maybe if you weren’t so blind you would’ve realized Joaquin had nothing but unending adoration in his eyes as he focused on your face, taking in each and every detail, committing this moment to memory.

Before he could get too caught up in the domestic fantasy, he cleared his throat. “Cabezona, are you finished yet? I think I’ll be fine without your ten step skin care routine!”

“Don’t you have your own apartment to be at? Instead of bothering me on my peaceful Sunday?”

He shook his head at you. “Nah, but I’m thinking, we should go out today. I heard about this great spot in Chinatown, you’ll love it, I promise! After we can go to the aquarium, you know you love seeing the octopi.” Joaquin sounded so excited and admittedly you were too—he was right, you did love seeing the ever expanding Octopus exhibit.

“Okay fine, but I have to get ready. No way in hell I’m going looking like I just rolled out of bed.”

“Works for me cariño, I think I have some clothes somewhere here too, gotta go find it in all of your shit.” Then for some reason unknown to him—he planted a firm smack to your ass as he walked past you.

Your surprised breath had him realizing what he’d done. It was something similar to a high pitched gasp—hell if he wasn’t so focused on the rush of heat throughout his entire body he would’ve registered it as a slight moan.

Joaquin froze in the doorway, and you froze in place, jaw dropped while you slowly turned to look at him. At the same time he was slowly turning around, absolutely mortified—the domesticity was really getting to him—to the point of no return.

“Did you just smack my ass? What the hell, Joaquin!” 

He slowly nodded “I don’t know—shit I mean yeah—but I don’t know what came over me! I’m sorry! I just—you and then me—and then—I’m sorry. God don’t kill me—I didn’t mean to, I just—I think I’m losing it here!”

You blinked several times, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to figure out what to say to him. 

“Listen Hermosa, I really didn’t mean it—like really. Oh my god—holy shit. I’m really sorry, like seriously sorry, don’t murder me—please you look like you’re about to kill me!”

He was full on panicking, this wasn’t part of his plan, hell his plan was supposed to be long and drawn out, he’d spend a week pestering you, doing relationship-esque things until you finally got the hint, then he’d do some grand gesture and ask you out on a real, genuine date. Not the shit that you’ve been so used to.

After the date he’d also fuck you until you forgot your own name—but now it was looking like he wouldn’t live to see that potential date ever happen. Not when your shocked expression was quickly warping into your usual glare. The glare was like a silent warning telling him to run, so that’s exactly what he did.

The moment you reached for your brush again—he was off, sprinting out of the bathroom, down the short hallway, and running away from you.

You were quick on your feet, chasing after him with your brush in hand, throwing several random things at him while he ran circles around your living room, then into the kitchen, then he’d ducked behind the Island for a few seconds to catch his breath before practically hurdling himself over it to get away from you.

“I’m sorry for smacking your ass! To be fair! It’s a nice ass!”

“You’re such a pervert! I’m gonna fucking kill you Joaquin!” Then you threw the TV remote at him, he barely managed to smack it out of the way mid-air, wincing at the impact on his palm. 

Now you were both at a stand still, the only real piece of furniture separating you both was your small sectional, he stood on the side closest to your bedroom door, you stood on the opposite end closer to the apartment door. He wished he had ended up on that side—then at least he would’ve been able to run down the building hallway.

“Come on Hermosa! I didn’t mean anything by it! I just—something came over me okay?! You don’t need to murder me—you’ll go to the Raft or something—Sam would kill you! Actually that’s a good point! If you kill me, Sam’ll kill you!” 

You blinked a few times. “Then let him kill me! At least I’ll kill you first you freak!” 

“You’re so mean! Take it as a compliment! Actually—shit! Don’t take it as a compliment, that's not how my mom raised me! But fuck—you’re so—just God—I can’t ever get you out of my head! Then you go and do shit like that! With the thing on my face and my heart is racing—and it’s not because I’ve been running. You just don’t get what you do to me Cariño!”

You paused, dropping the brush in your hand, it hit the floor with a shallow bang. You stared at him, brows knit together in confusion, his words didn’t make any sense to you. 

It wasn’t the first time you’ve done something like that for Joaquin, you two were close, extremely close, so why was everything suddenly so different?

“Then you look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about! But I know you do! I know you feel it too! I spent all of yesterday trying to get you to really feel it! Then I had this whole plan about how I was going to act around you for a week—and honestly, I was just gonna do stuff that I’ve always wanted to do with you! But then waking up with you in my arms had my brain feeling like mush and my heart hammering in my chest—and you—you’re just—you’re everything to me.”

His confession had you in shock, brows raised, lips parted, heat enveloping your features while you struggled to process everything. 

“Fuck, last week you rejected me, and y’know what? I earned it, asking my best friend to have sex with me was a bit shallow, I can admit that!—but then you said you don’t see me romantically—which yeah it hurt, but you followed it with you could see me romantically if you wanted to, and that gave me enough hope that maybe you do feel the way I do, maybe you just don’t see it—or haven’t let yourself—but at this point, I have to let it all out because I literally smacked your ass like you’re my girlfriend and now you’re probably gonna behead me with some evil makeshift guillotine in your closet!”

As Joaquin spoke, he moved his hands rapidly, emphasizing certain words and phrases. He’d always done that—talking with his hands—but right now, something about it had your heart racing.

Or maybe it was the realization that Joaquin Torres had romantic feelings for you.

“Then I talked to Sam, and he told me that maybe you’re just settling for shitty guys because somehow, in the back of your mind, you won’t let yourself see what’s right in front of you.Not to sound like a narcissist here, but I’ve swallowed down my feelings for so long, and every now and then they come bubbling up and I have to gaslight myself into thinking that I’m just insane and don’t actually like you in the romantic sense!”

That’s when you realized why your heart was racing, not because Joaquin Torres has feelings for you—no. It was because you have feelings for Joaquin Torres. 

You really did settle each and every time, going for asshole after asshole and somehow convincing yourself that you just had bad luck and would never find a single guy that was actually kind hearted and cared about you beyond just having sex. Then you’d end up on a series of shitty dates, being heartbroken, angry, and frustrated—and the first person you always called was Joaquin.

Joaquin Torres who had every single positive trait that you wanted in a man. 

Joaquin Torres that knew you like the back of his hand.

Joaquin Torres who’s family absolutely adored you—and you adored them.

Joaquin Torres, the same Joaquin Torres that you’d instantly clicked with when you met several years ago.

You’d managed to completely drown out Joaquin’s mixture between ranting, venting, and confessing his feelings for you. Then you shook your head, walking around the sofa in three long strides until you were toe to toe with Joaquin.

“If you’re gonna kill me, at least tell me I’m pretty fir-” you immediately cut him off, rolling your eyes at his terrible attempt at humor. One hand tugged on his shirt, the other caressed the side of his face, practically pulling him into you as you smashed your lips against his. 

Joaquin was practically frozen in place for a few seconds until he felt you pulling away—clearly reading too much into his lack of reaction. So he gently grasped both sides of your face, kissing you back, pouring all of his frustration into the kiss. 

Things started slow, however the second you parted your lips, letting him in—things picked up very quickly. He kissed you as if he’d never be able to again, like he wanted to memorize this exact moment, and he held you firmly against him—one hand moving from your face to your hip, pulling your lower body flush with his own.

He bit your lip as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours for a moment while you both stood in silence, your uneven breaths filling the space.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years—Christ the day I met you I wanted to kiss you. Then when you came to the hospital to see me after I got my ass handed to me by that Flag smasher? All I wanted to do was kiss you until I couldn’t breathe.”

You bit your bottom lip slightly, eyes finally meeting his as he leaned back a few inches. 

“I think I might be an idiot, Quino.” 

He nodded at that, thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Oh absolutely, your taste in guys emphasized that.Would now be a bad time to ask if you want me to bone you?” 

You laughed at his joke, shaking your head with a smile, before lightly shoving him and taking a step back. “You’re such a freak!” 

“I never said I wasn’t! Come on, you’re basically my girlfriend now, let’s all be honest here—you could be my wife if you wanted to, I’ll propose right now, drop down on one knee and everything.” Both of his brows were raised while he shrugged, hands out in front of him and a smirk on his face.

“Oh my god! Quit being yourself for ten minutes Joaquin Torres!” Then you walked away from him, towards your bedroom. 

“Wait! Where are you going?!” 

You glanced over your shoulder with a single hand on your doorknob. “What, did you think you were gonna defile my couch?!Now, come on—I prefer having sex on a bed, besides, I haven’t even had sex in my bed.”

He blinked a few times. “Like ever?” 

You nodded. “I usually don’t bring my dates here, besides, letting random men know where I live isn’t the safest bet. Honestly, I think I settle for car sex the most. Wait—does my vibrator count?” Then you giggled as you walked into your bedroom, mentally counting to five to see how long it would take him to follow you. 

You only made it to three before he was practically running through the door and shutting it behind him. Then his hands were back on you, walking you towards your bed before pushing you down.

Before you knew it, he was shirtless and on top of you, his lips back against yours. He kissed you like he had a point to prove, lips moving against yours, kissing you deeply, moaning against your lips while you fought him for control of the kiss. 

Joaquin knew he’d won the second you whimpered as he rolled his hips against yours. He was perfectly situated between your thighs, and your toes curled at the feeling of his evident bulge pressing against your clothed core. 

Your hands were all over him, tracing his chest, then his shoulders, then his back. Eventually, one settled in his hair, lightly tugging at the curls, earning a low moan. But he hadn’t stopped kissing you, his lips perfectly moulded against yours, and you were both lost in one another. You had years to make up for. 

Eventually he pulled back for air, heavy breaths against your lips while he struggled to fully regain his composure. Then his eyes scanned your features, your eyes were slightly hooded as you looked up to him, an evident flush on your skin, and your lips were swollen.

“You’re so pretty.” 

You laughed at him, raising both brows. “Yeah, you aren’t too bad yourself, Torres.” Then you moved the hand in his hair to his jaw, thumb grazing against his bottom lip, tugging on it slightly while holding eye contact with him. 

He smirked, nodding a few times. “I always knew you were a freak in the sheets.”

You scoffed. “You’re so annoying!”

Joaquin smiled. “That’s why you like me, isn’t it?” 

That earned an eye roll. “Isn’t there something else you could be doing with your mouth instead of annoying me on purpose?” 

Then there was a glint in Joaquin’s eye, and he tilted his chin down slightly, just enough to pull your thumb into his mouth, lightly sucking on it for a few seconds before letting it go. 

The sight had your eyes widening.

“Yeah—there’s something I’ve been dying to do with my mouth. Promise you’ll love it.” Then his lips were on yours for a few seconds before he trailed open mouthed kisses along your jaw, taking the time to run his tongue against your warm skin, then as he kissed down your throat, he nipped a few marks into the skin, smirking at the sounds of your quiet whimpers.

Then he ran his tongue along your freshly bruised skin—the motion so familiar that it made you giggle. Well at least you giggled until the found the spot below your ear, which earned a surprised gasp from you—and that was all Joaquin needed to hear before he was kissing against your skin, sucking your skin into his mouth, teeth lightly tugging at it—your fingers digging into his back at the feeling.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he started kissing back down your neck, and along your exposed shoulder in your cut up t-shirt. His hands focused on pushing the shirt up from your waist, exposing more and more skin until he was met with your bra. 

You pushed him away, slightly embarrassed at the older plain black bra, it was your comfiest bra—it even had a few holes along the band closer to the hooks on your back. 

“What’s wrong, Hermosa?” He sounded so soft and concerned, looking at you as if he was afraid of breaking you.

“Nothing—don’t judge my ugly bra.” 

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “You think I’d judge something that’s coming off anyways?” Then, he was sitting back on his haunches, gently pulling you up before his hands grasped the edge of your shirt—making eye contact with you, waiting until you nodded—then he was pulling it upward, helping you take it off.

The second his eyes landed on your chest, he groaned, biting his bottom lip at the sight of your tits—even if they were confined in the plain bra—he didn’t give a shit about that, to the point that he was pushing you back onto the bed, lips back on your skin. Joaquin started from your shoulder, then moved along your chest to the swell of your breasts.

He took his time with you, a trail of bruising kisses along your plush skin, then he reached behind your back with one hand, fumbling with the clasp of your bra—the motion making you laugh as you shook your head.

He glanced up at you from your chest, a rosy flush overtaking his cheeks. “Don’t laugh at me, you’re gonna give me performance anxiety!” As he spoke, he finally managed to unclasp the bra, taking the time to pull the straps off of your shoulders, then he squeezed his eyes shut as he took it off of you. 

“Quino, what the hell are you doing?” 

He laughed, “Giving myself a grand reveal! Duh.” Then he opened his eyes, lips parted as he stared directly at your bare chest. He blinked a few times, then licked his lips while nodding his head. “Yeah—you’re so fuckin pretty, all of you—Christ.” 

You gasped as he practically dove into you, lips back on your chest, one hand massaging against your right side, his mouth focused on the other, a mixture between bruising kisses and low groans being left against your skin. Then he wrapped his lips around your nipple—gently sucking on the hardened peak, earning a high pitched moan from you.

Eventually he moved onto your other breast, repeating the motions until your back was arching into him while you pulled his hair so hard that it stung—although that wasn’t why he stopped. Joaquin opted to kiss along your stomach, even taking the time to bite into the soft skin, smirking against you at the sounds of your quiet whimpers.

By the time that he made it to the waistband of your pajamas, he paused, now looking up at you, giving himself the chance to process how truly wrecked you really were. Your hair framed you in a messy halo, your eyes were hooded, swollen lips parted, and you stared at him as if he was everything and more.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest.

Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants. “Can I?” 

You nodded at him “Please—” 

Joaquin didn’t need to be told twice, he was pulling your pants and panties off in one motion as you lifted your hips, easing the process along. Once they were full off, his eyes focused on you—taking in every single detail of your body, from the budding bruises he’d left, to the scars, stretch marks, hell even the few moles and birthmarks he’d never seen before.

His stare made you feel insecure in the moment, opting to sit up with your back against your pile of pillows leaning into the headboard, legs pressed together and arms wrapped around your chest, as if you wanted to hide from him.

“Mi Vida, don’t hide from me, you’re so beautiful, everything about you is beautiful.” His voice was full of adoration as he stared at you with a fondness you’d never really experienced before.

Joaquin stared at you as if he was in love, and that alone was enough to have you sitting up further, grasping his shirt and crashing your lips against his. He laughed against your lips, smiling into the kiss as his hands found their way to your waist—one at your thighs, pushing them apart to slot himself between them once again. 

Your hands were all over him, moving from his hair, to his cheeks, to his jaw, then down to his chest again, now beneath his shirt, fingers splayed against the toned ridges of his abdomen. The warmth of his skin was comforting in a way you couldn’t explain.

He moved away enough to pull his shirt off, tossing it aside somewhere, lips back against yours. The kiss was somewhat sweet, but now it was a mixture of teeth and tongue as he deepened the kiss, mouth practically overtaking yours.

Joaquin Torres had always been competitive, it was clear that his competitiveness was incredibly prominent in every aspect of his life—to the point that you felt as if you were drowning in him trying to keep up.

Eventually you pushed him away to catch your breath. He smiled at you once before moving back down, following his previous trail of bruising kisses, except this time with light open mouthed kisses. He’d even grazed his tongue against a few of the blooming marks along your skin.

Then he was between your legs, kissing along your inner thighs, gently biting into the skin—doing his best to leave marks. He’d always been possessive, and to him, you were his girl. The world didn’t need to see every single mark he’d leave against you, some were just subtle reminders for you.

Joaquin used both hands to spread your legs—wide. He was a bit shocked at how wide he was able to get them, raising both brows with a satisfied smirk. “Never knew you were this flexible.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze, feeling the flush of embarrassment taking over as he stared directly at your wet center. 

“Can I?” You didn’t look at him as you mumbled a quiet ‘please’. Too embarrassed to actually meet his gaze. 

Joaquin smiled, shaking his head at you, you’d never been the shy type, but maybe the intimacy was getting to you—however, he reveled in it. He’d never felt more in love.

He didn’t hesitate to lick a flat stripe along your cunt, the motion caught you off guard, eyes widening as you looked down at him, giving yourself a better view of him.

“That's it baby, I want you to look at me—promise I won’t be mean.” Joaquin’s teasing tone made you groan, both hands covering your face for a few seconds before you shook your head.

Joaquin winked at you before repeating the motion, this time with more pressure—starting at your sopping hole, ending at your clit. “You’re so fuckin wet—taste so good too. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long—wanted you for so long.”

Then his tongue was back on you, he hadn’t started slow, if anything he’d dove straight in—as if he was a prisoner on death row and this was his last meal. 

You couldn’t stop your moans and whimpers, Joaquin had been a man starved and he clearly had a point to prove. Your hands were in his hair, tugging at his curls, back arching into him while you tried not to roll your hips against his face—doing your best to keep some composure.

He knew you too well, and he noticed the way your thighs had already started tensing up. His tongue moved against your clit, alternating between small circles to rapidly flicking against it, the mixture of sensations eliciting borderline pornographic moans from you. He wasn’t stopping anytime soon—and he wanted you to let go. 

Joaquin knew you needed this, and honestly, he needed it too.

So he hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder, bringing you even closer to him, pulling your clit into his mouth, harshly sucking on it while moaning against you, his eyes now shut as he let himself get lost in the motions.

You looked down at him again and nearly lost every sense of composure you had left, his brows were knit together, eyes shut, and as he sucked on your clit with his fingers gripping your thigh, he moaned against you—as if he was doing this for his own pleasure, not yours.

Then you noticed the way his hips rolled into your mattress—that had you whimpering his name, biting your bottom look as you tugged on his hair, fingers grazing his scalp while you finally let go—now grinding yourself against him.

Joaquin let go of your clit, a deep guttural moan leaving his lips at the feeling of you grinding against his face, then he moved lower, nose now pressed against your pearl while his tongue lapped at your dripping hole. 

The second he slid his tongue into you—you whined his name like a prayer. Now fully rolling your hips against his face, moaning at the pressure from his nose against your clit and the feeling of his tongue licking into you—practically darting in and out of you at a brutal pace.

Your body was on fire, the coil in your abdomen wound so tight it felt as if you were about to explode, and all you could focus on was the feeling of Joaquin Torres’s tongue fucking into you.

He managed to press his face deeper against you, moaning at the taste of your cunt, drowning himself in it. His hips were grinding against your mattress as one of his hands held you against him, then he slid his tongue out of you, two fingers now prodding at your hole, his tongue back on your clit as he slowly slid them inside of you.

The stretch of his fingers alongside his tongue moving against your clit sent you over the edge—practically gushing against his face as you came with a high pitched “Quino!”.

Joaquin’s eyes fluttered open as he looked up at you, your lips parted, brows knit, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy as your orgasm consumed you—fuck you’d never looked more beautiful.

You expected him to stop, but he was far from finished with you. Fingers now curling into you, fucking you through your orgasm—prolonging it. One of your hands moved from his hair, now on his shoulder—nails digging into his skin as you held onto him, unknowingly grinding yourself against him even more—rolling your hips over and over again—using him for your own pleasure.

“That’s it Hermosa—use me—fuck just like that.” His words were muffled against your core, you didn’t even fully register them as he finger fucked you through your high and into the world of overstimulation. It was simultaneously too much and not enough, your nerve endings on fire and all you could think about was Joaquin.

He brought your clit back into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked on it, tongue swirling over it slightly—just enough to have you seeing stars as his fingers brushed against the velvety spot inside of you that left you gasping his name. Joaquin focused on that spot, fingers moving rapidly and purposefully, moaning against your clit at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him.

This was downright sinful, prior to this moment, you were positive you’d be going to hell—but Joaquin Torres’s greedy mouth on your cunt had you convinced there was a spot dedicated to the both of you.

It wasn’t long until you were toppling over the edge again, vision blurring as a white heat overtook your entire being—practically screaming his name as your eyes watered slightly.

He looked up at you, eyes hooded, mouth still focused on your clit—moaning at the sight of you, knowing that he was the one bringing you this much pleasure was enough to have him on edge.

Thankfully, as you came down from your high, you gently pushed him away, whimper and shaking your head, voice breathy while mumbling. “It’s too much—fuck—give me a second”. 

When he finally moved away from you, he licked his lips, now staring at you with a dopey smile on his face. You should’ve been embarrassed at the shiny layer of your essence along his lips and chin—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when he was looking at you like you’d hung the stars. 

Neither of you said a word as you held eye contact. 

Something unspoken in the air, an evident shift in your entire relationship—but neither of you cared. Not when he’d already confessed his feelings for you and made you cum twice in the span of twenty minutes.

Especially not when you knew that you were practically in love with Joaquin. It’d just taken him slapping your ass and word-vomiting a confession for you to realize it.

Your eyes moved from his, trailing along his body, stopping at his waist—the evident tent in his sweats had your eyes widening slightly. You’ve always had an inkling that he was big just based on the way he carried himself—but now you knew you were right and your mouth was already watering.

“Take them off Joaquin.” 

He nodded at your request—although it was more of a demand.

You laughed as he stood up, rushing through the process of taking off his sweats and briefs—stumbling a bit as he kicked them off. However, the second your eyes landed on his cock you stopped laughing, lips parted, mouth watering slightly—just enough that you were drooling.

He was big—huge even—thick and girthy in a way that you knew would make your head spin, a few defined veins traveling along the shaft of his cock, and the head had a pink-ish flush to it, already leaking precum. 

The sight was salacious.

Joaquin watched it happen, the sliver of spit gliding along the edge of your open mouth—then in seconds he was back on you, his tongue trailing along your chin, gathering it before kissing you. It was downright filthy, the way his tongue explored your mouth—the taste of cunt still fresh on his tongue. 

You moaned against his lips, one hand on his jaw, the other sliding along his torso, then down to his cock, fingers trailing the length of it, before you grasped him in hand, his hips bucking into you. You kissed him as your hand slowly pumped along his shaft—thumb spreading his precum along the tip, dragging it down his cock—using it to move faster, gliding along the length of it all.

He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours as you jerked him off, pausing for a moment, long enough to spit on your hand—then it was back on him. 

“You’re gonna kill me—y’know that?” 

You laughed at him, head rolling forward the slightest bit, gaze focused on his cock—biting your bottom lip as you tighten your grip on him, speeding your motions up just enough to make his abdomen flex. “I want you in my mouth Quino.” Your words were quiet whispers, then your eyes met his again, faces only a few centimeters apart.

“Not today—fuck don’t think I’ll last today—shit” he moaned, heavy breaths against your lips while he rocked his hips forward—chasing his own high. But he needed more. “I need you, Corazón”.

You smiled, kissing him softly before shoving him away from you. 

“You’re giving me whiplash baby—but if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.” He laughed at his own joke, smile on his face while you looked up at him, shaking your head, biting your lip, holding back your own grin—or at least attempting to hold it back.

“Tell me how you want me, Joaquin.” 

His eyes widened at your seductive tone, you’d never sounded sexier—it made his cock twitch, and he was blushing. How one sentence managed to make him blush was insane, considering he’d just had his face between your thighs to the point that you were practically squirting against his tongue.

“Shit baby—on your back, but trust me okay? You said you’re flexible right?” 

You nodded at him, brows knit together as you slid down the mattress, now flat on your back with your legs bent at his sides. Then you watched as his palms met the backs of your thighs, lifting them slightly until you got the message and raised them up—legs now in the air. 

You were laughing at him, and soon enough, he was laughing too.

That was until he rested your ankles on his shoulders and leaned closer into your space, practically folding you in half. You were in shock at his position of choice. “What the hell, Quino? Basic missionary too boring for you or something?” 

He smiled, nodding his head. “Trust me—you’ll love it, I promise. Oh shit wait—I don’t have a condom.” His movements faltered as the realization dawned upon him, minor panic evident on his features.

“I’m on the pill—and I’m clean. I’ve never let anyone else ever—y’know without one. Wait—you literally go to the clinic with me to get tested!” 

Joaquin shrugged, which in turn made your legs stretch a bit more—earning a short gasp. “Well, when you put it that way corazón, I might end up cumming inside of you—I gotta ask now, are you okay with that?” 

You blinked several times “Quino, you literally have me folded in half and you’re asking if I’m okay with you cumming inside of me when I just gave you the okay to fuck me raw? Are you hearing yourself right now?” 

“I made you cum twice and you’re still so mean—jeez. God forbid a man wants full consent before creampie-ing his girl.” His hands left your calves, now up in faux-surrender as he spoke. The motion made you both start laughing again, but the second he moved his hips forward the slightest bit—his cock nudged against your clit and you gasped.

Then you were making eye contact again.

He hesitated for a few seconds. “You sure?”

You nodded, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

That’s all the encouragement he needed. Joaquin teased you the slightest bit, running the tip of his cock along your dripping folds—tapping it against your swollen clit a few times before lining himself up with your entrance.

Then he slid in the slightest bit—and the immediate stretch had your eyes squeezed shut, a breathy gasp leaving your lips while he slowly rocked himself into you, inch by inch. 

“You’re so big—fuck Joaquin” 

He nodded, shushing you in a comforting manner “‘s okay—you’re doing so well baby, fucking cunt feels so good—just like that, relax into it cariño.” He kissed along your calves as he focused on filling you to the hilt, taking his time with you, letting you adjust to his size. 

Your hands gripped the comforters, knuckles practically white as you bit your bottom lip, doing your best not to clench around him—trying to relax, trying to let him in fully. The stretch stung in a painfully pleasurable way, something you couldn’t put into words, it was too much and not enough all at once. 

He was so deep—and you had a feeling the position also had something to do with that. It was like you could feel him in your stomach. Your toes curled while your back arched into him, head lulling back, brows knit, all the while mindless moans and mewls filled the space.

When Joaquin fully bottomed out he moaned your name, eyes focused on where your bodies met, you held him in a vice grip, he wanted nothing more than to ruin you—fucking you so hard you forgot about every single shitty guy that you’d been with—making you his and only his. 

But he also wanted to take his time with you, wanted to be slow and considerate—wanting to make this good for you.

It was as if you could read his mind, eyes fluttering open as you met his gaze. “Quino—I need you to fuck me, hard—” before you could even finish your sentence he was pulling out of you in a swift motion, to the point that only the head of his cock was inside of you, then he practically slammed back into you.

You screamed his name.

Your words snapped something inside of him, and as his fingers gripped your legs—he focused on fucking you into the mattress, hips unrelenting as he rocked into you, moaning at the feeling of your cunt. 

“So fuckin tight, you’re making such a mess baby—fuck look at that, just like that Hermosa—just like that” he praised you while he fucked into you, eyes trailing your entire figure, then pausing at your cunt, moaning at the sight of you practically sucking him back in, his cock coated in a layer of your slick, pussy practically drenching him.

Then he leaned even closer to you, one of your legs slipping off of his shoulder, however he still held you in place, hand on the back of your thigh, practically folding it against the mattress as his lips found yours again. 

The kiss was sloppy, neither of you could really focus on it, but Joaquin needed to be as close to you as possible—needed this moment to last. 

You couldn’t think straight, Joaquin clouded your every sense to the point that all you could do was moan and whimper a mixture between his name and slurred praise. Your thighs were tense, hips practically burning, and the pleasure radiating through your body was too much.

You tried pushing him back, but you didn’t want him to stop—you just couldn’t focus on anything but the fire raging throughout your body.

“‘S okay baby—you can take it, I know you can. Fuck you’re so good for me Corazón—mean the world to me too.” Joaquin was rambling, letting your other thigh go—giving you a quick sense of relief, but his thrusts hadn’t let up, and he wrapped a single hand around your throat—applying the slightest bit of pressure—testing the waters.

Your moan was the very definition of desperate as you grasped his forearm, holding him in place, eyes slowly opening, meeting his intense stare.

That’s what sent you over the edge, holding eye contact with Joaquin as he roughly fucked into you, his hand wrapped around your throat, and you finally realized the odd emotion you’d always seen in his gaze was just love—pure, undevoted love.

“Fuck—I love you Joaquin” your words were mumbled as you moaned, eyes squeezed shut again, legs shaking as your final orgasm hit. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure sweeping through your body in waves, when you thought you were alright—it was like mini aftershocks kept hitting you.

He hardly processed your words, part of him couldn’t tell if he was hearing things or not, but it hadn’t stopped his hips from tensing up, cock twitching inside of you as he buried it to the hilt, thick ropes of cum filling you with an overwhelming warmth as he moaned “I love you—fuck love you so much—.”

Joaquin practically collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, shallow breaths hitting your flushed skin, meanwhile he intertwined his fingers with yours, his other hand grasping the comforter below as if it was a lifeline while he came down from his high.

The weight of him on top of you was relaxing, it was everything you needed in the moment.

Then your doorbell started ringing, and it wasn’t just once, no it was several times in a row—something only Sam did when he was irritated and couldn’t get a hold of you.

Your eyes widened and so did Joaquin’s, he lifted himself up, using his hand on the mattress to brace himself as he looked at you.

“Is that—?” 

You nodded, then you looked over at your bedside clock, ‘10:38’ showing. Then you realized you were supposed to send over the finished satellite reports by ten thirty today, meaning it was eight minutes late, but also, you most likely had several missed calls and texts from Sam.

“Oh my God, he’s gonna kill me!” 

When the doorbell started ringing again, you groaned. Then Joaquin slowly pulled out of you, kissing your forehead as he whispered apologies against your skin, hearing your subtle wince. He was quick to stand up, pulling his sweats back on, then he looked between your open thighs, pausing in his motions—eyes trailing your fucked out cunt, practically moaning at the sight of his cum leaking out of you.

“God—I should take a picture of that. Fuck—shit Sam can wait another second—” Then he was back between your thighs, tongue lapping at your leaking hole, your eyes widening as you whimpered, one hand already in his hair, meanwhile Joaquin’s tongue was back inside of you—the motion outright filthy.

It didn’t take much for you to cum again, you were already too sensitive, you felt like a live wire.

A few seconds after Joaquin started rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb, you were moaning his name and gushing—this time you were genuinely squirting, legs shaking, and body tense.

You pushed him away from you—thighs clamped shut as you caught your breath. Both of you exchanged a look before glancing at the clock, five minutes had passed.

“That’s gotta be a record for you huh? Five minutes was all that one took?” 

You shushed him, slowly sitting up, looking around the room for your clothes. But he was already off the bed, wiping his forearm against his face—doing his best to clean himself up before opening one of your drawers, pulling out a pair of shorts and tossing it at you.

You’d already found his shirt, so you pulled that on, then slipped into the shorts on wobbly legs.

“You really are a fucking freak Joaquin.” You spoke as you tried to find your footing, grasping the edge of your nightstand and taking a deep breath. Your legs were already sore, so was your abdomen. 

“Yeah, but you liked it, besides, I didn’t miss the way you reacted when I choked you, you love that shit don’t you?” He wiggled his brows as he teased you, now helping you stand up straighter, both of you looking at one another before walking out of your bedroom. Then he sat on your sofa while you opened the front door.

Sam was clearly annoyed as he looked at you. That’s when you noticed Bucky was also outside of your apartment, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. 

This was about to get even more mortifying.

Sam practically invited himself in, already ranting. “Y’know kid, the job’s been relatively easy lately, and all I asked you to do was finish those reports because you’re the best data analyst I’ve got. You know everything about illegal and legal weaponry, practically specialize in foreign and alien-based tech, and you can spot an anomaly a thousand miles away, and yet here you are, damn near fifteen minutes past the deadline which I gave you on Wednesday—when usually you’d have everything over a day or two early.”

He paused, now turning to look at you again, shaking his head—he still hadn’t registered Joaquin sitting shirtless on the couch. “Then I called you, several times, I called you yesterday and today, you didn’t answer, I thought you died or something! How would I feel thinking you died when the last real conversation we had was me kicking you out of my office!”

Bucky cleared his throat as he looked at Sam, the first time Sam hadn’t noticed, then he did it again, which led to Sam looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yes, Buck?!” 

Bucky then nodded his head in Joaquin’s direction, Sam easily followed the motion.

Joaquin awkwardly smiled and waved at Sam. It didn’t help that he had red scratches along his chest—something you hadn’t even realized you’d done to him. Then of course, his hair was disheveled, and he looked a little too relaxed. 

That’s when Sam looked back at you, eyes taking in your figure, now noticing your own messy hair, the U.S. Air Force t-shirt you had on, and he noticed the way that you leaned against one of the countertops closest to you.

“Oh my god—are you two serious?! Didn’t I say don’t let this get in the way of work! I’m over here dragging that walking museum piece around because I thought you were dying, meanwhile you’re over here screwing Joaquin?!” 

You nodded. “Bucky’s the one who told me I needed to pursue less shitty guys.” 

Bucky shook his head at you. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t throw me under the bus here, he’s already pissed because I forgot to make brunch reservations—I don’t even like brunch.”

Then Sam looked over at Joaquin. “Did you at least tell the girl you’re in love with her before sleeping with her?” 

Joaquin shrugged, grimacing slightly before replying. “Does it count if I told her while we were having sex?” 

Sam blinked several times. “Those are details I didn’t ask for. Jesus Christ! Get those reports done and sent to me by tonight! And at the very least, answer your phone calls! Torres—you need to answer yours too! Let’s go Buck, before I lose my mind.” 

Then Sam was leaving, Bucky gave you an awkward smile, and a final, “for the record, I’m glad you came to your senses and realized you like him” before following Sam out.

Once the door clicked shut, you locked it. Now left with Joaquin.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” You spoke as you walked to the sofa, plopping down across from him, feet now resting in his lap. 

He just stared at you for a few moments. “Y’know I do love you, right? It wasn’t a heat of the moment thing. I’m in love with you, and I was serious about the whole having to gaslight myself into thinking I’m not into you when I know I am.”

You laughed at him, smiling as you leaned against the couch cushions. “I can’t believe I’ve been this blind for so long, y’know how many shitty dates I could’ve avoided? Like genuinely—also you’re still a fucking freak.” 

Joaquin smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah? What—was the head too much at the end? Want me to tone it down some, I dunno, I think I might’ve set a record for you today, four orgasms? That’s more than you’ve had in months.”

You scoffed at his teasing. “Oh, shut up! It’s not my fault I didn’t know you were Mister munch!” Then you paused. “I need a shower.” 

He watched as you stood up, walking away from him, then you turned back, clearing your throat, waiting for him to meet your stare. When he did, you smiled. 

“Well, are you coming or what?”

Joaquin was positive he’d never moved faster, following you right into the bathroom, but before he could fully process what you were doing, you pressed him against the bathroom wall, a mischievous smile on your face.

“For the record, I’m positive that I love you too, Quino.” Then you were kissing him.

-

Thanks for reading my super hot and sexy ppl <3 Im literally posting ts from my job rn bc im so over working on a Saturday

[lewishamiltonluvr]

mad munch max, mv1

A/N: as soon as i saw max’s hair all i could think abt is gripping it in some way. plus i full on believe max is a munch and i needed to write at least a little something while i write longer ones

Warnings: oral (f rec.), fingering, hair pulling, praise

As soon as you get back to his hotel, Max is ripping all of your clothes off as fast as his hands can go. Frantic with every movement, kissing every inch of your face and neck until you reach his bed. He pushes you so you're on your back and immediately starts trailing kisses down your body. As much as he'd love to take his time, tonight is not one of those nights. He's eager, desperate. Not to be pleased, but to please; his pleasures coming from seeing his sweet girl shake and fall apart beneath him. He's peppering soft kisses on the inside of your thighs and muttering something about how no matter how many trophies he has you're the most important and most fragile to him before finally burying his face where you need him the most. Your hands reach for anything, one hand gripping the sheets, the other goes to his hair. And when you pull, this man lets out a moan made for pornography. Feral. Like he's straight up been deprived of touch for years. "Again." He mumbles against you. "Hm?" You hardly manage to ask; when he goes down on you, he acts like a starved man. "Keep doing that and keep your eyes on me schatje” He replies before shoving two fingers into you, thrusting them in and out of you at a ruthless pace as his tongue focuses on your clit. You’re pulling on his hair and squirming, he’s groaning against you with every pull. You’re trying so hard to keep eye contact, when you fail and close your eyes, he stops fast and tuts. “Oh sweet girl, don’t do that. Eyes open.” You whine and nod, focusing your eyes back on his as he goes back to eating you like it’s his last meal. “M-max-“ Whimpering, tightening around his fingers. “Cum for me pretty girl” He curls his fingers, he’s going at you like he’ll never get this opportunity again. But he will, he does, in fact about one minute after you cum he’s diving right back in because at the end of the day this is the best way to celebrate, even when there isn’t anything to celebrate.

[itzserein]

"Can you feel me now?"

Sophia Laforteza x Fem!reader no plot just pure smut, sub!Sophia, dom!reader, bondage, fingering, slight praise k!nk

Masterlist

A/n: would you guys believe that this is my first time writing smut ever? crazy haha I was supposed to upload this a few days ago but got busy and shit, anyways this was inspired by one of ace's asks (this specifically) hope you guys like it <3

You’re not fully aware of what you had gotten yourself into. Your thoughts were just all over the place at this moment and you were still here, trying to piece everything together.

After all, you never would have thought that your girlfriend was into that kind of stuff and yet here you were, watching as your gorgeous girlfriend moved her hips on your thigh, writhing her body and whimpering, while she begged for you to just move already.

You couldn't help but stare at the state she was in. Hands tied around her back, hair sticking all over due to the amount of sweat covering her, body littered with hickey's and bite marks, mouth wide open mid moan.

She looked helpless, and you couldn't help but feel proud that you were the one who had brought her into such a state.

The two of you were just having a simple conversation earlier about what you guys could do to improve your sex life and suddenly the topic of being tied up was brought to light. You thought that she was joking at first to be honest, but you're even more surprised when she suddenly brings out some handcuffs from one of your drawers that you didn't even know you guys had owned until now.

She smirked at your reaction, twirling the handcuffs around her hand like it was the most normal thing in the world "Wanna test it out?" she had said, teasingly.

The next thing you knew, you were leaned against the headboard, gripping onto her hips as she kept grinding, trying to gain some sort of pleasure since you weren't doing anything. It wasn't enough though, she needed more and you knew it, you knew that you needed to move to help your beautiful girl.

The only thing is you can’t, you were so entranced by the sight of her, just absolutely stunned by how gorgeous she looked on top of you with the marks you yourself left scattered all across her body.

It was wonderful, she is wonderful.

“Y/n please-” she lets out another whine, begging for you to just do something already.

It's only then you snap out of your trance, you knew that you needed to help her relieve herself. So without any warning, you plunged your finger into her, drawing out another moan from the girl.

“You look so pretty like this Soph” you mumbled under your breath, leaving light kisses on her neck.

The Filipina only moans louder at the compliment and without a second thought in her mind, she's bringing her hips down onto your hand. Sophia leans down onto your body overwhelmed by everything she was feeling and her body just completely surrendering to the pleasure it brought her.

Her head is buried into the crook of your neck, her moans muffled and you don't like that, not one bit.

You want to see Sophia, you want to hear each and every sound she makes loud and clear. You want to watch her fall apart for you. So you stop your movements, moving your other hand that is initially holding onto her waist moves up to her shoulder.

You push her upper body away from yours and grab her by the chin with that same hand just to make her look at you. You can't help but lick your lips as you see her dazed look and you'd honestly like to see Sophia like this more often. All fucked out just for you.

“Let me see you, I want to see you fall apart for me beautiful” you told her, not bothering to let her give you a proper reply as you slip a second finger inside of her tight pussy and thrust harder into her.

She gasps at this and whines, trying to free herself from the handcuffs so she could hold you close “Baby...please let me touch you at least?” she pleads again but you just chuckle, curling your fingers up on that sensitive spot in her that you know oh so well.

Sophia moans louder, eyes rolled back when she feels your fingers hit that particular spot in her but you tighten your grip on her jaw bringing her gaze back to you.

“Look at me baby”

And she does, despite everything she doesn't dare disobey you, afraid that you'll stop again. The Filipina could only moan out for you, whimpering about how good it feels and the fact that she couldn't do anything but grind her hips onto you harder was turning her on more than it should.

The more she tried to free herself from her restraints, the more helpless she felt and she unknowingly clenched harder around your fingers at the thought. You felt it and you smiled "Such a good girl, already gonna cum?"

She only nods, her moans coming out whinier and her hands that are restrained behind her become even more restless. Wanting to touch you, feel you in any sort of way but you ignore all this and just kiss her cheek "I've got you my good girl."

And as if on cue that brings her over the edge. The girl is shaking so violently that you have to wrap your arm around her and pull her closer to you, letting her know that she's okay and that you've got her. You slow down your pace not wanting to overstimulate her but you still do your best to milk every last drop from her.

Once you know that she's done you peck her lips multiple times, telling her how good she did for you.

When Sophia's calmed down you slowly remove your fingers making her groan at the loss of contact but she doesn't complain anymore than that. You laid her down on the bed beside you and reached out for the keys of the handcuffs to finally free her.

Her hands immediately go to, pulling you onto her and just hug you tightly. You could only smile at her clingyness "Are you alright baby?"

"Yes thank you so much" she says as she reaches up to kiss your jawline.

"We're definitely doing that again aren't we?" you ask and you laughed when she is immediately nodding a yes.

Safe to say your little test went better than expected.

wc: 1k

ctto for all pics used here

[vxnillabxn]

I praise you everyday for posting Zayne content 🧘🧘 it rots brain in a good way

Anywaysss (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))…… can I request a beach day or trip with Zayne?

Like him getting red when you ask him to put sunscreen on your back. ((He finally has an excuse to wear his favorite sunglasses)),, Playing in the water but he acts like you’re childish for throwing water at him,, resting under the shade while you trace his face softly

Lastly watching the sundown together after writing your names in the sand ☹️🫶

(However you want to write it is fine 🧘 your work is always great)

It’s been real hot recently, I’ve been thinking about this

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ warm, sunny fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚this was so fun to write !! even though we're in mid winter here in my country (๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑) but this brought so much warmth! ♡♡♡ thanks for requesting and feeding my zayne's content writing spree! hope you love it (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

zayne won a silly contest by accident.

after maxing out the café's reward card by buying nearly a hundred pastries and desserts in a month, he was entered into a small raffle along with other loyal customers who'd also maxed out their cards.

during his next visit with you, the employee kindly told him he'd won a weekend trip to the coast, transport and hotel included.

you were ecstatic. he was a little skeptical at first, but he knew the employee wouldn't joke about something like that. and when he saw your excitement and the way your eyes lit up, he graciously accepted his unexpected prize.

now, a week later, you two arrive at the hotel. he's stubborn about wearing uv-protective clothing; meanwhile, you're more interested in going out to hunt for seashells, to be honest.

you drag him outside, and he carries a bag with sunscreen, a hat, his sunglasses —which he insisted on bringing—, a hotel parasol, and towels.

so responsible of him.

almost immediately, you slip off your outer clothes, letting the warm sun touch your skin. of course, he can't help but stare, hiding behind his black shades.

you pull out the sunscreen bottle and hand it to him with a bright grin.

“help me?”

he looks up at you, and then you turn around, showing him your back.

oh boy.

he stands up and squeezes out some sunscreen, gently rubbing it into your skin. you close your eyes and hum softly in contentment as he moves carefully, trying his hardest not to swallow too loudly and give away how nervous he feels.

when he finishes your shoulders and the nape of your neck, he turns you around. taking advantage of your closed eyes, he lets himself look down at you and smiles softly, brushing your cheek with his slightly oily palm.

before you can open your eyes, he quickly starts applying sunscreen to your face.

“stay still,” he murmurs, making sure every inch of your skin is protected, even your earlobes and neck.

you shift impatiently, eager to explore or at least get some ice cream with him.

“zayne, hurry…”

he sighs and steps back, gently tapping your forehead.

you open your eyes, and he gestures toward the ocean.

“finally!”

you laugh and drag him by the hand, sprinting to the shore. you immediately splash him with water, grinning when he takes off his sunglasses.

he looks at you blankly, then glances away, though there's a subtle grin on his lips.

“is this your definition of “fun”?”

“yeah!” you reply, mischievously.

his wetsuit clings to every inch of him as he decides to swim, and you happily follow, tugging at his leg now and then underwater, or admiring how good he looks in all black.

later, you take him for ice cream, then to admire seashells, —not to keep, just to see— and you insist on looking for tiny crabs.

he never refuses, even if he pretends to look unamused. you know he enjoys it from how gently he digs small holes in the sand, or how carefully he arranges the seashells so you can take pretty photos.

when you finally return to the spot in the sand where your things are, you lie down beside him on the towel. he pulls you close, shielding you from the sun with his embrace.

you can smell the mix of sunscreen and cologne on his slightly salty skin. his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are softly pink from the sun.

you just have to trace them with your fingers, checking if it stings. when he doesn't flinch, you keep gently touching the rosy skin, thinking how cute he looks with this natural blush.

he lets you, smiling faintly as his eyes flutter closed, getting drowsy from your touch alone.

his body feels cool against your warm body, so you naturally pull him closer. he's more than happy with that.

lulled by seagulls and waves, you both drift off for a nap. about two hours later, he gently shakes you awake. when you open your eyes, the sky is painted with orange hues.

the sun was setting.

he helps you sit up, then pulls you onto his chest so you can watch the horizon together; the sun slowly meeting the sea like lovers finding each other.

slow, certain, inevitable.

until they finally merge, leaving only pinkish clouds in the darkening sky as evidence of their daily encounter.

you sigh contentedly against him. it was a wonderful day, and you hope tomorrow will be just as fun.

but you want to leave some kind of trace, some proof of zayne relaxing and actually enjoying himself. people on his medical team would probably pay to see it.

such a rare sight these days.

so you get up and walk a bit further from the shore, not wanting the waves to erase your work. crouching, you start to draw in the sand with your finger.

zayne watches curiously, then comes closer.

you draw a round, cute snowman wearing sunglasses. next to it, a smaller snowman holding lots of seashells and surrounded by tiny crabs.

he smiles softly, tilting his head.

“are they supposed to be us?”

you beam at him.

“hey, i know i'm not as skilled as you, but i think i got the details right!”

you add three little lines to the bigger snowman's cheeks, mimicking his pink blush.

“ha! see? now he really looks like you!”

he smiles, then kneels behind you, gently pulling you back so you fall into his arms.

you look back at him, but he stays quiet. his gaze is intense, yet tender.

“let's do this more often,” he says softly, searching your eyes for an answer.

“come to the beach?” you tease, then giggle. “or win more silly contests like this?”

he smiles, shaking his head slightly.

“let's spend all our days together, just like today.”

your heart flutters. you quickly turn around, making him fall back onto the cool sand.

“every day, zayne. even if we're busy… just ten minutes next to you are enough to make me happy.”

he blinks.

once, twice.

then, with a warm grin, pulls you onto his chest. now you're both lying next to your little masterpiece in the sand, chest to chest.

heart to heart.

you truly do hope for many more days like this with him, even if it takes a little luck…

or buying even more, and more… and more pastries and desserts monthly.

[2b4st4r]

hiya! i have a request and you can choose if you do it or not but here it is.

I’m not sure if you write song fics, but if you do, could you create a fic based on the song lyrics that include: “It's filthy, disgusting, so ugly. I'm sure I'm ugly, disgusting, and filthy for sure”? In the story, the reader could have a Devil Fruit that embodies ‘disgusting’ qualities, or maybe the reader is just insane and does things that most people would consider disgusting. This idea has been stuck in my mind for weeks! By the way, it’s a Straw Hat x reader fic.

Echos of Starlight and Shadow.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Strawhat pirates x celestial dragon blood!Reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Words: 15,523

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: Child abuse, self loathing, self destructive behaviors, emotional trauma/distress, abduction, violence, verbal abuse, ptsd and hinted female reader.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ A/N: this is COMPLETELY a little off then the request and i’m sorry about that but i tried!!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The sun beat down, a familiar warmth on your skin that you barely registered. Another day on the Thousand Sunny, another day spent deflecting compliments and offers of help from your new crewmates. You’d joined the Straw Hats a few months ago, and while you fiercely protected them, throwing yourself into the fray to shield Usopp from a stray attack or pushing Sanji out of the path of a falling mast, you remained an enigma. They'd seen your battle prowess, your unwavering loyalty in a fight, but they hadn't seen you.

"Hey, Y/N! Want to try some of my new super spicy ramen?" Luffy called, his grin infectious.

"No thanks, Luffy," you replied, your voice flat, your eyes already scanning the horizon for any hint of trouble. You’d learned to anticipate the smallest gestures, the extended hands offering help or comfort, and you’d mastered the art of subtly sidestepping them. When Zoro had once tried to bandage a cut on your arm after a skirmish, you'd snatched your arm away so quickly he'd stumbled back, a flicker of surprise in his perpetually stoic eyes. You’d mumbled something about doing it yourself, about not needing help, as if accepting a simple band-aid was a sign of weakness.

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, you were below deck, the gentle rocking of the ship a familiar lullaby that usually brought you a fragile peace. But tonight, peace was a luxury you couldn't afford. The cold sweat began to prickle your skin even before your eyes flew open, your breath catching in your throat. Your hands, clenched into fists, trembled. No. Not again.

The images flashed behind your eyelids: the opulent chambers, the sickeningly sweet scent of perfume and power, the screams that echoed not in your ears, but deep within your bones. Your blood, the very thing that flowed through your veins, felt like a poison. It was held in such high esteem by some, revered, almost worshipped. But to you, every single drop was a reminder, a brand of shame and guilt that seared your soul. You felt disgusting, tainted. The pain of too many, caused by your blood, their lives extinguished, their futures stolen. You were a Celestial Dragon, and the weight of that truth, that inescapable lineage, crushed you under its immense, suffocating weight. You wanted to rip the skin from your body, to escape the very essence of who you were, to shed the blood you hated with every fiber of your being.

The nightmare clung to you, a cold, clammy shroud even as the first rays of dawn pierced the porthole. You swung your legs out of the hammock, the rough fabric scratching your skin, a welcome distraction from the phantom screams in your mind. This was your life now: a constant battle against the shadows of your past.

Your earliest memories weren't of sun-drenched gardens or laughter, but of hushed whispers and the clink of chains. Born into a world of unimaginable wealth and suffocating privilege, you were an anomaly. Your mother, a pure-blood Celestial Dragon, saw you as a stain, a constant reminder of her fleeting, forbidden liaison with your father – a man she considered barely more than a commoner, a distant relative of some minor noble house. You were a half-breed, an embarrassment hidden away in the most secluded wings of the massive, garish manor.

While your full-blood siblings were paraded in opulent gowns and tailored suits, attending lavish banquets and endless tea parties, you were subjected to a different kind of education. From the moment you could hold a quill, you were tutored in the art of manipulation, the subtle power of fear. You were taught to observe, to identify weaknesses, to exploit them without a flicker of emotion. "A true Celestial Dragon," your mother's chillingly calm voice would echo, "shows no weakness. They command obedience, not affection."

You remember the first time you were forced to "discipline" a servant. You were barely seven, your small hand trembling as an ornate, silver-tipped cane was pressed into it. The servant, a young woman who had accidentally spilled tea on one of your mother's prized tapestries, knelt before you, her eyes wide with terror. Your mother stood beside you, her hand on the small of your back, a silent, chilling pressure. "Show her, darling," she'd purred, "the consequences of insubordination." You’d closed your eyes, tears pricking, but the cane had fallen, a dull thud against flesh, and a whimper that would haunt your dreams for years to come. You learned quickly that disobedience, even hesitation, brought harsher punishments, not for you, but for the unfortunate soul you were meant to break. The fear in their eyes, the silent pleas for mercy you were forbidden to acknowledge, became a twisted form of currency, a testament to your growing, unwanted power.

You were trained to be a tool, a weapon to be wielded in the subtle, brutal politics of the Celestial Dragons. You saw your half-siblings use their authority to ruin lives on a whim – ordering the destruction of entire villages for a perceived slight, or condemning innocent people to slavery simply because they found their faces displeasing. You, however, were assigned more delicate tasks. You were the "enforcer," the one sent to "persuade" troublesome nobles to fall in line, to ensure the flow of tributes remained uninterrupted, to silence any whispers of dissent before they could grow into a roar. You became adept at it, a master of veiled threats and calculated cruelty, your heart a frozen knot in your chest. The disgust you felt for yourself grew with every act, every obedient nod, every time you saw the fear you instilled reflected in another’s eyes.

The night you ran, the sky was a canvas of bruised purples and blacks, a storm brewing in the distance, mirroring the turmoil in your soul. You were sixteen, and the weight of your gilded cage had become unbearable. You’d just returned from a “mission” – silencing a family of scholars who dared to question the World Government's narrative. Their cries, their pleas, their terrified faces were burned into your memory, a festering wound that refused to heal.

You moved through the sprawling manor like a ghost, every shadow a potential hiding place, every creak of the floorboards a drumbeat against your ribs. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird desperate for flight. You carried nothing but a small satchel containing a handful of berries and a worn, leather-bound book you'd stolen from the manor's vast library – a collection of ancient fables, stories of heroism and kindness, a stark contrast to the darkness that defined your reality.

You reached the outermost wall, a towering edifice of polished stone designed to keep the world out, and you in. You scaled it with a practiced ease born of desperation, your hands raw against the cold, unforgiving surface. At the top, you paused, looking back at the glittering monstrosity of your prison, the lights twinkling like malevolent eyes in the distance. A bitter taste filled your mouth. This was where you had been born, where your blood had been celebrated, and where your soul had been slowly, methodically poisoned.

With a ragged breath, you jumped. The fall was jarring, landing hard on the rough ground outside. You scrambled to your feet, not daring to look back, not daring to hesitate. You ran, the distant roar of the ocean beckoning you, a promise of something different, something free. You didn't know where you were going, only that you had to escape the gilded cage, escape the shame that clung to your skin, escape the very blood that flowed in your veins. You ran until your lungs burned, until your legs ached, until the grand manor was nothing but a faint glimmer on the horizon, swallowed by the rising storm and the vast, indifferent ocean.

You landed hard, a jolt of pain shooting up your legs, but you barely registered it. The need to put distance between yourself and that life was a primal scream in your chest. You ran, driven by an instinct for survival you hadn’t known you possessed. The storm that had been brewing unleashed itself, rain lashing down, plastering your hair to your face, blurring the path ahead. Each step was a desperate prayer, a silent plea for freedom.

Just as the manor lights faded into the rain-swept darkness, a shadow detached itself from the gloom ahead. Your breath hitched. Standing before you, a silhouette against the flashes of lightning, was your mother. Her usually immaculate clothes were ruffled by the wind, her perfect coiffure slightly askew, but her eyes, even in the dim light, burned with a cold fury that would forever be etched into your memory.

"Leaving so soon, darling?" Her voice, usually so controlled, was laced with a chilling mockery. A long, slender knife, its blade reflecting the lightning, appeared in her hand. You had seen her use it before – not for combat, but for lessons. "You disappoint me. I thought I had taught you better than to abandon your duty."

You stumbled back, fear, cold and sharp, piercing through your desperation. You had never defied her openly, never directly challenged her authority. This was uncharted territory. You turned to run, but she was faster, a blur of motion in the downpour. The knife arced, a silver streak against the dark sky, and a searing pain exploded across your left cheek. You cried out, a guttural sound torn from your throat, as something wet and warm gushed down your face. You brought a hand up, feeling the deep, ragged slice from your temple down to your jawline.

"A reminder, my dear," she hissed, her voice a venomous whisper in your ear, "of where you belong. You can never truly escape your blood."

The world tilted. You tasted iron, the metallic tang of your own blood mixing with the rain. But even through the pain and the shock, a surge of defiant anger, hot and fierce, ignited within you. You twisted, a desperate, animalistic lunge, and connected with something solid – her shoulder. It wasn't elegant, it wasn't planned, but it was enough. She stumbled back, momentarily thrown off balance, and in that fleeting second, you ran. You didn't look back, didn't dare to. The wound on your face burned, a constant, throbbing testament to your escape, a badge of your defiance. You ran until your legs gave out, until the sound of the ocean was a roar in your ears, until the world dissolved into a black abyss of pain and exhaustion.

The years that followed were a blur of cold nights and stolen moments of peace. You lived on the fringes, a phantom flitting between forgotten towns and isolated islands. Your scar, a jagged line marring your left cheek, was a constant companion, a stark reminder of your past and the woman who had carved it there. It made people stare, made them whisper, made them keep their distance. Which was fine by you. Distance was safety.

You honed your skills out of necessity. You learned to hunt, to navigate by the stars, to fight not with the calculated cruelty you had been taught, but with a desperate ferocity born of survival. You rarely spoke, preferring the silence, the quiet company of your own thoughts – though those thoughts were often a torment. The nightmares of your childhood, the faces of those you had hurt, the chilling words of your mother, they all pursued you, relentless specters.

You picked up odd jobs, never staying in one place too long. You were a skilled hand, capable of surprising feats of strength and agility, but you never allowed anyone to get too close. Friendships were a luxury you couldn't afford, an Achilles' heel that could expose you, pull you back into the life you had so desperately fled. Every kind gesture was met with suspicion, every offer of help with a guarded refusal. Trust was a foreign concept, something you had learned to associate only with betrayal and pain.

You saw pirates, heard their raucous laughter, their tales of adventure, but you kept your distance. They seemed too free, too open, too… everything you weren’t. You were a creature of shadows, scarred inside and out, constantly battling the pervasive sense of shame and guilt that clung to you like a second skin.

Then, one day, on a small, unassuming island, you saw them. A straw-hatted captain with an insatiable appetite, a swordsman who slept more than he walked, a bright-eyed navigator with a knack for weather, a long-nosed liar with a heart of gold, and a chef with twirling eyebrows and an even greater passion for women. The Straw Hat Pirates. They were loud, chaotic, and utterly disarming.

You saw them fight, saw their loyalty to each other, their unwavering belief in dreams. You saw Luffy laugh with a carefree abandon you hadn't witnessed in anyone before. You tried to stay away, to maintain your usual detached observation, but circumstances, and their inexplicable persistence, pulled you in. A shared battle, a moment of unexpected camaraderie, and suddenly, you were one of them.

You stood on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, the salt spray on your face, the wind in your hair. They had accepted you, quirks and all, without question. They didn't pry about your past, didn't recoil from your scar. Yet, despite their warmth, a deep-seated feeling of being an imposter festered within you. You, with your blood-stained past, your hands that had caused so much pain, you didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve their kindness, their trust, their unwavering belief. Every smile directed your way, every offer of food, every casual touch, felt like a spotlight on your hidden darkness. You were a wolf in sheep's clothing, a predator among innocents, and the secret of your Celestial Dragon blood burned like a brand on your soul. You were surrounded by light, and you felt like you brought only shadows.

The Thousand Sunny cut through the azure waves, a bright speck against the vast ocean. On deck, the usual lively chatter filled the air, a familiar symphony that normally brought a subtle calm to your restless mind. Today, however, it only amplified the discordant hum of your anxiety.

Luffy, Usopp, and Franky were gathered near the figurehead, their voices a boisterous chorus as they discussed the approaching island. "I heard they have the best metal there, suuuper shiny!" Franky boomed, striking a pose.

"And probably some really scary monsters too!" Usopp added, already picturing a dramatic escape.

"Meat! I bet they have giant, delicious meat!" Luffy cheered, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You watched them from your usual perch by the ship's railing, a knot tightening in your stomach. The island they spoke of, still a distant blur on the horizon, was known for its exorbitantly rich resources, a magnet for the world's elite. Which meant, inevitably, it was a favored haunt of Celestial Dragons.

Your fingers unconsciously traced the jagged line of the scar on your left cheek, a phantom burn blossoming beneath your touch. The familiar litany of self-loathing began to echo in your mind, a cruel whisper you couldn't silence. I'm filthy. Disgusting. So ugly, I'm sure. Every breath felt tainted, every inch of your skin a canvas of your unforgivable past. You were the very thing they, the Straw Hats, despised. You were the darkness masquerading in their light, and the thought made your stomach churn.

A shadow fell over you, and you tensed, your hand instinctively dropping from your face.

"A beautiful day, isn't it, Y/N?" Robin's calm voice drifted to you. She stood beside you, her gaze sweeping over the horizon before settling on you, those intelligent blue eyes surprisingly warm. "The reports indicate this island is quite diverse, culturally. It might be an interesting place to find some ancient texts."

You gave a noncommittal hum, your gaze fixed on the approaching landmass. You appreciated Robin's quiet demeanor, her ability to simply be without demanding anything in return. But even with her, the guard remained firmly in place. You were a master of polite deflection, a seasoned veteran of keeping people at arm's length.

"Are you looking forward to it?" she prompted gently, her voice devoid of any prying.

"It's an island," you replied, your tone flat, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact for a moment before letting your gaze drift back to the sea. You could feel the unspoken question in her presence, the gentle curiosity. She saw more than most, you knew that. But what she saw, what she might eventually uncover, was a truth you couldn't bear for her, or any of them, to know.

You didn't deserve their easy camaraderie, their genuine laughter, their fierce protectiveness. You were an imposter, a hidden monster in their midst. Their care, their inexplicable love for you, felt like a burden you could never repay, a precious gift you were too filthy to hold. The thought made you want to shrink away, to disappear into the depths of the ocean and drown the shame that clung to every fiber of your being.

The rhythmic churning of the waves against the hull was a mocking serenade as the island loomed larger, its jagged peaks and lush greenery slowly resolving into distinct features. Every gust of wind seemed to carry the faint, nauseating scent of opulence and decay that you associated with the Celestial Dragons. The air thickened, heavy with an invisible weight that pressed down on your chest, making each breath a conscious effort.

You couldn't endure another moment of Robin’s perceptive gaze, or the cheerful obliviousness of the others. The gentle hum of their excitement felt like nails on a chalkboard, grating against the raw nerves of your escalating dread. Without a word, without even a glance in Robin’s direction, you turned and walked away, your footsteps quick and decisive. You needed space, silence, anything to stem the rising tide of panic.

You found a secluded spot below deck, tucked away in a shadowed corner of the storage room, the scent of canvas and sea salt a faint comfort. You slid down to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, your arms wrapping around yourself in a desperate attempt to contain the turmoil within. Your breath hitched, coming in short, ragged gasps. The walls of the ship seemed to press in, the darkness of the room amplifying the horrors playing out behind your closed eyelids.

Filthy. Disgusting. The blood… all that pain…

The whisper became a roar in your mind, drowning out the gentle creaks and groans of the ship. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage, desperate to escape. You felt sweat prickle your skin, cold and clammy, even as a phantom heat spread across your scar. It burned, throbbed, a physical manifestation of the shame that festered deep within you. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, digging your nails into your arms, anything to anchor yourself, to pull yourself back from the edge of the abyss. This was your legacy, carved into your very being, a stain that could never be washed away. You were an abomination, and the thought of facing those who shared your cursed blood, those who embodied everything you despised, made your stomach lurch.

Just as the wave of panic threatened to consume you entirely, a voice cut through the haze, clear and sharp.

"Alright everyone! We're only a few minutes out!" Nami's cheerful call echoed through the ship, a vibrant contrast to your internal storm.

The sound, unexpected and insistent, was like a splash of cold water. It jolted you, pulling you back, however reluctantly, from the precipice of your fear. A few minutes. That was all you had. The panic didn't vanish, but it receded, leaving behind a cold, hard resolve. You couldn't afford to be paralyzed by your past now. Not when your crew, your found family, was about to step onto hostile ground.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your muscles stiff, your mind still reeling from the sudden onslaught of your demons. You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the tremor from your hands. The scar on your face felt like it was throbbing, a constant reminder, but you pushed the self-loathing back, burying it deep beneath layers of controlled composure. You were a Straw Hat now. You had a role to play. And no matter how much you felt like a fraud, a monster hiding among angels, you would protect them. You had to.

You straightened your clothes, ran a hand through your hair, and took one last fortifying breath. The time for hiding, for wallowing in your own internal torment, was over. The island awaited. And with it, whatever fresh hell the Celestial Dragons would bring. You were ready, or at least, you would pretend to be.

The Thousand Sunny dropped anchor with a familiar splash, its silhouette a proud declaration against the vibrant green of the island. The gangplank creaked as it lowered, a gateway to whatever awaited them. You took a steadying breath, the scent of exotic flora and damp earth filling your lungs, mingling with the ever-present metallic tang of your own anxiety.

"Alright, everyone! Let's explore!" Luffy's shout was, as always, the signal for immediate chaos. He was already halfway down the gangplank, a blur of enthusiasm.

You followed, your movements practiced and precise, a stark contrast to the boisterous energy around you. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Sanji, Usopp, Chopper, Robin, Franky, and Jinbe fanned out, their collective excitement palpable. Brook, ever the gentleman, opted to stay behind and guard the ship.

"Hey, Y/N! What do you think we'll find first? Treasure? Or a giant insect monster?" Usopp called out, his voice a mixture of bravado and feigned terror as he gestured wildly.

You offered a barely perceptible shrug, your eyes scanning the dense foliage that pressed in on either side of the path they were taking. "Perhaps both," you murmured, your voice low, almost lost in the rustle of leaves. You didn't elaborate, didn't offer a theory or a playful retort. Engaging meant opening up, and that was a line you rigidly held.

Sanji, ever the attentive one, twirled slightly as he walked beside you. "Careful on these paths, Y/N-chan," he purred, his cigarette bobbing. "Wouldn't want you to trip." His hand hovered, ready to steady you, but you subtly shifted your weight, maintaining just enough distance to prevent any contact.

"I'm fine, Cook-san," you stated, your gaze fixed ahead. You knew his intentions were kind, genuinely so, and that was precisely why it pricked at the raw edges of your guilt. You didn't deserve his solicitude, his gallant protectiveness.

Chopper, trotting a little behind, piped up, "Do you think there are any rare herbs here, Y/N? You're good at spotting things!" He always looked to you for your keen observational skills, something you had honed out of necessity in your past life.

"Possibly," you replied, your eyes still sweeping the undergrowth, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of the danger you expected. You offered no further insight, no shared enthusiasm for his medical curiosities. It was easier to remain an enigma, a puzzle they couldn't solve, than to reveal the horrifying pieces of your true self.

Even Robin, ever so perceptive, approached you as you paused to look up at a towering, ancient tree. "This species is fascinating," she mused, her voice soft. "It reminds me of a tree mentioned in some ancient texts I've read. Perhaps you've encountered something similar?"

You glanced at her, your expression unreadable. You had. In the vast, forgotten libraries of your childhood prison, you had pored over countless forbidden texts, seeking knowledge that might somehow negate the darkness of your existence. But you wouldn't share that. "It's just a tree," you said dismissively, turning away before she could press further.

The others continued their lively banter, their laughter echoing through the vibrant jungle. You walked among them, a silent sentinel, ever vigilant, ever detached. They tried, you knew. They tried to bridge the gap, to coax you out of your self-imposed solitude. But every kind word, every extended hand, every moment of shared joy only reinforced the screaming truth in your mind: you were an anomaly, a burden, a walking lie. And the closer they got, the greater the risk that your true, disgusting nature would be revealed.

The jungle gave way to a sprawling town, unlike any you’d encountered on your journey with the Straw Hats. This wasn't the ramshackle charm of a pirate haven or the bustling energy of a commercial port. This was a place of polished stone and shimmering glass, of meticulously manicured gardens and wide, clean avenues. Carriages drawn by exotic, plumed beasts glided silently past, their occupants shrouded behind tinted windows. Statues of stern-faced figures adorned every plaza, their gazes seemingly judging all who passed. It reeked of wealth, power, and an unspoken, oppressive order.

Your eyes, however, weren't drawn to the artistry or the opulence. They darted, restless and hyper-focused, across every detail. You scanned the faces of the pedestrians – the impeccably dressed merchants, the uniformed guards, the servants with their downcast eyes. You peered into the open doorways of grand establishments, searching for a flash of pristine white, the tell-tale bubble of a helmet, or the unmistakable, arrogant swagger of someone who believed themselves above all others. Your own blood, the very thing you abhorred, was what you desperately sought – or rather, sought to avoid. Every shadow seemed to hold the potential for a grotesque reunion, every distant laughter a chilling echo of your past. Your fingers twitched, tracing the phantom burn of your scar.

"This place certainly looks different from Sabaody," Jinbe remarked, his deep voice calm beside you. He walked with a measured pace, his eyes taking in the surroundings with a quiet wisdom. He didn't pry, but his presence was a steadying force, a silent acknowledgment of the undercurrent of unease he must sense radiating from you.

You hummed in agreement, your head still on a swivel. "Too clean," you muttered, your gaze lingering on a group of finely dressed individuals disappearing into a particularly imposing building. They carried themselves with an air of ingrained superiority that made your stomach clench.

"Indeed," Jinbe said, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Prosperity often casts long shadows. Are you looking for anything specific?" His question was direct, yet gentle, a subtle invitation to open up without pressure.

You shook your head, though your eyes continued their relentless scan. "Just observing," you replied, your voice tight. How could you tell him you were looking for the very people who embodied everything you hated about yourself? How could you admit that you were terrified of encountering the mirror image of your own shame? The very thought made your throat seize. You felt like a coiled spring, wound impossibly tight, every nerve screaming in anticipation of a confrontation you dreaded. The others, lost in their wonder at the town's grandeur, remained oblivious, and that, perhaps, was a mercy. For now.

The murmur of the bustling town began to shift, a subtle ripple through the well-dressed crowd that caught your attention instantly. It wasn't a sudden roar, but a crescendo of hushed whispers, a collective bowing of heads, and then, the sound that sent an icy tendril of dread coiling around your heart: a rhythmic clapping. Not applause, but a slow, deliberate cadence, growing louder with each beat, accompanied by the urgent, almost frantic cries of "Make way! Make way for the Heavenly Dragon!"

Your entire body tensed, every muscle coiling like a spring. You knew this sound. You knew this ritual. You had been on the other side of it, not as an observer, but as the one for whom the way was made, the one for whom hands clapped in forced reverence. The very air around you seemed to grow cold, suffocating, as the memories flooded back – the sickeningly sweet incense, the obsequious smiles, the absolute power you once commanded, a power you despised with every fiber of your being.

Beside you, you felt Jinbe stiffen, his massive frame subtly tightening. His expression, usually so composed, hardened, a deep-seated anger flickering in his eyes. He, too, had a history with these monsters, a history steeped in the suffering of his own people. A silent, shared understanding passed between you, a grim acknowledgment of the approaching horror.

Luffy, surprisingly, was the first to react, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What's all the fuss about?" he mumbled, craning his neck to see over the crowd.

Usopp, ever the nervous one, started to sweat. "Something big is coming! I've got a bad feeling about this, guys!"

Nami, pragmatic as ever, narrowed her eyes. "This isn't a parade. People look terrified."

Sanji lit a fresh cigarette, a plume of smoke obscuring his scowl. "Disgusting," he muttered, his voice low, his contempt for the World Nobles well-known.

Chopper whimpered, instinctively pressing closer to Franky, who simply stared, his mechanical eye whirring softly, processing the unusual display. Robin's expression remained calm, but her eyes, sharp and intelligent, were fixed on the approaching spectacle, a flicker of something akin to grim understanding passing through them.

Then, the crowd parted, like a foul tide receding. And there, carried on the backs of terrified servants, on a palanquin adorned with grotesque golden figures, was her.

Your breath caught in your throat, a silent scream tearing through your mind. It was your mother. Her face, perfectly unblemished, framed by an absurdly elaborate headdress, held the same haughty disdain you remembered. A cruel smirk played on her lips as she gazed down at the bowing townsfolk. She hadn't aged a day.

And beside her, walking with an arrogant stride, a smaller, equally ornate palanquin carried a figure you knew just as well. It was your brother, his face a younger, harsher replica of your mother's, his eyes holding the same cold, entitled gleam.

The sight of them, so sudden, so undeniably real, was a punch to the gut. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The scar on your face burned, an unbearable ache that threatened to consume you. You were here. They were here. And the blood that tied you to them, the blood you hated, felt like a literal weight dragging you down into the very hell you had fled.

The world blurred, the vibrant colors of the town dissolving into a sickening kaleidoscope around you. Your mother. Your brother. Their faces, once etched in the deepest, most tormented corners of your nightmares, were now terrifyingly real, illuminated by the harsh light of midday. Every fiber of your being screamed to flee, to disappear, to become invisible.

With a jolt, you pulled yourself out of the paralyzing trance, the instinct for self-preservation, honed through years of solitary survival, kicking in. Your eyes darted, searching frantically for cover, for any shadow that could swallow you whole. You instinctively moved, a frantic, desperate shuffle into the denser part of the bowing crowd, trying to melt into the sea of averted gazes and trembling forms.

But it was too late.

Even from her elevated perch, amidst the self-important fanfare, your mother's gaze, sharp and predatory, cut through the throng. Her eyes, those cold, calculating orbs, locked onto yours for a fraction of a second. A flicker of recognition, a subtle, almost imperceptible widening, touched her features – a terrifying mix of surprise and pure, unadulterated contempt. Then, a chilling smile, slow and deliberate, spread across her lips. It wasn't a smile of welcome, but of a hunter spotting her prey.

Your brother, following her line of sight, also saw you. His arrogant sneer twisted into a look of smug satisfaction, like a child who had found a lost toy he intended to break.

"There! The traitor! Seize her!" Your mother's voice, though not a shout, carried with the undeniable authority that commanded immediate, unthinking obedience. Her finger, adorned with grotesque, oversized rings, pointed directly at you.

Before the bewildered citizens could even process the command, two hulking figures, clad in the pristine white of World Government agents, detached themselves from the procession with terrifying speed. Their movements were swift, practiced, clearly anticipating such an order from their Celestial Dragon masters. The clapping of the citizens faltered, then died out completely, replaced by a terrified silence. The townsfolk, faces pale with fear, began to back away, creating a widening circle around you, abandoning you to your fate.

"Y/N!" Luffy's voice, sharp with concern, cut through the sudden hush. He, Zoro, and Sanji, their faces etched with confusion turning rapidly to anger, surged forward.

But the agents were upon you in an instant. Powerful hands clamped down on your arms, iron vises that bit into your flesh. You struggled, a desperate, frantic fight, thrashing against their grip with all your might. This wasn't a fight you could win, not with these men, not when your mind was screaming a million desperate warnings.

"Let her go!" Zoro roared, his hand already on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. Sanji launched himself forward, a fiery kick aimed at one of the agents.

"Don't!" Your voice, raw and raspy, tore from your throat, cutting through the escalating tension. It was a single, desperate word, laced with an urgency that made the Straw Hats pause, even in their fury. "Don't interfere!"

Your eyes met Luffy's, wide with shock and a dawning understanding. You shook your head almost imperceptibly, a silent, pleading warning. They didn't know. They couldn't know. If they fought now, if they drew attention to themselves, if they revealed their connection to you, their freedom would be forfeit. Your past was a contagion, and you couldn't, wouldn't, allow it to infect them.

The agents, taking advantage of your momentary distraction, hauled you forward, their grip tightening, dragging you towards the waiting palanquin, towards your mother, towards the terrifying specter of your former life. The metallic tang of your own blood, from where their grip had broken skin, filled your mouth. And as you were pulled away, you saw the triumphant, venomous gleam in your mother's eyes. You were theirs again.

The agents dragged you forward, their grip unbreakable, pulling you closer to the monstrous opulence of your mother’s palanquin. The bubble helmets, pristine and gleaming in the sun, were undeniable proof of their identity, confirming the chilling reality of your capture. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a desperate drumbeat of dread.

"Well, well, if it isn't my dearest daughter," your mother purred, her voice dripping with an icy sweetness that was far more terrifying than any shout. She leaned forward, her eyes, magnified by the bubble, raking over your struggling form with a look of pure, unadulterated disdain. "Still clinging to that unsightly mark, I see. A constant reminder of your wretched attempt at freedom." Her gaze lingered on your scar, a cruel mockery.

Beside her, your brother, his face a smug mask of superiority, let out a short, sharp laugh. "Look at her, Mother. So disheveled. So… common. She always did lack proper grace." He gestured with a dismissive wave. "Just as filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure. Always has been. Ugly, disgusting, and filthy for sure." His words, the very echoes of your own deepest insecurities, struck you with the force of a physical blow. The shame, the self-loathing you had carried for so long, now had a voice, broadcast for the world to hear.

You strained against the agents' hold, a guttural sound of frustration and fury escaping your throat. You didn't care about the insults; they were meaningless compared to the threat of discovery.

The Straw Hats, witnessing the scene unfold, were a mixture of bewildered shock and growing fury. They saw the bubbles, recognized the abhorrent symbols of the World Nobles, and their instincts screamed to intervene. But your desperate plea, "Don't interfere!" still hung in the air, a confusing, restraining command.

Luffy’s rubbery face contorted in a rare display of conflicted emotion. His fists clenched, ready to strike, but your words held him back. "Y/N… what are they talking about?" he muttered, his voice unusually quiet, his eyes wide with a question he couldn't form.

Zoro, his hand still on his sword, snarled. "She's being taken by a World Noble! We have to do something!" His loyalty was absolute, but your command, delivered with such raw desperation, was baffling.

Nami's jaw was tight, her eyes blazing with indignation at the arrogant display of power. "They're just taking her? What right do they have?!"

Sanji, for once, was speechless with rage, a vein throbbing in his temple as he watched your struggle. Franky’s robotic eyes narrowed, his gears whirring softly, processing the injustice. Chopper whimpered, clutching Robin's leg, sensing the deep distress radiating from you.

Robin, however, watched with a quiet intensity, her gaze moving between your mother, your brother, and then to you, a flicker of understanding beginning to dawn in her perceptive eyes. She noticed the way your mother looked at your scar, the way your brother echoed your own inner torments.

Jinbe, his expression grim, stepped forward slightly, his massive hands clenched. He understood the unspoken threat, the power these people wielded, and the impossible position you were in. He respected your choice, even if it tore at him to stand by.

"Take her to the secondary interrogation chambers," your mother commanded, her gaze never leaving yours, a cruel triumph shining in her eyes. "She clearly needs to be reminded of her place. And fetch a cleaner. She's soiled the palanquin simply by being near it."

The agents hauled you more roughly now, dragging you towards a smaller, less ornate carriage that waited nearby. You twisted your head, your eyes locking with the bewildered, angry faces of your crew. You couldn't speak, couldn't explain. All you could do was meet their gaze, hoping against hope that they would understand, that they would trust you, even as you were being dragged away by the very monsters you claimed to despise.

The last thing you saw before the carriage door slammed shut was Luffy, his face contorted in a furious, confused grimace, his hand finally reaching out, futilely, into the empty air where you had just been.

The carriage lurched forward, rattling over the pristine cobblestones. Inside, the opulent interior, cushioned with plush velvet, felt more like a padded cell than a conveyance. You were slumped between the two agents, their silent, imposing presence a constant reminder of your captivity. Across from you, in the suffocating grandeur of the small space, sat your mother and brother, their gazes fixed on you with an unnerving intensity.

"Such a pity, isn't it, daughter?" your mother began, her voice a low, silken hiss that scraped against your raw nerves. "To be so thoroughly misguided. After all the effort I put into your… education." She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, her disdain palpable. "Running away to live like a commoner. It's truly a stain upon our name."

Your jaw was tight, muscles aching from the effort of holding back the torrent of rage and shame. You kept your eyes fixed on a distant point beyond the tinted window, refusing to acknowledge their presence, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Every fiber of your being screamed in silent defiance.

"Don't ignore Mother," your brother chided, his tone condescending. "Such disrespect is precisely why you've turned out so… unrefined." He gestured vaguely at your simple clothes, at the dust clinging to your form from your frantic escape attempts. "Honestly, I hardly recognize you. You barely look like you belong in polite society."

A spark, hot and bitter, ignited within you. You finally turned your head, your eyes, cold and defiant, locking onto your mother's. The familiar, self-deprecating litany had just been thrown in your face by your brother, and a perverse desire to turn their own weapons against them, however futile, clawed its way to the surface.

"Polite society?" you murmured, your voice raspy but laced with a cutting edge. You let your gaze drift pointedly to your mother, then back to your brother, a subtle, mocking sneer touching your lips. "Yes, I suppose my existence is quite the blemish, isn't it? A constant reminder of your… lapse in judgment, Mother. Getting together with someone beneath you, someone so common. A true disgrace to the celestial bloodline, wouldn't you say?" You paused, letting the words hang in the air, a silent accusation. "Such a shame, wasn't it? The very way I was made. A disgusting little secret."

The serene mask on your mother's face fractured. Her eyes narrowed, a cold fury replacing her earlier disdain. Your brother, for once, looked genuinely taken aback, his smug expression replaced by a flash of impotent rage. You had hit a nerve, a raw, festering wound they had long sought to hide. The brief, almost imperceptible flinch from your mother, however quickly masked, was a small, fleeting victory in the suffocating confines of the carriage. It was a dark, dangerous game you were playing, but at least, for a moment, you had chipped away at their impenetrable facade.

The vibrant hues of the town seemed to dim, the cheerful atmosphere suddenly discordant and unsettling. The place that had moments ago promised adventure now felt like a trap, its polished surfaces reflecting back their own bewildered, furious faces. The silence that had fallen after the carriage containing you rattled away was heavy, suffocating.

Luffy stood rooted to the spot, his usual boundless energy replaced by a stillness that was far more unsettling than any of his outbursts. His eyes, usually so clear and bright, were clouded with confusion and a nascent rage. "Y/N… what was that?" he mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "Celestial Dragons? And… and her mother?" The words felt alien, impossible, a betrayal of everything he thought he knew. You, who always threw yourself in front of danger for them, who helped without question but never let anyone in—you, a Celestial Dragon? It simply didn't compute.

Zoro, his hand still hovering over his sword, let out a low growl. "They just took her. And she told us not to interfere. What the hell was that, Jinbe?" His patience, usually thin, was completely worn through by the baffling turn of events.

Jinbe's face was grim, a deep frown etched between his brows. He looked at the retreating carriage, then back at the bewildered crew, a heavy sigh escaping him. "That was a Celestial Dragon, alright. That was her mother, and her brother. They called her a 'traitor'." His voice was heavy with a sorrowful understanding. "And what they said about her… they meant it as an insult, but it means she's one of them. By blood."

The revelation hung in the air, a poisonous gas.

Nami gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "A… a Celestial Dragon? But… that's impossible! Y/N hates them! She protects everyone!" The very idea seemed to contradict every action you had ever taken, every quiet defiance you had shown against tyranny. The image of the people in the bubbles, the symbol of everything despicable in the world, now linked irrevocably to your name, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Sanji swore, a string of curses falling from his lips. He spun, kicking a nearby pebble with unnecessary force. "That's why she always kept us at arm's length, isn't it? Why she never let anyone get close! She must have been hiding it!" His initial anger at your capture was now laced with a painful sense of betrayal, a feeling of being misled by someone he had come to deeply care for.

Usopp slumped, his shoulders drooping. "So… she's one of them? The bad guys?" His voice was small, tinged with a child's disappointment. The world had just become a lot more complicated, and terrifying.

Chopper, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, looked between his crewmates, trying to make sense of the tangled emotions. "But… Y/N wouldn't hurt anyone! She helps! She's our friend!" His innocent trust was struggling against the harsh reality.

Franky ran a hand over his metal scalp, his usual boisterous demeanor subdued. "So, she's got that rotten blood in her veins, huh? That's… super unexpected." He wrestled with the implications, the ingrained revulsion for World Nobles clashing with his experiences with you.

Robin, however, remained calm, her gaze piercing. "It explains her guarded nature," she stated, her voice quiet but firm. "Her refusal to accept help, her constant vigilance. And what they said about her… 'filthy,' 'disgusting,' 'ugly.' Those are the very words she seems to believe about herself, aren't they?" Her eyes narrowed, a profound sadness entering them. "She carries the shame of her lineage, and it's clear she hates it more than anyone else."

Luffy finally lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over his distraught crewmates. The confusion was slowly giving way to something else—a fierce, unyielding determination. "I don't care who her family is," he declared, his voice regaining its usual booming quality, though now edged with a dangerous resolve. "She's our nakama. And they just took our nakama."

The weight of the truth was heavy, a dark cloud settling over the Straw Hats. You, their quiet, guarded, fiercely protective crewmate, were tied to the very monsters they despised. It was a truth they were just beginning to unravel, a complex tangle of past and present that would challenge everything they believed. But one thing was clear: you were in trouble, and they weren't about to leave you.

The vibrant hues of the town seemed to dim, the cheerful atmosphere suddenly discordant and unsettling. The place that had moments ago promised adventure now felt like a trap, its polished surfaces reflecting back their own bewildered, furious faces. The silence that had fallen after the carriage containing you rattled away was heavy, suffocating.

Luffy stood rooted to the spot, his usual boundless energy replaced by a stillness that was far more unsettling than any of his outbursts. His eyes, usually so clear and bright, were clouded with confusion and a nascent rage. "Y/N… what was that?" he mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "Celestial Dragons? And… and her mother?" The words felt alien, impossible, a betrayal of everything he thought he knew. You, who always threw yourself in front of danger for them, who helped without question but never let anyone in—you, a Celestial Dragon? It simply didn't compute.

Zoro, his hand still hovering over his sword, let out a low growl. "They just took her. And she told us not to interfere. What the hell was that, Jinbe?" His patience, usually thin, was completely worn through by the baffling turn of events.

Jinbe's face was grim, a deep frown etched between his brows. He looked at the retreating carriage, then back at the bewildered crew, a heavy sigh escaping him. "That was a Celestial Dragon, alright. And the one with the bubble helmet... that was her mother, and her brother. They called her a 'traitor'." His voice was heavy with a sorrowful understanding. "And what they said about her… they meant it as an insult, but it means she's one of them. By blood."

The revelation hung in the air, a poisonous gas.

The Unthinkable Truth

Nami gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "A… a Celestial Dragon? But… that's impossible! Y/N hates them! She protects everyone!" The very idea seemed to contradict every action you had ever taken, every quiet defiance you had shown against tyranny. The image of the people in the bubbles, the symbol of everything despicable in the world, now linked irrevocably to your name, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Sanji swore, a string of curses falling from his lips. He spun, kicking a nearby pebble with unnecessary force. "That's why she always kept us at arm's length, isn't it? Why she never let anyone get close! She must have been hiding it!" His initial anger at your capture was now laced with a painful sense of betrayal, a feeling of being misled by someone he had come to deeply care for.

Usopp slumped, his shoulders drooping. "So… she's one of them? The bad guys?" His voice was small, tinged with a child's disappointment. The world had just become a lot more complicated, and terrifying.

Chopper, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, looked between his crewmates, trying to make sense of the tangled emotions. "But… Y/N wouldn't hurt anyone! She helps! She's our friend!" His innocent trust was struggling against the harsh reality.

Franky ran a hand over his metal scalp, his usual boisterous demeanor subdued. "So, she's got that rotten blood in her veins, huh? That's… super unexpected." He wrestled with the implications, the ingrained revulsion for World Nobles clashing with his experiences with you.

Robin, however, remained calm, her gaze piercing. "It explains her guarded nature," she stated, her voice quiet but firm. "Her refusal to accept help, her constant vigilance. And what they said about her… 'filthy,' 'disgusting,' 'ugly.' Those are the very words she seems to believe about herself, aren't they?" Her eyes narrowed, a profound sadness entering them. "She carries the shame of her lineage, and it's clear she hates it more than anyone else."

Luffy finally lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over his distraught crewmates. The confusion was slowly giving way to something else—a fierce, unyielding determination. "I don't care who her family is," he declared, his voice regaining its usual booming quality, though now edged with a dangerous resolve. "She's our nakama. And they just took our nakama."

The weight of the truth was heavy, a dark cloud settling over the Straw Hats. You, their quiet, guarded, fiercely protective crewmate, were tied to the very monsters they despised. It was a truth they were just beginning to unravel, a complex tangle of past and present that would challenge everything they believed. But one thing was clear: you were in trouble, and they weren't about to leave you.

The air in the interrogation chamber was thick and stagnant, reeking of old dust and the faint, metallic tang of fear. The ornate, oppressive decor of the World Noble manor was even more pronounced here, a mockery of luxury designed to break the spirit. You were shackled, not with rough iron, but with finely crafted, polished steel cuffs that bit into your wrists and ankles, securing you to a heavy, unmoving chair in the center of the room. The silence was absolute, save for the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distant recesses of the building.

Your mother stood before you, her pristine white robes a stark contrast to the shadowy room. Your brother, a smirk still plastered on his face, leaned against a nearby wall, his arms crossed, watching with casual amusement. There were no World Government agents, no guards within sight. This was a family affair, a private act of reclamation and punishment.

"Do you understand now, my dear?" your mother's voice cut through the silence, devoid of the earlier feigned sweetness. It was pure, unadulterated coldness. "You may run, you may hide, but you will always be found. You carry our blood, a brand that cannot be erased." She gestured with a dismissive flick of her wrist towards your scarred face. "That little act of defiance was foolish. It only served to mark you further, to remind you of the consequences of straying from your true path."

You stared straight ahead, refusing to meet her gaze, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing your fear. The shame was a burning coal in your gut, but beneath it, a cold, hard anger began to simmer. They had no right. No right to touch the lives you had chosen, no right to pull you back into this gilded hell.

"Still silent?" your brother sneered, pushing himself off the wall and approaching you. He crouched down, his face uncomfortably close to yours, his breath warm and cloying. "Such a disappointment. We had such high hopes for you. A useful tool, a loyal weapon. Instead, you became... this." He reached out, his manicured finger tracing the line of your scar, a touch that made your skin crawl. "So filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure. You truly believe you could escape who you are? Escape us?"

The words, the familiar, self-inflicted wounds now spoken by them, ignited a furious spark. You finally looked at your brother, your eyes blazing with an intensity that surprised even him.

"You speak of filth?" your voice was hoarse, but laced with a venomous contempt that cut through the silence. "You, who command others to suffer without a second thought? You, who bask in the agony of the innocent? That is true filth. Not me." You tugged against your shackles, the metal groaning softly. "And I would rather be 'ugly' and 'disgusting' in my freedom than a beautiful, gilded monster like you."

Your brother recoiled slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes before it morphed into rage. He raised a hand, poised to strike you, but your mother's voice, sharper and colder, stopped him.

"Enough, son. Violence is for lesser beings. We break them with the mind, not just the body." She stepped closer, her silhouette looming over you. "You have forgotten your training, Y/N. The art of persuasion. The value of obedience. But fear not, we have ample time to reacquaint you with your duties. We will remind you of who you are, what you are. And by the time we are finished, you will beg to serve."

Her words were a chilling promise, a testament to the tortures of mind and spirit she had inflicted upon you since childhood. You closed your eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the dust on your cheek, not of despair, but of a fierce, desperate resolve. They might break your body, but they would never again own your soul.

The air in the interrogation chamber grew heavy, the silence punctuated only by your own strained breaths and the ghost of your mother’s chilling promise. She and your brother eventually left, their footsteps fading into the oppressive quiet, leaving you alone in the dim light. The steel cuffs bit into your wrists, a constant, dull ache that grounded you in the horrifying reality of your situation.

You closed your eyes, not in surrender, but in an attempt to reassert control over the swirling chaos in your mind. The self-loathing, the internalized insults – filthy, disgusting, ugly – tried to resurface, whispered by the voices of your captors. But something was different now. The raw fury you’d felt in the carriage, the defiance that had allowed you to lash out, still simmered. It was a tiny, fragile flame, but it was there, flickering against the overwhelming darkness.

You pictured the Straw Hats: Luffy’s unyielding belief, Zoro’s fierce loyalty, Sanji’s protective anger, Nami’s sharp indignation, Usopp’s worried gaze, Chopper’s innocent trust, Franky’s silent concern, Robin’s quiet understanding, and Jinbe’s solemn resolve. They didn't know your past. They didn't know the full extent of the horror that coursed through your veins. Yet, they had been ready to fight for you. Your desperate plea not to interfere echoed in your mind, a decision born of protecting them from the taint of your origins. You wouldn't let your shame, your cursed blood, drag them into this particular hell.

A new resolve hardened within you. You might be shackled, but your spirit was not. You would not break. You would not let them win. You had escaped them once, and you would do it again. Not just for yourself, but for the crew who, despite all your efforts to keep them out, had somehow found their way into the guarded corners of your heart.

Meanwhile, back in the lavish, yet now unsettling, town square, the Straw Hats stood in a bewildered, furious huddle. The carriage carrying you had vanished, leaving an echoing silence and a profound sense of injustice.

"This is insane!" Nami seethed, slamming her fist into her palm. "They just took her! And she told us not to interfere!" Her logical mind struggled to reconcile your apparent command with the blatant abduction.

"I don't care what she said!" Luffy declared, his voice rumbling with an uncharacteristic depth of anger. His fists were clenched, his body trembling slightly with suppressed power. "They took our nakama! And if she's a World Noble, then she's a good one, because she hates those other guys! We're getting her back!" His simple, unwavering loyalty cut through the confusion. To him, you were their friend, and friends didn't abandon friends.

Zoro drew one of his swords a few inches from its sheath, the subtle rasp of metal a dangerous sound. "She fought for us countless times. She covered our backs. We don't leave family behind. Especially not when they're being taken by those arrogant bastards." His eyes, usually half-lidded, were sharp and focused.

Sanji’s cigarette hung forgotten from his lips, his face contorted in a dark scowl. "If those pig-faced nobles have laid a single hand on Y/N-chan, they'll regret the day they were born!" He exhaled a cloud of furious smoke.

Chopper, tears welling in his eyes, looked up at Jinbe. "Jinbe, what do we do? We have to save her!"

Jinbe nodded, his expression solemn. "Her command not to interfere suggests she believes our direct confrontation would put us in even greater danger, perhaps exposing something about her past. But that does not mean we do nothing." He looked out at the opulent buildings, his eyes scanning them with an experienced gaze. "Celestial Dragons usually operate out of heavily guarded compounds or specific government facilities on islands they frequent. This wealth suggests a strong presence."

Robin stepped forward, her voice calm and analytical, cutting through the rising tide of emotion. "She called them 'her blood,' and they confirmed it. And the things they said... 'filthy,' 'disgusting,' 'ugly.' She told herself those very words earlier today. She carries immense shame for her lineage, enough to hide it from us. This isn't just an abduction; it's a reassertion of power over someone who tried to escape." Her eyes met Luffy's. "We need a plan, Captain. A careful one. One that understands the depth of what we're up against, and why Y/N acted as she did."

Luffy’s gaze hardened, his playful demeanor completely gone. "Alright, Robin. What's the plan? We're breaking in. And we're bringing Y/N home."

The cold steel of the shackles was a physical manifestation of the invisible chains that had bound you your entire life. Alone in the oppressive silence of the chamber, with only the rhythmic throb of your scar for company, the facade you’d maintained for so long began to crack. Your earlier defiance, that fleeting spark of anger, dwindled, leaving behind the familiar, suffocating weight of guilt.

You closed your eyes, but there was no escape from the relentless replays in your mind. Images flashed, vivid and merciless: the terrified eyes of the servant you’d struck as a child, the silent pleas of the scholars whose lives you’d helped extinguish, the fear you had instilled in countless others. Each memory was a fresh cut, tearing at the already tattered edges of your soul. Your hands, clenched into fists even in their bound state, felt filthy. Every beat of your heart pumped the very blood you despised, a constant reminder of the atrocities committed in its name, the pain it had inflicted.

I am disgusting. The thought, an old, familiar torment, resonated deep within you. So ugly, I'm sure. Not just your scar, but every inch of your skin felt tainted, a canvas bearing the invisible marks of your lineage. How could you ever stand beside them again – Luffy, with his pure, unshakeable dreams; Zoro, with his unwavering honor; Nami, with her fierce spirit; Sanji, with his chivalrous heart? They were light, and you were a creature of the deepest shadows, brought into existence by the very evil they fought against.

The shame was a physical ache, a tightening in your chest that made it hard to breathe. You didn't deserve their kindness, their concern, their incredible belief that you were worthy of being their nakama. Every act of protectiveness you had shown them, every time you had thrown yourself in danger, felt like a desperate, futile attempt to atone, to wash away the indelible stain of your origins. But the more you tried, the deeper the guilt settled, because how could a monster truly atone for being born into such a lineage?

You hated every drop of your blood, every fiber of your being that connected you to them. The whispers of your mother and brother in the carriage – "filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure" – echoed in the silence, not as insults from them, but as the undeniable truth of yourself. You were a fraud, an imposter among the genuinely good, and the crushing weight of that realization threatened to consume you entirely.

Hours bled into an eternity in the suffocating silence of the interrogation chamber. Each tick of an unseen clock felt like a hammer blow against your skull, amplifying the relentless whispers of self-loathing. You were cold, hungry, and utterly drained, the last embers of defiance threatening to extinguish under the crushing weight of your past. Your mother and brother had returned briefly, their words like venom, twisting the knife of your guilt deeper with every uttered syllable. They didn't need to physically harm you; their psychological torture, a familiar method from your childhood, was far more effective.

Just as the despair threatened to swallow you whole, a distant, muffled explosion rattled the very foundations of the building. It was followed by another, closer this time, a resounding crash that vibrated through the floor. Your head snapped up, eyes wide. It wasn't the precise, controlled destruction of World Government agents, nor the subtle incursions of assassins. This was something else entirely.

Then, a sound that, against all logic, made a fragile, desperate hope bloom in your chest: a familiar, boisterous, utterly unmistakable roar.

"GUM-GUM… PISTOL!"

The wall of the chamber, thick and seemingly impenetrable, erupted in a shower of dust and debris. Sunlight, blinding after the oppressive dimness, streamed into the room.

Standing in the newly formed gaping hole, silhouetted against the bright light, was Luffy. His face was set in a furious scowl, his straw hat slightly askew. He looked less like a rescuer and more like an avenging deity. Behind him, the chaotic symphony of the Straw Hats' invasion was in full swing:

"Any perverted Nobles around here?!" Sanji's enraged voice echoed, followed by the distinctive sound of a powerful kick.

"YOW! Breaking and entering is SUUUPER!" Franky's booming laugh accompanied the shattering of another wall.

"Don't forget the loot, Nami! We need to make these scum pay!" Usopp shrieked, followed by the whizz of a Pop Green.

"One hundred and eight POUND PHOENIX!" Zoro's voice was a low growl, punctuated by the metallic clang of swords clashing.

Chopper, in his Guard Point, rumbled, "Leave Y/N alone, you bullies!"

Robin's calm voice drifted in, "Fleur: Wing." followed by the sounds of multiple bodies being effortlessly flung aside.

They weren't trying to be subtle. They weren't hiding their presence. They were loud. They were chaotic. And they were here.

Your mother and brother, who had just re-entered the chamber, froze, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and outrage. "What in the name of the World Nobles?!" your mother shrieked, her composure utterly shattered. "Who dares to desecrate our property?!"

Luffy’s gaze swept over the room, instantly finding you, shackled to the chair. His eyes, usually full of mirth, were burning with a fierce, unyielding anger you had rarely seen directed at anything but a truly despicable foe. "You guys!" he roared, pointing at your mother and brother. "You're the ones who took our nakama! Get ready to face the Straw Hat Pirates!"

Before your mother or brother could even react, Luffy stretched his arm, wrapping it around your chair and pulling you, chair and all, free from the floor with a mighty yank. The steel shackle snapped under the force, a small, triumphant ping in the chaos. He landed lightly beside you, his arm still around the chair, shielding you with his body.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed, his scowl softening to a wide, relieved grin as he saw your face. "We came to get you!"

You stared at him, tears pricking your eyes. They had come. Despite everything, despite the Celestial Dragon blood, despite your desperate plea for them to stay away, they had burst through the walls, loud and unapologetic, to save you. The shame was still there, a heavy cloak, but beneath it, a tiny, unfamiliar warmth began to spread through your chest. For the first time in your life, you felt truly, undeniably, saved.

The dust settled, the silence that followed Luffy's defiant roar broken only by the rapid thumping of your own heart. You were free from the shackles, but still paralyzed by a different kind of chain – the utter shame and terror of your past laid bare before the very people you sought to protect. Luffy still shielded you, his arm a solid, reassuring presence around the broken chair, but his gaze, and the gazes of the entire crew now flooding into the shattered chamber, were fixed on your mother and brother.

Your mother, momentarily stunned by the sudden, brutal intrusion, recovered with chilling speed. A venomous smile, cold and sharp as glass, stretched across her lips. Her eyes, magnified by the bubble helmet, raked over the Straw Hats, dismissing them as mere rabble before settling back on Luffy, then on you.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice carrying an unnatural calm that sliced through the tension. "It seems my wayward daughter has found herself some rather… enthusiastic new playthings. How utterly disappointing. And here I thought she was learning to appreciate a more refined form of entertainment." Her words dripped with condescension.

Your brother, regaining his composure, sneered. "These are the pirates she's been gallivanting with? So utterly common. Does she tell them her little secrets, Mother?" He stepped forward, his eyes fixed on you, a cruel glint in their depths. "Does she tell them what she really is? What she was trained to do?"

The Straw Hats bristled, their anger palpable. Zoro's hand tightened on his sword. Sanji's eyes narrowed dangerously. Nami's face was a mask of fury.

Then, your mother’s gaze sharpened, her eyes piercing each member of the crew as she began to speak, her voice slow, deliberate, each word a poisoned dart aimed directly at their hearts, at their deeply held values.

"Do these... heroes of yours, Y/N," she began, a sneer twisting her perfect features, "know about the blood on your hands? Do they know about the executioner you were? The 'family business' you were so proficient in?" Her gaze swept over Luffy, then Zoro, lingering on Robin. "Do they know that while they prattle on about justice and freedom, my dear daughter was busy slaughtering innocents?"

The words hung in the air, cold and sharp, freezing the Straw Hats in their tracks. Luffy’s defiant stance wavered, his eyes wide with incomprehension. Zoro's hand froze on his sword hilt, his usual fierce glare replaced by a stunned confusion. Nami's angry gasp turned into a choked whimper. Usopp's face went white, his jaw slack. Sanji’s cigarette fell from his mouth, unnoticed. Chopper began to tremble, burying his face in Robin's side. Franky’s whirring stopped dead.

Your mother continued, her voice gaining a mocking cadence, playing them like a cruel instrument. "Oh, yes. My Y/N here was very good at it. A true prodigy. We sent her to 'resolve' disputes, to ensure 'obedience.' Meaning, of course," she paused, savoring the horror dawning on their faces, "she ensured the complete and utter annihilation of anyone who dared to defy the World Nobles. Entire families. Entire villages. All at her command. All to prevent the spread of dissent."

Her eyes, filled with a triumphant malice, fixed on you. "She carried out our will, unflinchingly. She put them down like dogs. Didn't you, Y/N? You broke them. You silenced them. You ensured their screams never reached the ears of anyone who might care."

The silence in the chamber became deafening, broken only by your own ragged breathing. Their faces – their horrified, disbelieving faces – reflected the absolute truth of her words. The trust, the kindness, the acceptance they had so freely given you, shattered before your very eyes. You had tried to keep it hidden, tried to bear the burden alone, but now, the deepest, most monstrous parts of your past were laid bare.

The guilt, the shame, the utter disgust in yourself, became a crushing, unbearable weight. You had tried to be worthy of them, to be clean, but your past, your very blood, had betrayed you. And in their shocked, frozen silence, you saw not just confusion, but the dawning realization of the monster you truly were. The tears that finally escaped your eyes were hot, burning tracks, not for your captivity, but for the irrevocable loss of the innocence you knew you had stolen from them.

The world spun, the present dissolving into a horrifying echo of the past. Your mother's venomous words, describing you as an "executioner," ripped open a wound you had desperately tried to keep scabbed over. The interrogation chamber, the Straw Hats, your mother and brother – all faded into a chilling, vivid flashback.

You were ten. Your mother’s hand, cold and unyielding, rested on your shoulder, guiding you. Before you knelt a child, no older than yourself, eyes wide with terror, trembling uncontrollably. They had been caught trying to share forbidden knowledge, a simple, innocent act of rebellion. Your mother’s voice, a soft, dangerous whisper in your ear, had commanded you to make an example. "Show them, darling, the price of defiance. Show them the weight of our authority." The ornate, ceremonial blade felt impossibly heavy in your small hand. You had closed your eyes, tears streaming down your face, even as you obeyed, a muffled gasp, then silence, forever staining your hands, your soul. The memory was a festering wound, a testament to the innocence you'd been forced to extinguish, both theirs and your own.

The world snapped back into focus, the acrid scent of ozone and dust filling your nostrils. The piercing screams of your mother and brother now filled the air, laced with genuine terror, a stark contrast to their earlier arrogance. Their faces, contorted in shock, were smeared with dust and trickles of blood. They lay amidst the rubble, unconscious, knocked out cold by the Straw Hats.

You were no longer alone, no longer a prisoner. Strong, familiar arms were wrapped around you, pulling you gently from the remains of the shattered chair. It was Luffy, his face smudged with dirt but his eyes shining with an unwavering determination. He held you carefully, his rubbery limbs adapting to your shaking form.

Around you, the rest of the crew were a whirlwind of triumphant chaos. Zoro was wiping blood from his sword, a grim satisfaction on his face. Sanji was delivering a final, emphatic kick to one of the unconscious agents. Franky cheered, his metallic arms raised in victory. Usopp was doing a frantic victory dance, yelling about his "heroic" contribution. Chopper, in his Human Point, carefully examined the unconscious Celestial Dragons, a tiny frown of disgust on his snout.

"Y/N! Are you okay?!" Luffy asked, his voice full of concern, his grip firm yet gentle.

You could barely process his words, your mind reeling, trapped between the horror of your past and the overwhelming, undeserved reality of your rescue. "No! Wait! You can't… you can't take me!" Your voice was raw, a desperate whisper. You twisted in his arms, trying to pull away, to free yourself, not from their grasp, but from the horrifying realization that they were doing this for you, the monster.

"What are you talking about, Y/N?" Nami exclaimed, her earlier anger at your abduction now replaced by concern as she approached, her eyes scanning you for injuries. "We just saved you!"

"Bring me back!" you pleaded, your voice rising, bordering on a frantic sob. The words tumbled out, unbidden, fueled by a lifetime of self-loathing. "I'm filthy! Disgusting! So ugly, I'm sure! I don't deserve this! I don't deserve to be free!" You felt the scalding hot tears stream down your face, blurring your vision. "I don't deserve you! I'm a blight! My blood… it's tainted! I'm a killer! Just leave me! Please, leave me!"

You wrestled against Luffy's hold, desperate to be returned to the chains, to the 'justice' you felt you deserved. The very notion of their kindness, their unyielding acceptance after hearing the truth, was a torment worse than any physical pain. You were a monster in their midst, and the thought that they might still care for you after your mother’s revelations was unbearable.

Your desperate pleas, laced with self-loathing, hung heavy in the air, echoing amidst the rubble of the shattered chamber. You thrashed in Luffy’s arms, pleading to be left, to be returned to the very chains they had just broken. The words "I'm filthy! Disgusting! So ugly, I'm sure! I don't deserve this! I don't deserve to be free!" tore at their hearts, a stark contrast to the fierce, protective warrior they knew.

Luffy's grip tightened, his usually bright eyes now clouded with a raw, almost painful determination. He shook his head, a firm, immediate rejection of your self-condemnation. "No!" he roared, his voice cutting through your frantic sobs. "That's not you, Y/N! You're our nakama! And we don't leave nakama behind! Not ever!" His rubbery hand, strong and unwavering, reached up to cup your tear-stained face, gently forcing you to look at him. His gaze held no judgment, only an overwhelming, stubborn belief in you.

Zoro, though still reeling from your mother’s revelations, sheathed his sword with a decisive click. He stepped closer, his voice gruff but firm. "Shut up, Y/N. You think we came all this way just to listen to you talk nonsense? You're with us now. That's all there is to it." His words, blunt and to the point, held an undeniable undercurrent of acceptance.

Nami, her initial shock turning to fierce protectiveness, rushed forward. She reached out, grasping one of your hands, her grip surprisingly strong. "Don't you dare say that! We don't care where you came from! We care about who you are now! And who you are now is our friend!" Her eyes, usually calculating, now shone with genuine warmth and indignation on your behalf.

Sanji appeared beside her, his face a storm of conflicting emotions – anguish for your pain, and fury at the ones who had instilled it. "Y/N-chan," he said, his voice unusually soft, devoid of its usual flirtatious lilt. "Please don't talk like that about yourself. You are not filthy. You are not disgusting. You are our beautiful, strong Y/N-chan, and no one, especially not those pigs, gets to tell you otherwise!"

Usopp, still trembling slightly, found his voice. "Yeah! You always protect us! You're super brave! You can't just… just give up now!" His usual exaggerations were replaced by a sincere plea.

Chopper, tears streaming down his small, furry face, buried his head against Luffy’s leg, unable to articulate his distress but radiating pure, unconditional concern.

Robin stepped forward, her calm demeanor a steadying force amidst the chaos. Her eyes, filled with profound understanding, met yours. "Y/N," she said, her voice a gentle balm. "The past does not define who you are in the present. What they forced you to do... that was not you. It was a cage. You broke free. And we are here because we see you, not your blood, not your history. We see our friend."

Franky, wiping a stray tear from his metallic eye, managed a strained grin. "Yeah, Y/N! You're SUPER! No more crying! Let's get out of this crummy place!" His booming voice, for once, was a comforting rumble.

Jinbe placed a large, gentle hand on your shoulder, his gaze deep and understanding. "Child," he said, his voice a low, reassuring murmur. "Shame is a heavy burden, but it is not one you must carry alone. Your will, your actions with us, show us who you truly are. Not the person they tried to make you."

Their words, their unwavering belief, were like a lifeline thrown into the dark abyss of your self-condemnation. You still felt raw, exposed, every nerve ending screaming with the deep-seated loathing of your own blood. But looking into their faces, seeing their collective denial of your "filth," their fierce rejection of your "ugliness," something shifted within you. It didn't erase the past, didn't make the shame vanish. But in their eyes, you saw something you hadn't dared to dream of: a glimmer of acceptance, a love so unconditional, it dared to challenge the very core of your deepest, darkest beliefs.

The path back to the Thousand Sunny was a blur of motion and sound. Luffy still held you, his arm wrapped firmly around you, essentially carrying you as the crew moved with practiced efficiency. They smashed through any remaining resistance, their fury a tangible force against the stunned World Government agents and the terrified, scattering townsfolk. The chaos of their entry was mirrored by the swift, powerful storm of their exit.

You were vaguely aware of Zoro covering their flank, his swords a deadly blur. Sanji kicked agents aside with precise, enraged movements. Nami navigated the shortest route, her shouts guiding them through the bewildered crowds. Usopp and Franky created diversions, explosions and bizarre contraptions distracting anyone who dared to stand in their way. Chopper darted around, making sure no one was left behind. Robin’s hands sprouted, effortlessly disabling any remaining threats. Jinbe moved with quiet power, clearing their path with unyielding force.

You, however, felt a profound, bone-deep exhaustion settle over you. The adrenaline that had fueled your defiance, the raw emotion of your breakdown, had completely drained you. Your body felt heavy, each limb a leaden weight. The prolonged terror of the interrogation, the mental and emotional torment from your mother and brother, had taken their toll. Your sobbing had left your throat raw, your eyes burning, and your head throbbing with a dull ache. You were weak, physically and emotionally spent, a hollow shell. The world blurred around you, the sounds of battle fading into a distant hum. You leaned into Luffy’s warmth, too weary to resist, too broken to care about your usual need for distance.

Finally, the familiar sight of the Thousand Sunny appeared through the chaos. Brook, standing guard at the railing, let out a relieved, if somewhat confused, "Yohohoho! You're back! And quite the ruckus you made!"

Luffy didn't slow, bounding onto the deck with you still in his arms. The sudden quiet of the ship, after the pandemonium of the town, was almost jarring. He gently set you down on the soft grass of the deck, steadying you as your legs threatened to give out.

"Y/N!" Brook exclaimed, his empty eye sockets conveying concern as he saw your disheveled state, your tear-streaked face, and the lingering terror in your eyes. "Are you alright, my dear? What happened?"

You tried to speak, to offer some reassurance, but your voice was a dry, raspy whisper. Your body trembled uncontrollably, the aftermath of the intense emotional and physical strain. Every muscle ached, every nerve ending felt raw and exposed. The warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle sway of the ship, should have been comforting, but you were too exhausted, too utterly spent to feel anything but the profound emptiness left by your recent ordeal.

The crew gathered around you, their faces etched with concern, their earlier anger now replaced by a quiet worry. They didn't push, didn't demand answers. They simply watched you, their presence a silent, unwavering testament to their commitment. You had been rescued, brought back from the darkness of your past, but the journey had stripped you bare, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, perhaps for the very first time.

The gentle rocking of the Thousand Sunny was a stark contrast to the violent tremors that still ran through your body. You lay curled on the grass of the deck, a thin blanket draped over you by Chopper, who hovered nearby, his small face etched with worry. The immediate rush of adrenaline had completely evaporated, leaving you feeling hollowed out, utterly spent. Every muscle ached, a testament to the internal battle you'd just fought, and lost, within yourself.

The crew moved around you, their actions muted, respectful of the fragile peace that had settled after the storm. You could hear the soft swish of Zoro cleaning his swords, the clinking of Sanji preparing food in the galley, the quiet murmurs of Nami and Robin speaking at the railing. Their presence, so recently a source of profound fear and shame, was now… different. Not comforting, not yet, but a steadying anchor in the turbulent sea of your own mind.

The raw edges of your scar throbbed, a constant reminder of the physical and emotional wounds. You remembered your mother’s cutting words, echoing your own self-condemnation: "filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure." The profound shame of your lineage, the guilt of your past actions, still clung to you like a shroud. You were an executioner, a tool of the very evil they fought. How could they look at you now, knowing that, and not see a monster?

You tried to push the thoughts away, to find the deep, isolated corner you usually retreated to, but the exhaustion was too profound. Your body felt like it was made of lead, every breath a monumental effort. The tears had finally stopped, leaving your eyes dry and burning, a dull ache behind your temples. You were adrift, caught between the terrifying clarity of your past and the bewildering, undeserved kindness of your present.

Luffy knelt beside you, his presence a comforting warmth you couldn't quite bring yourself to pull away from. He didn't speak, simply rested a large, calloused hand on your arm, a silent gesture of solidarity. It wasn't pity you saw in his eyes, but a deep, unwavering acceptance that defied all logic.

After a moment, Robin approached, carrying a cup of warm, steaming liquid. "Here, Y/N," she murmured, her voice soft, empathetic. "It might help." She didn't press when you hesitated, simply held it out until you, with trembling hands, managed to take it. The herbal scent was soothing, a small comfort.

You took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through your chilled body. You knew they were trying to give you space, to let you recover, but the unspoken questions hung in the air between you. They had seen your mother, heard her chilling words. They knew, now. Or at least, they knew enough to piece together the terrifying truth.

You risked a glance at Jinbe, who stood a little apart, his gaze serene but understanding. He, more than anyone, knew the weight of such a past, the complexities of fighting against one's own identity. In his eyes, you saw no condemnation, only a shared, silent burden.

The silence on the deck was profound, filled with unspoken truths and the fragile beginnings of a different kind of understanding. The Straw Hats weren't just a crew; they were a force of nature that had shattered the walls of your emotional prison, revealing the raw, bleeding wounds beneath. And now, you had to face the daunting task of healing, of learning to live with a past that refused to stay buried, and with a future you never thought you deserved.

The silence on the deck of the Thousand Sunny stretched, thick with unspoken questions and the profound weight of your secret. The gentle sway of the ship, meant to be calming, only amplified the turbulent storm within you. You lay there, shivering despite the blanket, the raw aftermath of your emotional breakdown leaving you utterly exposed. The shame and guilt, momentarily pushed aside by the sheer force of their rescue, now roared back with a vengeance.

A raw, broken sob tore from your throat, startling even yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the tears, hot and relentless, streamed down your temples and into your hair.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," you choked out, the words a fractured whisper, barely audible even in the quiet of the deck. Your voice was raspy, broken from earlier screams and sobs. "I'm so sorry… for being so filthy."

Another sob ripped through you, rattling your weakened frame. "I'm disgusting," you continued, the words a self-inflicted lash. "My blood… it's tainted. It's… it's poison." Your hands, still trembling, clenched into impotent fists, nails digging into your palms. "All those lives… I… I caused so much pain. So much suffering." The image of the child's terrified eyes, the scholars' pleas, flashed behind your eyelids, sharp and agonizing. "I'm an executioner. I did it. I… I took them. Because they told me to. Because I was too weak to stop."

You curled tighter into yourself, a pathetic, sobbing mess. "This is what they broke in to save?" you thought, the self-loathing a bitter taste in your mouth. "A crying, pathetic mess who deserves to be chained. Who deserves to burn. I caused the pain, and now I'm crying. How utterly pathetic."

The Straw Hats, who had stood silently, listening to your raw, agonizing confession, did not flinch. There was no judgment in their eyes, no recoil, only an overwhelming wave of something you couldn't comprehend: unconditional acceptance.

Luffy, without a word, simply tightened his arm around you, pulling you gently but firmly against his side. His warmth, his solid presence, was a stark contrast to the cold void of your despair. He rested his chin on your head, holding you close as you wept, his simple act of unwavering physical comfort speaking volumes.

Zoro crossed his arms, his gaze intense but surprisingly soft. "Shut up, Y/N," he said again, his voice gruff, yet devoid of any harshness. "Everyone has a past. Doesn't mean it defines who you are now." It wasn't forgiveness he offered, but a simple statement of fact, a challenge to your self-condemnation.

Nami knelt beside you, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She reached out, gently rubbing your back. "What they did to you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "that wasn't your fault, Y/N. You were a child. They forced you. Don't you dare blame yourself for their evil."

Sanji stepped forward, his eyes blazing with fury—not at you, but at the unseen architects of your suffering. "Those bastards brainwashed you, Y/N-chan! They twisted your mind! You're suffering because of their cruelty, not your own!"

Usopp looked away, his own eyes wet, unable to meet your gaze directly but his voice firm. "You're our nakama! You help us! You fight for us! That's what matters!"

Chopper, trembling, climbed onto your lap, burying his face against your chest. You could feel his small, furry body shaking, but he clung to you, a silent, unwavering comfort.

Robin knelt on your other side, her hand gently resting on your hair. "The darkness they forced upon you is not a reflection of your true self, Y/N," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "Your efforts to protect us, your determination to escape them, that is the truth of who you are. And we see it."

Franky sniffled loudly, dramatically wiping a tear from his eye. "Yeah! You're crying about it, aren't you?! That means you feel bad! That means you're SUPER good inside!" His logic, though simplistic, was undeniably earnest.

Jinbe approached, his large, kind hand resting on your back, a silent anchor. "Regret is a heavy burden, child," he said, his voice a deep, resonant hum. "But it is also a sign of a good heart. The fact that you feel this pain, this shame, means you are not the monster they tried to make you. You are one of us."

You lay there, a sobbing mess, surrounded by the warmth of their presence, enveloped by their words. Their acceptance, so profound, so utterly undeserved in your mind, cracked something open within you. The guilt still gnawed, but for the first time, a faint, fragile seed of hope began to stir in the desolate landscape of your heart. You were still Y/N, the one with the cursed blood, the tainted past, but now, you were also Y/N, held by those who refused to let you drown in your own shame.

The days that followed your rescue were a strange, fragile dance on the Thousand Sunny. The immediate, agonizing shame of your past being revealed still clung to you, a heavy cloak you wished you could shed. Yet, beneath it, a new, tentative warmth began to bloom – the inexplicable, unwavering acceptance of the Straw Hats.

You still woke in cold sweats some nights, the nightmares of your childhood, the faces of those you had hurt, as vivid as ever. But now, when you jolted awake, trembling and breathless, there was a difference. Sometimes, a soft snore from the hammock above reminded you of Usopp's presence. Sometimes, the gentle creak of the ship's timbers was a strangely comforting lullaby. And sometimes, a small, furry head would appear at the edge of your hammock, Chopper's worried eyes silently asking if you were okay. You wouldn't always respond, but you no longer felt the desperate need to hide your distress, to suffer in absolute solitude.

Your interactions with the crew, though still cautious, began to shift. You no longer flinched quite as violently when Luffy clapped a hand on your shoulder, or when Sanji offered you a specially prepared snack. His flirtations, once a source of mild annoyance, now felt like a strangely comforting constant, a sign of his continued, uncritical care. When Nami asked for your opinion on a navigation route, you found yourself offering genuine input, rather than a terse, dismissive shrug. You even allowed Zoro to win a few more of your sparring matches, though you still gave him a run for his money. The quiet understanding in Robin's gaze no longer felt like an intrusion, but a shared silent knowledge, a bond forged in unspoken pain.

You were still guarded, the ingrained habits of a lifetime of self-preservation too deep to simply vanish. You wouldn't volunteer information about your past, and the topic remained largely unspoken among the crew, a silent agreement to let you heal at your own pace. But the walls around your heart, once impenetrable fortresses, now had small, hairline cracks.

Over the next few weeks, small changes began to accumulate. You found yourself lingering on deck more often, not just scanning the horizon, but observing the easy camaraderie of your crewmates. You watched Franky tinker with the Sunny, his booming laughter a surprisingly soothing sound. You found yourself listening more closely to Brook's melancholic songs, a shared appreciation for the beauty of music replacing your usual detachment. Even the stoic presence of Jinbe felt less like a reminder of shared burdens and more like a pillar of strength.

There were still moments when the self-loathing would resurface, a cold tide of "filthy, disgusting, ugly" washing over you. You'd catch a glimpse of your scar in a reflection and feel the familiar surge of shame. But now, the voices of your crew, their unwavering denials of those self-inflicted wounds, resonated louder. They saw past the bloodline, past the forced actions, past the scar, to the person you were now.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, you found yourself sitting on the railing, watching the waves. Chopper quietly approached, his small hooves pattering softly on the deck. He didn't say anything, simply hopped onto the railing beside you and leaned his head gently against your arm. You didn't flinch. Instead, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, you reached out a hand and gently stroked his fur. It was a small gesture, almost nothing, but for you, it was a chasm crossed.

You were still Y/N, the one with the cursed blood and the indelible past. But now, you were also Y/N, a member of the Straw Hat Pirates, slowly, painfully, learning what it meant to be truly seen, truly accepted, and truly free. The path to healing was long, but you were no longer walking it alone.

[namgyufreak]

☆ Star 69 ☆

namgyu x fem!reader

desc: namgyu comes home from another late shift at the club... and well.. one thing leads to another :]

tags: 18+ (MDNI), fem! reader, no p in v, oral (f/m receiving), spit, fingering, drug/alcohol mention, domestic/bf namgyu, non-games au

a/n: hi guys!! i've had this blog set up for a while, but i've finally had some free time to actually start writing again!! requests are open too! enjoy!!!

~2k words

It was another Friday night for you, focused on your typical routine while waiting for your sweet boyfriend to get home from his shift at the club! He usually worked until 2 am most Fridays, while you try your best to stay up and keep yourself entertained until he gets back. Usually, you pass the time by watching a new show, or baking something for you two to enjoy when he finally comes home, but something about tonight felt particularly long..

Around 2:15, you had just finished your shower after another too-long doomscroll sesh on your bed. As you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel, the warm steam from the bathroom follows you as you make your way back to your room. Hmm.. he should be home by now, or at least very soon.. you think to yourself as you massage your favorite body lotion into your freshly shaved legs. After drying and styling your hair, you pick out one of your favorite cute pajama sets, the one that specifically highlights your curves, to greet your hardworking boyfriend when he eventually gets home.

As the clock hits 2:40, right as you're spritzing your signature vanilla body mist all over your warm skin, you finally hear the door open. Quickly sliding your feet into your soft slippers, you rush to greet him at the door.

"Namgyu, I was waiting so long for you! why didn't you text or.." as he steps inside you notice that something is off.. he seems more worn out than usual, his face flushed with stress and exhaustion. "Babe what happened??" you inquire, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, nuzzling your face into his warm neck. You appreciate the faint linger of his cologne, while also picking up on the strength of the familiar scent of booze and weed that usually clings to him after a particularly grueling shift.

"Fuck, just these fucking assholes.. expecting special treatment.." he let out a frustrated sigh as he takes off his shoes. "Its like, I can only give out so many free drinks, these asshole demand so much of me like i'm not already bending over backwards to make sure they keep spending money.." you help him out of his jacket and gently tuck some of his long hair behind his ear as he continues. "I'm sorry babe.. it seems like the same thing happens every night with those same people, hmm?" You feel his hands wrapping around your waist as you offer your sympathy, slowly tracing your curves and caressing his way down to your hips. "fuck, you smell so good.. need you s' bad..." he groans, his hands making their way back up your midsection to cup your soft breasts. "Shh babe.. just come lay down, okay? you need to relax.." you reply, leading him to the couch.

Eventually, you two make your way to the couch, Namgyu laying down with you on top of him. Some random TV show buzzes in the background, while he glides his fingers through your hair, your legs wrapped around him. You rest your head against his chest, while you notice his other hand making its way down to your thigh, slowly caressing its softness.. he notices how you let out a soft mewl and is quick to respond. "You like that, hmm? having your thighs touched?" He slowly works his way up your inner thigh, eventually reaching the edge of your pj shorts. Noticing the warmth radiating off your core, he unsuspectingly presses his pinky against your clothed heat, slowly rubbing.

It doesn't take long for Namgyu to notice you trying to hide your obvious pleasure, barely bucking your hips against his hand. "I need you closer.. c'mere" he breaths through closed teeth, bringing both hands to your hips to lift you completely on top of him. You press your hands against his chest, lifting yourself up so you are sat facing him. Through his tired eyes, you can see how he looks you up and down, murmuring to himself under his breath. "hmm.. gonna turn you around now.. get a better view" he pushes against your hips, motioning for you to turn around so your ass is facing him.

Now that you are practically reverse straddling him, Namgyu has a perfect view of your backside! "Mhmm.. such a nice ass.. can you arch for me sweetheart?" Following his command, you lower yourself against him, attaching your hands to grip to his still-clothed thighs as you lower your back, presenting yourself to him. "c'mon arch for me.. there we go.. knew you could do it.. such a good girl" he mutters, using one hand to press your back down, and the other to caress one of your asscheeks.

Lifting his hand from your back, Namgyu now uses both hands to massage your ass, spreading and fondling your asscheeks, observing how they jiggle with the thin fabric of your pajama set. "Such a nice ass.. so warm f'me, too.." Suddenly, his strong hands grip onto your hips, pulling you closer to his face. You can feel his breath inches away from your pussy, making you twitch in anticipation. Not yet removing your bottoms, he presses the strong bridge of his nose against your heat, teasing you ever so slightly. He notices how wet you already are, your soaked cunt clinging to the thin fabric of your shorts. Giving in to the tingle in your core, you push back, closer to his face. "So eager.. you have to be patient.." he responds. "Gyu, i've stayed up waiting for you all night already" you snap back, becoming annoyed at his attempts to tease you. "Well, since you have been waiting and you obviously want it so bad you can't help yourself from grinding your sopping pussy against my nose.."

Without finishing his sentence, Namgyu suddenly pulls down your shorts, the cold air hitting your folds, startling you. "Shh.. its'okay.." he coos, seemingly talking to your pussy as he leans in. "f-fuck gyu, need it so bad" you moan, bucking your hips so your heat finally meets his mouth. Immediately, Namgyu eagerly begins to explore your folds, his tongue working its way up and down your core. As you begin to whine in response to the sudden stimulation, he finds his way to your clit, sucking on your swollen bud in return for your angelic moans. As your eyes roll back in pleasure, you tighten your grip on his thighs, with Namgyu intensifying his suction on your clit in response.

As Namgyu continues massaging your leaking core with his warm tongue, you can't help but notice a hard-on growing between his thighs.. Gently removing one of your hands from its lethal grip on his thigh, you slowly begin to palm his clothed erection, earning a low pitched groan from him in return. His moans vibrating against your sensitive clit only encourage you further, as you begin to unbuckle his belt to free his cock from his work slacks. Unzipping his pants, his painfully hard cock springs out, complete with pre already leaking from his bright red tip. You teasingly flick your tongue against his tip, drawing out more moans from him as he is now nose-deep in your wet core. Hazy from the pleasure, you slowly begin to work your hand up and down his hard length, using his pre as lube. "a-ahh fuck" he cries. "wasn't expecting this.." you can barely make out what your boyfriend is saying, his retorts muffled due to your puffy folds pressed against his mouth and nose.

As you continue to work his cock, Namgyu removes one of his hands from your ass, reaching down the underside of your body to find where your mouth is. "Spit" he orders, as you drool out a mix of his pre and your own saliva onto his index and middle fingers. As you reattach your mouth to his twitching cock, he returns his dripping fingers to meet your aching core. Slowly, he inserts his fingers into your pussy, earning a gasp from you as his cold ring collides with your warmth. "Don't mind me.. get back to what you were doing so well, baby.." he teases, continuing to work his fingers in and out of your wetness. slick, slick, slick, you hear, your arousal coating his thick fingers as he slides in and out of your tight core. "fuck baby, gripping my fingers so tight.." you moan in response to his comment, your warm mouth still tight around his cock. You lean in to go deeper, hollowing out your cheeks to fit as much of him down your throat as possible.

You two are both close to finishing, as Namgyu continues to slurp on your puffy folds and attack your clit with his tongue, and you focus on sucking his tip while massaging the rest of his length with your hand. You are both a mess at this point, completely cock and pussy drunk respectfully, mouths drenched in each other's fluids. Usually, you are someone who would try to be mindful about the mess you're making of yourself, but at this point, your only thought is pleasing Namgyu, your goal being to drain him as much as you possibly can. Interrupting your routine of switching off from working his cock between your hand and throat, you eventually feel that familiar tightness in your stomach.. your noises become increasingly louder, as you feel yourself starting to pulse around Namgyu's fingers while he continues to lap at your clit. "Shh, not yet. I'm almost there. Be a good slut and wait for me." Namgyu's demanding tone makes it even harder for you to hold in your release, and in response, you return both hands to his thighs, using only your throat to pleasure him now.

Drool running down your chin, you attempt to throat as much of Namgyu's thick cock as you can, vocalizing your chokes and gags as you quicken your pace bobbing your head up and down his length. "F-fuck.. gonna cum.. cum f'me too baby, a-ah, you earned it" you hear Namgyu moan out. As he is close to arrival, you always notice his tough demeanor lowering, as he lets out pathetic sounding moans when he cums. You feel his cock twitch inside your mouth, soon followed by spurts of his warm cum shooting down your throat. As he cums, he quickens the pace of his fingers, violently thrusting in and out of you as he continues sucking and whining against your clit. The overstimulation once again becomes too much for you to handle, as you give yourself over to your sweet release. You feel your core tighten and your legs begin to shake, as you start whimpering from the sheer bliss taking over your body. You feel a warm sensation spurting out of your cunt as you squirt all over Namgyu's face, followed by him eagerly lapping up your arousal.

Legs shaking, you prop yourself up, detatching your mouth from his softening cock as you swallow his salty release. "Mmhm" Namgyu moans, still licking your juices from your sensitive folds and clit. "Too much for you baby?" "N-no, fuck, it was so good" you reply, wiping the excess spit from your lips. As you both clean yourselves up, you flop over onto your sweet Namgyu, resting you head against his heaving chest as you both catch your breaths. "Always so good f'me.. taking care of me without being asked" he groans, closing his eyes. You brush his hair out of his face once again, gently kissing him as you both drift off to sleep after your long nights.

thank you for reading! ♡

[chrisstvrns]

⌞pins and needles⌝⸝⸝

now playing: PINS AND NEEDLES: nessa barrett

warnings: breakup, angst, one sided love, lmk if i missed anything

word count: 1.0k

aftercare writing marathon

you and matt broke up about a month ago. after nearly three years together, the kind of love you thought would last forever had quietly slipped through your fingers, barely making a sound.

it hadn’t been one big fight. no screaming. no slamming doors. just silence. that slow, aching kind that creeps in like a fog and makes it hard to breathe.

you noticed it first in the way he stopped touching you without reason. no more hand on your thigh when you sat next to him. no more absentminded kisses to your temple, or pulling you into his chest when you passed behind the couch.

the warmth in his eyes had faded. every “i love you” started to sound more like a reflex than a confession. you knew it wasn’t working, but you tried anyway. harder than you ever should have. you gave him time, space, softness, patience. you gave him everything, hoping something would make him turn back toward you.

but he never did.

you remember the day you ended it down to the smallest detail. what you wore. what he said. the rain outside tapping softly against the window like it, too, was bracing for impact.

you were sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clenched in your lap, heart pounding. he was on the floor, sorting through laundry, completely unaware that your chest was splintering with every second that passed.

“matt,” you said quietly. so quietly, you weren’t sure he heard you.

he looked up, a little distracted. “yeah?”

your throat tightened. “can you sit down?”

he raised an eyebrow but obliged, tossing a sweatshirt aside and settling on the edge of the bed across from you. “what’s going on?”

you stared at him, trying to memorize him. the curve of his jaw, the faint crease in his brow. the things you used to kiss just to feel close. and for a second, you almost chickened out. but you’d been swallowing this ache for months. you couldn’t do it anymore.

“i don’t think this is working,” you said. your voice cracked halfway through.

he blinked. “what?”

“i don’t think we’re in love anymore,” you continued, barely holding yourself together. “at least, i know you’re not. and i can’t keep pretending that you are.”

matt shook his head slowly, as if trying to make sense of your words. “where is this coming from?”

you let out a breathy, bitter laugh. “matt, you haven’t looked at me like you love me in months. you don’t talk to me. you don’t touch me unless i reach for you first. i feel like i’m dating a stranger.”

he looked down at his hands. “i’ve just been… stressed.”

you nodded, having expected that. “i told myself that for a long time. that maybe you were tired, or overwhelmed, or needed space. i gave you that. i gave you everything. and you just… kept pulling away.”

he didn’t argue. didn’t even try to deny it. he just stayed quiet.

“so i need to stop fighting for someone who isn’t fighting for me,” you said. your voice broke then, but your eyes stayed dry. “i deserve to be loved out loud, matt. not like a habit you’re trying to break gently.”

“i never meant to hurt you,” he said, voice thick.

“i know,” you replied. “but you still did.”

he reached for your hand, almost instinctively, but you pulled back.

“i can’t keep doing this to myself. i keep waking up next to you and wondering why i feel so alone.” you shook your head. “you stopped choosing me a long time ago. and now i have to choose myself.”

he looked like he wanted to say something. apologize, beg, explain. but nothing came out. just a quiet, strangled silence. and in that silence, everything finally made sense.

you stood up, grabbed your purse from the floor, and turned to face him one last time. “i hope you figure out whatever’s going on inside you, matt. i really do. but i can’t be collateral damage while you do it.”

then you left.

the walk to your car was blurry, your chest tight and your hands shaking. but when you finally sat in the driver’s seat, something strange happened. you didn’t cry. you just stared out the windshield, heart pounding, and felt something settle in your bones. not peace. not yet. but truth. and truth was its own kind of relief.

now, a month later, the apartment is quiet in a different way. it’s not heavy with absence. it’s just still. your stillness.

you stand in the kitchen, hands pressed to the cold countertop, staring at nothing. your phone buzzes again. nick’s name lights up the screen. and then chris’. matt had been texting and calling you off of their numbers for days, since you blocked him. 

you don’t move.

he’s been calling more. texting. leaving voicemails that ramble with what ifs and maybes and “i didn’t know what i had.” like he finally realized what he lost now that it’s too late.

but you’re done.

you blocked him last week. not out of malice, but mercy. you couldn’t let his sudden regret unravel you. couldn’t keep listening to the voice that once meant love and now only triggered panic.

he had chances. so many chances. you begged with your eyes, with your patience, with the way you kept showing up when he didn’t. he just didn’t take them. and now you’re gone.

you ran into him yesterday. just a quick nothing on a crowded sidewalk in downtown LA. his eyes caught yours and went wide. he looked like he wanted to speak.

but you walked right past him.

no nod. no smile. no flinch.

just the steady rhythm of your boots against the pavement, your fingers gripping your purse a little tighter. for the first time, the ache in your chest didn’t claw for him. it just pulsed quietly. like healing. like something starting to mend.

he made you forget how much you could feel. numbed you with his indifference. but now, without him, you’re thawing out. bit by bit. moment by moment.

and he’s the one left standing in the cold.

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aurora's notes: 13/15!!! two moreeeee

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

[4doras]

ONLY EXCEPTION “THEY MADE EVERYTHING FEEL SOFTER.” *ੈ✩‧₊˚  

genre. eunseok x reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, 1.0k, eunseok is in a band (riize hehe) 

ꕤ. i literally wrote this in one go… listening to bea while writing is changing me 🙂‍↕️ ty anon for requesting (˶◜ᵕ◝˶) 

eunseok didn’t have a good day and you could tell. 

for one, he always messages you when he gets home from band practice, no matter how late it was. secondly, he’d send you silly pictures of him and the other members during practice, but today, they never came. lastly, he’d call you when he was about to go to sleep, just to tell you about his practice because he knew you preferred to fall asleep to his voice. 

but tonight? none of that happened. 

more under the cut! 

eunseok was tired. and honestly? all he wanted was peace and quiet. and that’s what he got. 

his house was completely empty, except for the inescapable sounds of his feet dragging on the floor. 

and at this point, everything aggravated him. 

but he was too tired to bother, yet too mad to not care. 

the small droplets of water that fell on the ground because of his still-wet hair that he didn’t bother to dry, the ticking of his alarm clock, the faint sound of something buzzing in his house that he could never track down – it all drove him mad now. 

all because of one little fight. 

even trying to fall asleep wasn’t working; his anger just kept him up. 

he sat up, pressing his digital clock to check the time. 

3:07am. 

now he was really alone. 

until his phone screen lit up. he scampered to check who it was, and by whatever fate, it was you. and truthfully, he had been hoping it was you. 

seok, are you okay? sorry if i’m overthinking it, but you didn’t message me or anything. lmk if you’re okay? please? 

once he fully read what you said, he hurriedly unlocked his phone, typing out a half incomprehensible reply. 

xan we csll?  csll  call? 

minutes later, you were facetiming eunseok whose only light was coming from his phone screen. 

“you scared me, eunseok. you always text me after practice, or during it, but you didn’t do either?” you mumbled, slightly sleepy but awake enough for eunseok. 

how unfair. is all eunseok was thinking. 

you cared for him, were and are always there for him, even at a time like this. you remembered things about him that even he couldn’t. you always knew what he needed and when he needed it. 

you were perfect, even if it was only in his eyes. 

and he couldn’t even send a quick text message to you? he felt like a mess. 

“sorry,” he rubbed his face, “i just had a really bad day, i completely forgot. i’m sorry, y/n.” 

you weren’t exactly looking for an apology, but he seemed really out of it. 

the usual eunseok would’ve teased you, said something about how “you just want a text from him”. 

“wanna talk about it?” his answer being an instant yes showed you how much he needed you right now. 

“i don’t even know anymore, y/n. i feel so… dumb. i can’t believe we fought over something so small, now it’s never gonna be the same between all of us.” he sighed, voice on the verge of breaking. “we’re supposed to be a band, but instead we’re fighting over small things? i don’t know what got into me.” 

somehow, you ended up in his house, sitting on his bed while he told you the whole story. 

“what do i do? i messed everything up, y/n.” he was leaning on the headboard of his bed frame, looking at you with tear-brimmed eyes. 

before saying anything, you moved closer to him, and took him into your arms. he rested his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you. 

frankly, you weren’t sure of what to say. you weren’t the type of person that people came to when they needed help with resolving friendship issues, but you were determined to become that person for eunseok. 

“seok, fights happen all the time, okay? and it’s not all your fault, everyone was part of it, not just you.” you brushed away a few stray pieces of hair that were falling into his view. “and i know for a fact that you guys can’t go on without one another, there’s absolutely no chance that this is the end.” seeing his face before and after your words, he seemed even sadder after hearing you speak, but hopefully it was a good type of sadness. “you’re okay, the band’s okay, everything is okay.” you only noticed now that you had been holding eunseok’s hands the whole time, squeezing them tighter and tighter with each word. 

you didn’t expect eunseok to be empowered, especially with how much you were doubting yourself, but you hoped that he was at least feeling better. 

“i love you, y/n.” 

that wasn’t what you were expecting, either. 

“you believe in me, even when i feel unsure about myself, you show me that there’s still something left for me to see. you’re always there for me when i need you, good or bad. you always comfort me whenever i need it, even if i don’t tell you, it’s like you just know.” if you didn’t believe him before, you sure did now. 

his voice carried so much weight, like he had been holding it in for ages and finally found the courage to tell you. 

the room fell silent right after, but it was the sort of silence that was needed so you could really understand him, and how much he meant it. 

“actually?” was all you could get out. “you really love me?” now it was your turn to break down. 

as much as eunseok would press for yes, there was no other way to convince you than kissing you, showing you he truly loves you. 

at first, you went still, unsure of how to respond. but once it hit you, it all came naturally. 

you rested your hands on eunseok's nape, kissing him back slowly, but still taking all you wanted. 

he pulled back slowly, giving you time to pull him back to you. 

“you always know how to make me feel better, y/n.” he said, lips slightly brushing against yours. “i love you so much, seriously, y/n.” and this time, he was the one pulling you into the hug, holding you close. 

you pressed a soft kiss to his neck. “i love you too, eunseok.” 

perm taglist. @jellyouse 

[serenity071502]

Chapter 1: How You Met -- The Slow Collision That Was Meant to Happen

Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: Small Snippets of how you opened yourself up to love after years of heartbreak. Small snippets of how a Spencer Reid can enter your life little by little.

Masterlist l Next

It wasn't dramatic. No fireworks. No chaos. Just ... alignment.

The cafe wasn't particularly special. Wooden tables, warm lighting, and the soft murmur of people trying not to be noticed. You came here to unwind after a tiring, long week of work. You sat near the window, a novel open, pen paused between thoughts as you annotated the pages (or more like scribbling and doodling your thoughts). Outside, the day moved like honey. Slow, golden, a little tired.

In your little bubble, you became unaware of your surroundings. Ding. The cafe door opened, and then a tall man walked in. He caught your attention when he walked in. Not in a way that demanded the room -- in a way that fit. He wore a soft beige sweater, a purple scarf wrapped like he knew the weather before it changed. His eyes moved like someone who listened more than he spoke.

You shook your head and returned your attention to your novel.

Spencer has just returned after a tiring and exhausting case. It seemed the case took a little piece of peace he was slowly building. Not only that, he was also tormented by Morgan's unrelenting teasing about him needing to have a 'lady friend'.

"Come on, pretty boy. How long do we have to wait to see a pretty girl beside you one of these days?" He commented as the team was walking towards their offices after getting off the jet.

He didn't mean to, but when he looked at you, he remembered his conversation with Morgan. He got in line and ordered his drink quietly. He unconsciously (or decided) to take a seat at the table across from you, not too close. Respectful. Serene. But still ... present.

He took out his book, or more like a dictionary in your perspective. He started reading and flipping through the pages, unusually fast. It caught your attention again but brushed it off. Minutes passed like that. A dance without movement. You flipped a page. He sipped his drink. You took a bite from your donut. He's halfway through the chapter already.

"Uhm... excuse me. What are you reading and writing about?" he asked, gently. You raised your head towards him. No flirt. No pressure. Just curiosity. Somehow, your thoughts mattered more to him than your face.

You took a while to respond. He didn't rush you either.

"It's a novel about discovering self-worth. I'm not sure what I'm writing really. It hasn't made sense, but I know it will at the end," you replied.

He smiled -- one of those soft, real ones that settle into the corners of the mouth. "I like that. Not everything has to make sense at the beginning. Most of the books I've read only made sense in the middle or the end. Although it might be because I'm reading classic, old, literary works."

You gave him a smile back as you looked at him. Really looked. And all of a sudden, something in your chest exhaled -- like a breath you were holding for a long time.

Your friends and family said that when you meet your person, it would feel like butterflies in your stomach. Or like being struck by lightning, hair standing on your arm. But no. No. It wasn't anything like that. It was a door. Quietly opening.

And from that moment on ... as you locked eyes with Spencer. From that moment on ... he will never, ever let it close.

[repotting]

people who don't normally read sci fi have such bad taste in sci fi 😭

[brninghouse]

Let me help you | Robert Reynolds

Pairing. Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary. A year after the events in New York City, the memories of that dreadful day come back to haunt you. Luckily, this time you have Bob with you and he will not let your pain drag you down, the same way you won’t let him blame himself for it.

Word Count. 3.8k

Tags/Warnings. Hurt to comfort, slight angst, SMUT, mention of Bob’s father and trauma, female receiving penetration, use of pet names such as honey, sweetheart and baby. Reader calls him Bobby during sex.

EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD, MUST BE 18+ TO READ, I WILL BE CHECKING. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Notes. My comeback to being a fic writer since I abandoned my writing blog back in 2023. Shoutout to Mr. Bob and his pathetically charming self for dragging me back to my writing ways. Also… I created and pushed the Inexperienced!Bob agenda in this fic. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcomed.

You could feel the darkness trying to consume you. It worked slowly, yet it felt as if it was rapidly trying to drown you, robbing the air straight out of your lungs and leaving you without any air left to breathe. It was an all-consuming feeling of dread — except this wasn't a feeling, it was a person. He had a face and a name. The exact same face of the man you would eventually come to fall in love with, but it wasn't him, not really.

It was the silhouette of the darkest parts of him. The dark side of him that wanted you to feel the exact same type of pain he was feeling. All of the abuse and suffering. He wanted you to feel it, too. He wanted every living person to feel it.

He was nothing more than a void — and he wanted you to drown in it. He wanted you to understand that there was nothing more in this world than the neverending feeling of numbness and agony.

His darkness was consuming you and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Honey, you have to wake up,” a worried sleepy voice urged you while a warm hand wiped the sweat off your forehead, carefully brushing and putting away the strands of hair that were stuck to it.

You opened your eyes so fast it felt like your heart was about to give out. Your breathing came out in quick, unsteady gasps that made it hard to figure out where you were. Your heart was beating just as hard as last year, back when the man next to you wasn’t the one he is right now.

“Bob?” you asked, trying to catch your breath and reaching out to him with a shaky hand.

“Hey, it was just a nightmare. Can you, uh.. can you take a deep breath for me?” he asked, sitting up in your shared bed and turning on the bedside lamp next to him before taking your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. You didn't reply, all you could do was close your eyes and sit up next to him, bringing your free hand to your racing heart.

Your lack of an answer didn’t help soothe the worry he was feeling. “C’mon, sweetheart. Please,” Bob begged you, squeezing your hand two times.

I’m here. He’s gone.

You nodded once and opened your eyes, turning your head to the right and meeting the soft blue eyes of your boyfriend who was sitting next to you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice raspy and strained. He shook his head. “It’s okay. We can do it together,” he answered with a small smile.

Bob took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds, and then exhaled. You copied his movements, keeping your hand in his. “Again,” he said before taking another deep inhale and then letting it out, never taking his eyes away from you.

You weren’t able to count the number of times you breathed in and out with Bob, but he stayed with you through it all. Holding your hand until you were finally able to breathe normally.

You stayed silent for a while, but Bob didn’t seem to mind. All of his focus was on you, and he would wait for you for eternity if that was the time you needed to get a word out. “I’m sorry,” you croaked.

“None of that, honey,” he answered, not missing a beat. “Does it hurt to speak?” He thought of things he could do to help, rummaging through his head for any useful advice when his eyes lit up as he remembered something from his childhood.

“Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” He asked, his eyes shining as if he had finally gotten the right answer to an unsolvable paradox.

“Please,” you whispered. Bob took hold of the covers that were discarded away to the bottom of the bed and brought them up to your chest, standing up with a small groan as his feet met the cold floor and he stretched his arms above his head, giving you a clear view of his toned shirtless figure.

“I’ll be right back,” he replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before moving to your bedroom door and walking out.

Bob didn’t take long walking to the kitchen and grabbing you a cold glass of water, yet every second he spent outside of your shared room made you remember your awful nightmare, which you wouldn’t even describe as a nightmare — it was a terrible fucking memory.

You anxiously chewed on your bottom lip as you stared at your door, impatiently waiting for your boyfriend to come back. The door eventually opened after a few minutes and Bob walked in with a glass of water in his right hand, you took notice of the metallic straw inside of it.

“It’s, uh… so it’s easier for you to drink,” he explained.

“That’s nice, thank you,” you replied before taking the glass from him and taking a small sip. The coldness that seeped through your body and the feeling of the condensation on the glass helping you ground yourself back to reality.

“Better?” He asked, climbing back onto the bed and placing a hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You hummed and leaned your body closer to him, leaning your head against his toned shoulder.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“You really need to stop apologizing, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he replied, turning his head to the left and kissing your temple.

You stayed silent for a while, taking small sips of your water. Finding comfort in each other’s presence and the sound of his steady breathing next to you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“It was—,” you started.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But my mom used to tell me that talking about these types of things could help make you feel better,” Bob rambled, moving his free hand as he spoke to try and make his statement seem casual.

Bob had once shared with you that his mother used to help him out whenever he’d wake up terrified from nightmares about his father. She would give him a glass of water — with a straw to make it easier to drink — and comfort him through it all. He mentioned those moments were what eased his mind whenever he had one of his Low Days.

You let out a soft sigh, setting the empty glass on the bedside table next to you. “It was about last year,” you said softly.

“Oh,” Bob whispered, his shoulder going tense beneath your head. You didn’t have to look up at him to know there was a look of worry in his eyes.

You placed your hand over his on your thigh. “It’s not your fault,” you tried to comfort him, only to be quickly cut off by him.

“But it was me who did that,” he stated, his head hanging low.

“You weren’t in control, Bob. God, you didn’t even remember what happened once we got you out,” you said, slightly turning your head to press a kiss against his shoulder blade, causing Bob to let out a shaky breath.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I.. he,” Bob corrected himself, “He hurt you. He hurt every civilian in the city,”

“It wasn’t you, baby. I mean, now you're considered a hero. A goddamned Avenger, for fuck’s sake.”

“A pretty useless one. All I do is clean up after everyone and be Walker’s gym buddy,” he said, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You also helped Alexei get that Red Bull sponsor for his ugly New Avengerz merch,” you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

That caused Bob to let out a genuine smile and it was enough to make you feel like you had single-handedly caused world peace. It felt like the sun had shone straight through your heart. An infinite sunbathe.

“You’re a good person, Bob,” you lifted your head from his shoulder, sitting up to meet his gaze and bringing a hand to caress his cheek. Bob closed his eyes at the feeling, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he felt your touch on his skin. “Once you learn how to control your powers — how to control him.. you’ll be the most powerful member of this team.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you, honey” he replied, opening his eyes and turning his head to give the palm of your hand a kiss, his eyes not leaving yours as he did it.

“Knowing you’re next to me is enough to make me feel better.”

A bright blush took over Bob’s cheeks. He wasn’t fully used to all of this, to the way you seemed to love him despite his darkest moments. Two months into your relationship he had shyly confessed to you that he had no romantic experiences due to his addiction and Low Days. That didn’t change the fact that he was eager to learn and make you feel just as loved as you made him feel.

He was about to open his mouth to say something along the lines of you being too sweet for a messed up man like him when he was distracted by the yawn that escaped you. A soft smile adorned Bob’s features.

“Oh, honey. You must be tired,” he said in the softest voice he could muster. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Is it that obvious?” You joked, another yawn leaving your lips, causing Bob’s smile to get even bigger. “Nope, not at all, sweetheart.”

Bob extended his arm to turn off your bedside lamp with a small sigh and moved to lay down facing you, you followed his movements, laying on your side and pressing your back to his strong chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist and gently pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of his beating heart against your back to lull you to sleep. It didn’t take long for you to notice that your attempt to slip back into dreamland was futile. You had no idea how long you spent trying to go back to sleep, it could’ve easily been fifteen minutes or an hour, but that didn’t matter. You just couldn’t.

You were so fucking exhausted, your body knew that but your brain wasn’t cooperating. You couldn’t fall back asleep. You tried to switch positions and move around, but it was useless. Nothing was working. Maybe your nightmare shook you up more than you thought.

“You okay over there?” You heard Bob’s tired voice behind you.

“Yeah… No. I don’t know why I can’t fall back asleep,” you answered, frustration lacing your tone.

Bob’s right arm that was gently wrapped around your waist moved down as his warm hand traveled beneath the sleeping shirt you were wearing — his sleeping shirt to be exact. His hand rubbed slow circles on your skin.

He used his free hand to move away the hair that was covering your neck and began to trail sweet kisses up your throat, moving slowly until he reached your jaw. “Is this alright?” He asked. You hummed and closed your eyes as he continued scattering soft wet kisses against your jawline until reaching your earlobe, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Let me help you, honey,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath and wandering hand under your shirt causing a heat to build up in your core. A whimper escaped your lips as your hips involuntarily pressed back against his. The feeling of his hardening member against your ass and his toned, strong chest right behind your back making you feel dizzy.

“Bobby,” you gasped, slightly turning your head to meet his eyes. “Tell me what you need,” he replied, licking his lips and pulling his hand away from under your shirt to use it to lift himself up and hover above you. You weren’t able to get any words out so you did what your body was begging you to do.

You pressed your lips against his and kissed him. Bob eagerly kissed you back, using his free hand to hold your face and lift it up towards him, a small moan leaving his lips. You two had been in this position several times, yet it always felt like the first time for him, because due to his inexperience: every feeling was new to him. Moans and whimpers would always escape him whenever he found himself making out with you.

His hand moved from your cheek to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pressing himself closer to you. The kiss was heated but still soft — still so Bob. He pulled away to take a breather before saying, “Wait, I, uh.. I think I know of something that could help.”

He shifted his position to lay on his back, spreading his legs and manhandling your body, moving you to sit between his thighs. “Is this.. Is this alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you answered, letting out a sigh of comfort as you laid your head on his chest, your back pressed against his shirtless figure, his head above yours and his legs keeping you in place, spread next to yours.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.. or if it’s too much,” he rambled “Oh! And also if I do something wrong—“

“It’s fine, Bobby,” you replied with a small smile. “You’re pretty good at what you do, don’t worry too much about it.”

Your statement brought a bright blush to his cheeks, the second of the night — which wasn’t strange because he always got shy whenever you praised him during your intimate moments. He still wasn’t used to being praised, especially not on times like this.

He lets out a nervous laugh as he uses his left arm to hold your waist, pulling you closer to his chest and his right hand smoothes over your covered abdomen, the tips of his warm fingers making you shiver and internally beg for more.

“Can I.. Is it okay if I take this off?” he asks, slightly pulling your shirt up, your eyes close as you feel his lips against your ear.

“Please,” you exhale. Bob slowly pulls your shirt over your figure, causing the cold air of your shared room to hit the soft skin of your bare chest, making your nipples harden. Leaving you almost completely naked, the only thing covering your body being your panties that were getting wetter by the second.

“Jesus,” Bob whispers, bringing his hand up to softly trace the outline of your right breast. Taking his time as he trails the tips of his fingers through its underside, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He slowly brings his fingers up to play with your hardened nipple, pinching it slightly before using his whole hand to grope your breast.

“Stop teasing.”

“I wasn’t trying to tease,” he replies. You didn’t have to see his face to know there was a huge smile adorning it. “I’m just admiring my beautiful girlfriend.”

You try to move closer to him, wanting to feel something — anything that could help ease the burning in between your legs. You dropped your hand over his left arm that held your waist in place and pushed your hips back against his, a moan escaping you as you grind your ass against his hard cock.

Bob’s self-esteem boosted at the sweet sound you let out, giving your breast a last squeeze before trailing his fingers downwards to where you wanted it the most.

“Please, Bobby,” you pathetically whimpered, your hips involuntarily jutting upwards towards his hand as your body begged for more of his touch.

“Shh, I know, honey,” he hushed your pleas. He trailed his fingers through the plush of your thighs before letting them linger along the hem of your drenched panties. He slowly brings his hand down to cup your covered pussy over the fabric of your underwear, causing another moan to escape you.

You threw your head back against him, your breathing coming out in unsteady pants. You could feel and hear his heavy breathing, too. Feel him getting worked up over the sight of your begging body. He slowly pressed his fingertips down to touch you through the drenched fabric of your underwear, the pressure of his fingers against your covered folds feeling just right.

“God, look at that,” Bob panted. Quickly taking his hand off of your needy core to stare at his fingers, watching them glisten with your slick wetness. “Can’t believe all of this is because of me, sweetheart.” You whimpered at the loss of his hot touch, your hips bucking towards him in a desperate way of trying to get closer.

“Only for you, Bob. Fuck.”

Bob’s chest swelled with pride at your reaction. “Lift your hips, honey,” he ordered, his breath fanning against your cheek as you swiftly lifted your hips and watched him slowly bring your underwear down, finally letting you completely spread your legs as your naked pussy met the cold air of the room.

Bob’s entire world stopped spinning the second he saw your bare body laying against him. He could see your wet pussy glisten with arousal due to the dim light that entered your room through the small crack underneath the door. He had seen you naked a bunch of times already, but it still felt new to him to see a woman’s body be this needy for his touch. It still surprised him that he could be the cause of the wetness that dripped on your bedsheets. He was nothing more than a recovered addict with a shit ton of mental issues and yet… he could cause this. He could somehow make you trust and love him completely.

“Touch me, Bobby,” you begged.

Your boyfriend happily obliged, swiping his long middle finger in between your folds and spreading your wetness through your pleading pussy. “Bob,” you warned.

He let out a shaky laugh, “Sorry, I got you.”

He slowly eased his middle finger in you, feeling the way your walls clenched against it, begging for more. Both of you moaned at the sensation. “You’re so warm, honey,” he moaned.

“More, please.”

Bob used his thumb to press your clit and give it slow circles, feeling the way it pulsated under his finger. Making his blood flow straight to his hard member. You mewled at the feeling of his middle finger pumping in and out of you as his thumb worked on your clit. Your wetness covering his hand.

He took his time pumping into you in an easy rhythm, waiting for your begging body to be ready for him to add a second one. Remembering everything you taught him about pleasing your body. Bob’s free hand came up to grope your tits as he began to drop wet kisses on your neck, sucking on your skin, forgetting that you’d wake up in a few hours to a purple bruise sitting there.

“So good, Bobby,” you whimpered, closing your eyes and letting the pleasure he was causing you take all over your body. His strong hand groping your breasts and his other one working on your pussy making you feel drunk on him. The length of his finger pumping against your soft walls made your body melt against him.

Bob slowly entered his thick ring finger inside your wet heat, causing a moan of his name to escape you. He began to push it in and out, matching the rhythm he had created with his middle finger. Your body shook against him. He added more pressure to his thumb on your clit, circling it faster as he felt your breathing hitch and saw a blissful expression take over your face.

“Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me, you always do,” he praised.

Your body kept shaking and your breathing came out in short gasps. “Relax, honey. Breathe,” Bob reminded you, but it was useless. You could feel him all over your body. Only him. Not The Void. Not your suffering. Only Bob and the love he felt for you.

You could smell your arousal and hear the lewd sounds of his fingers moving in and out your pussy, it all felt too much and too right. The fire you felt in your belly got bigger, causing your hips to buck against Bob’s fingers, wanting more. “I think I’m gonna—” you exhaled.

“I know. I got you,” Bob whispered in your ear. Bob put more pressure on your clit the moment he felt your walls clench and shake against his fingers. You closed your eyes and let the pleasure you were feeling wash all over you.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” you whined. A hot feeling taking all over you as Bob continued to ease his fingers in you, helping you ride your orgasm. Seconds later, you come all over his fingers, your wet and hot fluids soaking his hand and spilling over your sheets. It was all so hot, Bob couldn’t help but moan at the sight.

Your body shuddered and your legs shook as you kept your eyes closed and came down from your high. Trying to catch your breath and focus on the whispered praises you were getting from Bob that seemed light-years away.

“Are you with me?” Bob asked. You hummed and buried your head on his chest, making him chuckle. Bob slowly pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the overstimulation you were feeling. “I’m sorry, honey,” he apologized before raising his soaked fingers to his lips and groaning as he tasted your hot juices.

You could feel a wave of exhaustion lulling you to sleep. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, I’ll just run to the bathroom real quick for a towel to clean you up. I’ll be right back,” he spoke softly, remembering how you taught him about the importance of aftercare.

Just as he was about to leave for the bathroom you said, “Hey, Bob?” stopping him on his tracks.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you. I’m thankful that Valentina almost killing me brought us together,” you replied in your sleepy state.

“I love you, too. You have no idea,” and you really didn’t. Because he would never let the darkness consume you. He wasn’t going to let you drown in it, the same way you wouldn’t let him drown either.

Bob admired your naked body for a bit more before walking to the bathroom for a towel. He wondered if life had always been this beautiful.

© BRNINGHOUSE. do not translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[yukioos]

no one knew you and katsuki bakugo were in a relationship

katsuki was pissed off for no good reason. denki was asking stupid questions nonstop and eijiro unfortunately continued answering them, which sparked more questions in the electrokinetic. the blonde tried to hold in his anger and not express his annoyance, and he almost burst.

then he felt a familiar, soft hand on his back.

normally he would’ve pushed the hand off quickly, as he wasn’t too fond of physical touch from other people. but you? a whole different story. you could be all over him, cover him in lipstick and love bites, and he’d flaunt it like he was the luckiest man in the world.

he paused stabbing his fork, and looked at you, admiring the sweet smile you showed so often. he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you down to the seat next to him, making your thighs touch. to anyone else, it would seem as if katsuki was possessed by someone. since when does he even lay a hand on someone in a nice way?

the blonde looked at you up and down, “come over to my dorm tonight.” he commanded with a smug expression. he was bold, always running straight into conversations.

you rolled your eyes and tried to move closer to your boyfriend, who stared down at you with a certain glint in them. you answered, “i was already planning to, kats, you don’t need to tell me.” you looked away from his face for a minute, “won’t we get in trouble if mister aizawa sees us in the same dorm?”

he scoffed, “you always worry about that. if it makes you feel better, i’ll come to your room instead, ‘kay?” his voice sounded a bit agitated, but you knew he thought it was amusing that you were always worried about getting caught in a boy’s dorm.

you nodded and placed a kiss on his lips, and which he did the same, not wanting to let go. the two of you completely forgot about denki and eijiro across from you, who stopped their conversation to stare at you with their jaws on the ground.

the two of you pulled away from one another, and his arm still lay comfortably on your side. you shyly smiled, flustered with the intimacy. he chuckled in response, loving seeing his sweet girl embarrassed but still wanting more. once he gained self-awareness again, he realized the two meatheads across him were silent.

katsuki glared at eijiro and denki, whose jaws were still dropped, and eyes were wide. he grunted, “what are you lookin’ at?”

the redhead immediately replied, “what the hell do you mean?! you two just kissed!” he pointed at the two of you.

denki continued, “yeah, so does that mean you two are dating?!” bolts started to fly from his hair and spring outwards due to the shock.

before your boyfriend could reply, the two said in sync, “you never told us!”

katsuki finally replied, with a bit of sass apparent, “you never asked. plus, we’re always together, you should’ve noticed already, damn meatheads.”

the table was silent for a minute besides the sounds of you and the blonde taking small portions of food from his tray. his warm hand rubbed your hip, and you smiled at the touch, leaning in closer to him.

not long after, mina came over and saw how close you and the hothead were. she stood a couple feet away from katsuki’s table, then she tilted her head and looked at eijiro, who stared at her back.

suddenly, denki exclaimed, “y/n and bakugo are dating!”

mina shouted, “what?!” with the crash of her metal tray falling, along with all her lunch.

hope this layout looks good! didn’t wanna put multiple images so i just chose a divider. also im gonna start taking katsuki and ochaco requests once im done with some in my inbox! hope you guys like this one, sorry i didn’t write for a while, i had bad writer’s block. trying to get back on schedule!

divider creds: @cafekitsune

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple